She mustered a smile. “I’ll consider myself warned, then.”
Beckett swiped a hand over his square jaw. “I’m going to have follow-up questions. Right now I need to get to Hope Lake and see if we can figure out who’s out there and why.” He started to leave and doubled back, resting his hands on Blair’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you had to find him, to see that. I’m not your enemy, Blair.”
Blair nodded. Beckett was only trying to do his job. One that Blair bucked at every turn. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew something sinister was going on.
He acknowledged Holt with a tip of his chin and let himself out.
“Thanks for fixing me up, Doc.” Holt gave Mitch back the wet towel and hung on to the bloody one. “I guess I owe you a towel.”
“No worries. Glad you’re in one piece,” Mitch said. “Blair, holler if you need anything. Manny’ll drive ya’ll home. Or back to the lake for your vehicle. Whichever you want.” He walked them to the front door.
They chose to return to the lake for Holt’s truck. He kept silent on the way home. Pulling into her drive, he inhaled. “I, uh... I’m tired, Blair. I’m gonna go to my place and rest. But if you need anything, come get me. Or call. I’ll bunk on the couch later.”
She didn’t want to be alone, but Blair couldn’t blame him from wanting his distance from her. She’d almost gotten him killed. “If that’s what you want. Again, I’m sorry, Holt. More than you can imagine.”
She hurried out of the truck and up the walkway.
She had a sinking feeling that any chance of a budding romance with Holt had met the same fate as the man in the lake.
EIGHT
Four days had passed since Holt discovered Bryan Livingston’s body. He’d felt like a heel leaving Blair alone after the horrible event, but he needed to be alone for a while, and deal with the fact that he’d been too late. He hadn’t saved Bryan. Not to mention he had follow-up work to do that had to stay private. He’d wanted to come clean with her, but he’d been instructed not to reveal his identity. His mission wasn’t over yet.
Now that Bryan was dead, Holt worried Jeremy might be, too. Hope had taxied its way into the stratosphere of Holt’s heart only to crash and burn when they’d discovered Bryan. His friend left behind a wife and two children.
Life could be so unfair.
So much less than wonderful, which was how he felt, lying to Blair. Yet the thought of telling her the truth scared him to death. Holt had continued to spend the last few nights on Blair’s couch, keeping watch over her and Gigi. But he’d come in late and left early. The struggle to look Blair in the eye worsened with each second, so he simply avoided her.
He was to blame for whatever might have happened to Jeremy. It didn’t matter that Holt had warned him not to poke around or eavesdrop too much. He’d allowed him to take that job at the trucking company, knowing the risks.
Holt had been taking risks since Trina died.
He didn’t care if he lived or died.
But Jeremy did care.
What if he couldn’t save Jeremy?
Even if he could bring down this cartel and bring justice for Bryan and Jeremy, and convince Blair that he’d been bound by his job to lie about his identity, she would never forgive him for using Jeremy as his informant or allowing him to go into a hazardous situation. She wouldn’t care that he’d been honest about his feelings for her and the past experiences he’d shared. And he didn’t blame her. He would never forgive himself, either.
Holt took a few cleansing breaths and ambled down the cobblestone walk toward Sufficient Grounds. Deputy Chief Marsh was parked on the street next to the Read It and Steep tea shop, deep in conversation with the owner. Holt wasn’t sure what to make of Beckett Marsh. The man was too smart. Too intuitive. He might not be the murderer or behind the attacks, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t in the Juarez Cartel’s pocket, and until Holt knew for sure if he could be trusted, he’d work the investigation here on his own and let his colleagues at the DEA work the other end.
For now he’d pretend he had no idea who Bryan Livingston was. Of course, it wouldn’t be long before Beckett had the dental record answers and would know exactly who Bryan was. Still, Holt had been instructed to play dumb as long as he was uncertain which side Beckett Marsh was on.
