Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  She nodded, sucked her lip in to hold back sobs and headed to Holt’s truck, climbing inside. Holt nodded at her, then used his foot to swing the door open. He slipped inside, and lights flashed behind her. Beckett Marsh barreled into the driveway.

  Who called him?

  * * *

  Holt didn’t need but one foot in the door to know the place had been trashed. The living room opened into the kitchen. CDs, books and hunting magazines littered the floor. Holt spotted a bedroom to the left. He kept his gun out, in case the intruder was still here. He cleared the small bathroom. Untouched.

  Toeing open the bedroom door, he came to a halt. Gigi. Tied up. He shoved his gun inside his waistband and removed the bandanna from her mouth. “Hunter! Where’s Hunter?”

  Holt’s stomach somersaulted as he untied Gigi from the desk chair. “How long have you been like this?” The ropes had cut into Gigi’s wrists. Mascara streamed her cheeks. He worked on untying her ankles from the chair legs.

  She fell into him, sobbing, her arms draped around his neck. “Hunter went to take the trash out. I thought it was him coming inside. But it wasn’t.”

  “Did you see who it was? One person? Two?” Holt tipped her chin. “Did he hurt you, Gigi?” He scanned her clothes. They didn’t appear torn or disheveled.

  She shook her head. “I jumped up when he came in. I don’t know who he was. He wore a ski mask. He came at me and before I knew it, I was tied to this stupid chair. I couldn’t even call out for Hunter.” She hiccupped through her weeping. “Did you find him? Did he call you?”

  “We’ll find him.” He couldn’t promise in what kind of condition. “What time was this?”

  “Before seven this morning. His truck was messed up, so I came by to take him to work and he made us breakfast.”

  The front door squeaked.

  Holt drew his weapon. That had better not be Blair. He signaled for Gigi to remain quiet and skulked to the bedroom door.

  Holt used his first two fingers, pointed at Gigi, then motioned for her to enter the closet. She nodded, her body trembling as she crept across the room.

  Holt kept his back against wall, waiting.

  A creak sounded in a floor joist by the bedroom door.

  Silence.

  A shadow emerged.

  Holt slid around the door, his gun aimed on the intruder.

  The intruder aimed his gun at him.

  The intruder being Beckett Marsh. “Stand down, Renard.”

  Did Blair call Beckett? It hadn’t been quite five minutes. And not enough time for Marsh to have gotten here. So how did he know? “I don’t think I will.” Beckett’s being a SEAL or not, Holt needed an explanation.

  “I’m going to put my gun down, then you do the same. Agreed?” Beckett kept his eyes trained on Holt—he was calculating Holt’s moves.

  But Holt was doing the same.

  “Jace called me after Blair left. Said she was worried and she had him concerned, too. I said I’d drive out here on my way into town.”

  Holt weighed his options. “And if I call Jace right now, he’ll confirm what you’ve said?”

  Beckett smirked. “Gigi, come out of the closet.”

  “Don’t move, G,” Holt countered. “Call Jace. Put him on speaker. Then I’ll let her come out of the closet.”

  Beckett inhaled. Exhaled. He showed Holt his hands and slowly moved them to his front shirt pocket, retrieving his phone. He dialed. Jace came on speaker. “Beck, you at Hunter’s? He and Gigi okay?”

  “I’m here. There’s been a break-in, but don’t come runnin’ yet.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  “I just got here. I’ll call you back.” He hung up and nodded at Holt. “Confirmation enough?”

  “Gigi, come out.” Holt shoved his gun in the back of his jeans. “Go outside. Tell Blair you’re okay and don’t come back in the house. I’ll come for you. Understand?”

  Gigi stood frozen.

  “Gigi, do what Holt says. Go on.”

  “Where’s Hunter?” she asked.

  “Go on.” Beckett led her from the bedroom and stood in the hall. After a moment, he turned. “You want to tell me what branch of service you work for?”

  “DEA.” Holt sighed. “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

  “I had a hunch from that standoff at her barn. No man in his right mind would have pulled that stunt and gotten in my face. Not in this town.”

  And why was that?

  Beckett nodded toward the front door. “Does she know?”

  “No. And you can’t tell her.”

  Beckett grinned. “She’s gonna be fit to be tied when she finds out.”

  Holt stretched out his hand. She was going to be more than that. She was going to hate Holt. “Holt McKnight.”

  Beckett shook his hand. “You can fill me in on why you’re here. After we find Hunter.”

  Holt followed Beckett into the living room. “Gigi said he went to take the trash out and never came back inside.”

  “Then let’s go check the trash, shall we?” Beckett led the way down the stairs. Blair had Gigi in an embrace. “Hunter? Did you find him?”

  Holt ignored her as he and Beckett approached the trash area behind the garage. A black Converse poked out from behind a row of trash barrels.

  A pit grew in Holt’s stomach. He edged around the dump site.

  Hunter lay in a pool of blood.

  TEN

  Blair sat on the edge of her recliner, staring at a sleeping Hunter and chewing her already nubby thumbnail. Dark hair draped over his bandaged head. He’d taken a couple of stitches to go with his mild concussion and bruised ribs, but Doc Drummond released him to rest at Blair’s so Gigi could tend to him. He said he’d come by later and check on him. Little Rocky Balboa had fought hard to protect Gigi.

  Gigi brought a tray of tea into the living room, placed it on the coffee table, then took her place beside Hunter. A tear leaked out. “Whoever hurt him could have done way worse. He could have killed him,” Gigi murmured.

  He could have. And yet, he didn’t.

  “Do you think it’s because I told him everything? Is it my fault?” Gigi asked, eyes wide and filled with guilt.

  Blair reached across the coffee table and squeezed her hand. “No way. It’s my fault. All of it.”

  “It’s nobody’s fault,” Beckett said, turning his nose up at the tea. Blair had been