For a moment Holt had believed God wasn’t cruel after all. Now he was back to thinking He might be. Or at the very least, uninterested in good winning over evil. The bad guys were winning all too often.
He planned to sit inside Sufficient Grounds with a cup of coffee and listen for gossip surrounding the events, and in general, hoped to glean a lead or a nugget of information that would prove useful. Best way to learn about people was to eavesdrop.
Beckett Marsh got out of his car and approached Holt at the door to the coffee shop. “Renard. How’s it going?”
“It’s going. Any news on that guy in the lake?”
“No identification. Couldn’t get prints on him. He’d been in the water awhile...” He grimaced. “Well, we just couldn’t.”
Holt’s stomach turned. Someone would pay for what happened to Bryan. “Dental records?” How far into the investigation was he?
“Working on that now.” Marsh folded his arms across his chest. “I saw Blair this morning. She looked worse for the wear. I’m worried about her.”
Holt ground his teeth together. “That makes two of us.”
“Talked to Hunter Black at the bait shop yesterday. Says Gigi told him her brother’s been AWOL for a few weeks.” Marsh cocked his head, a penetrating gleam in his eye.
“What’s that have to do with me?” If Beckett was so concerned, he should do a background check on Holt. He’d find a solid cover story to show he was an upstanding citizen. Not even a parking ticket, thanks to the computer analysts at the DEA.
“I guess nothing.” He continued to eye Holt. “Seems odd is all. Brother missing. Blair looking like walking death. Guns. Dead bodies. Businesses broken into.” He shrugged. “I’ll be real interested to see who our John Doe is. Should be another day or so before we find out.”
Hearing Bryan called John Doe made Holt squirm.
“I did a check on the brother. Trying to give the Sullivan girls some peace of mind. He’s had a few run-ins with the law over drugs. I can’t help wondering if he brought some kind of trouble to his sisters.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?” Marsh raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even know Jeremy Sullivan. Do you?”
“I’m done here.” Holt brushed past him, not bothering to be gentle when he bumped his shoulder. Beckett Marsh acted like he might know more about Holt than he let on. Or more about the situation. Antagonizing another law enforcer wasn’t Holt’s typical behavior, but he was on edge. Not the best way to make friends, like Mitch Rydell said. Mitch. He had a close watch on Blair’s house. Her barn. Pretty rich guy. All from horses? Possible. Or maybe he was dabbling with drug trafficking. Someone from the trade was embedded deep here, careful not to stand out.
Inside the coffee shop, he scanned the seating area. Bistro tables in the middle were full. Teenagers drinking coffee, thinking they were all grown up. A young bubbly girl and a high school boy stood behind the counter taking orders and laughing with customers.
Holt stood in line, ears peeled to conversations going on around him. In the corner next to the door, Lola Medina, who owned the boutique next to the defense attorney’s office, caught his eye. Everything had come back clean on her; no connection to drugs or cartels could be found, but that only meant if she was tied to a cartel, and her trip overseas had been to meet with someone involved, they’d all been careful. Holt needed answers. Now. While Lola was here sipping coffee, he could poke around her home, the boutique.
He walked outside and smacked right into Blair.
Becke
tt Marsh’s words came to mind. She looked like walking death.
“Long time no see,” he said, keeping it light. Awkward tension flowed between them.
“Any news on Jeremy?” she asked.
The dark circles under Blair’s eyes and her ashen skin sent him into despair. He had no words. He refused to give her false promises like the ones he’d given Trina. “No.”
“Okay, thanks,” she murmured, and tried to scoot past him. She must think he was fickle. Almost kissing her at the lake and then avoiding her like the plague. Or she might think he was angry with her because he’d been shot. He’d been shot before in the line of duty. Doc Drummond had probably suspected as much by the way he’d examined his shoulder.
Holt blocked her path to the door. “I’m sorry for being scarce lately.” He had a job to do and guilt to suppress.
She replied with a weak smile.
“I am.” If she only knew how sorry. “You look like you haven’t slept.”
“I haven’t. I can’t quit thinking about Jeremy.” She heaved a sigh. “And every time I close my eyes I see that snake or feel someone in the room, even when I’m alone.”
Even with him on her couch, she wasn’t sleeping. She didn’t think he could protect her after all. And maybe he couldn’t.
“I don’t blame you for avoiding me. It’s my fault what happened. I’m thinking of telling Beckett the truth. I might need law enforcement on my side after all. I mean, I know I’ve needed it. Seems like it doesn’t matter if they know or not. I was heading over to the station after I got a cup of coffee. To come clean. And you won’t have to sleep on my couch anymore.”
“I don’t mind sleeping on your couch. I’m there because I want to be. And me getting shot is no one’s fault but the shooter’s.” Going to Beckett was a bad idea, but how could Holt steer her away from it? If Beckett was connected, why would the note tell her not to go to the police? Unless they planned to test her with each interrogation.
“Well, I’m sorry anyway.”
A rock settled in his gut. “No. I’m sorry.” For lying. Deceiving. Withholding information. And not being enough to make her feel safe.
“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything but help.” A little light came back into her eyes. “I do appreciate you sleeping on the couch. The bit of sleep I do get is because I know you’re there.”
Holt laced his hand in hers. “Good. I just needed some time. After seeing the victim in the lake. It’s not you. It has nothing to do with you.”
She nodded. “It’s okay, I understand. There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you, too. I couldn’t dodge my dad’s questions anymore and I refused to outright lie to him. He knows Jeremy is missing. He’s flying home and in the meantime sent an old marine buddy to search crack houses in Memphis. But nothing has turned up.”
“Does he know about what’s been going on here?”
She shook her head. “No, the less anyone knows, the better off they’ll be. I don’t want my dad hurt. I don’t want anyone in this town hurt...because of me. I love this place.”
Holt was quickly becoming attached to Hope, too. But this wasn’t his life. He couldn’t stay. “I agree with that. You have to do what you think is best to keep people you care about safe.”
“They’re having a cookout in the square tonight. Would you like to go?” Blair asked. “Casually. It’s not a date or anything.” Her nervous laugh undid him.
“What time?” He had some investigating to do.
“It’s at seven. But games are going on at five. Horseshoes, croquet, badminton.”
“I’m a badminton champ, so count me in.”
He agreed to go, not because it would be a great place to mingle and listen, but because he wanted every minute he could grab with this woman. Before she hated him for life.
* * *
“I sold at least three hundred dollars’ worth of stuff today. I rock the retail. You just missed Hunter. I even talked him into a few purchases.” Gigi swung her legs as she sat on the counter. “Hey, you all right?”
Blair wasn’t sure she was. Jeremy was still missing without a trace. They weren’t sure who the man in the water was. Holt’s distance had her dazed. But today he’d seemed almost normal. She’d missed him terribly, even if he was bunking on her couch. They’d been growing closer each day until the shoot-out. And whoever was after her was lurking in wait. Which was almost as bad as coming out with a full-fledged assault. She stayed on pins and needles.
“I’m just worried.” She had gone to the station to talk to Beckett but changed her mind because it would end in her spilling her guts about her past. Embarrassment won out. And really, what more could he do that he wasn’t doing anyway?
“We’re all worried. Talk’s all over the town about that man in the lake. Hunter said some people say he was in the Mafia. Aurora Daniels has been to the police station every day inquiring about him. Weird, huh?”
That was strange. Why would Aurora care about a man she couldn’t even defend? “Are you going to the Dinner on the Square? With Hunter?”
Gigi groaned. “Yes. I guess.”
“You guess? I thought you were on again. He was just here. What’s the deal?”
“He has commitment issues. Doesn’t want to end up divorced like his parents.” Gigi jumped off the counter. “I want him to make a choice already.”
“Hasty decisions can end in disaster. I’m a case in point.”
The bell jingled and an older man stepped inside. Slicked-back midnight hair pulled away from his high brow. Dark, narrowed eyes with crags around the lids focused on her. Maybe in his younger years he’d have been attractive. Now his presence was...unnerving. “Ladies.” He tipped his straw fedora and perused the shelves.
“Are you looking for something in particular?” Blair asked, and rubbed the goose bumps forming on her arms.
“I’m a collector of hand-carved items. I heard there was quite an assortment of crafts here.”
Gigi wandered his way. Blair wanted to grab her back, but she was already next to the man with a heavy Latino accent. “Where are you visiting from?” Gigi asked.
“I have family in town.”
“Oh, who?” Gigi asked. Talk about small-town nosiness. Gigi had adopted it well. But Blair had ice running through her veins.
He smiled, ignored her question.
“Gigi, can you do me a favor and head on home? I need that frozen casserole in the oven on three-fifty for an hour, and I still need to do a few things here.” Best thing was to get her sister out. Better safe than sorry.
“Yeah.” She frowned. “Sure.”
She waited until Gigi was out the door, then turned on the man. “I do have a display of hand-carved items. Mostly they’re over there.” She pointed to the section by the front door. Swallowing, she gripped her cell phone. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“I didn’t give it, senora.” A sinister smile spread across his severe face, and he touched several items. Picking them up, studying them. “How do you come across all these fascinating trinkets?”
Blair willed her pulse to slow down. Now would be a great time for Holt to come in. Or Beckett Marsh. “Oh, I go to auctions, wholesale retailers, mom-and-pop places.”
He toyed with a wooden car, then placed it back on the shelf. “You remind me of someone.”
“I do?” she squeaked.
“Mmm... Are you married?”
A lump was lodged in her throat as this man seemed to slither toward her. The coral snake in her bed came to mind. Was this man poisonous, too? “I’m widowed, actually.”
“That’s too bad.” He placed a wooden cigar box on the counter. “I’ll take this. I’m a fan of Colombian cigars. I have a little shop in Bogotá. Ever been there? Maybe you bought this there?”
Bloo
d drained from her head, and her knees turned to water. Mateo was killed in Bogotá. And yes, she had several cigar boxes from all over the world. Mateo had collected them. She didn’t answer, couldn’t, her throat was as scratchy as sandpaper.
Hands trembling, she wrapped the box in butcher paper.
“I was having coffee earlier. Heard about a man who drowned in the lake. Such an unfortunate tragedy.”
She shoved the box in the paper bag. “Yes, it’s terrible,” she whispered. “That’ll be fifteen dollars and sixty-two cents.”
He meticulously counted out the money, and then he placed it in her hand and squeezed it into her palm. “Tragedies happen all the time. Unfortunate accidents. Accidents that could be avoided.” He released her hand. “You sure I don’t know you? You look very much like the wife of a man I once knew. His life ended tragically, as well.”
Blair found her voice. “I think I’d remember meeting you.”
“Lovely girl, that sister of yours,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Enjoy your day, Mrs. Salvador.” He slinked out of the shop and Blair rushed to the front door, locking it.
This had nothing to do with Jeremy. This had everything to do with Mateo and his enemies.
A knock on the window sent her leaping in the air and shrieking. She turned and saw Holt twisting the knob. “Blair, let me in!”
She fumbled with the locks and opened the door. “He was here.”
“Who was here?”
“A man. The dead man in the lake—he was involved with drugs. And they killed him. He knows Mateo. He’s—he’s here!”
Holt’s eyes widened, then hardened. “What was his name?”
“He didn’t give it.” Her heart raced until she thought it might explode. “Not quite six foot. Latino. Major accent. Older. Maybe early fifties? He wore a gold pinky ring with a red jewel in it.”
Holt’s jaw clenched along with his fist. “Did he threaten you? Tell me everything.”
Concealed Identity Page 11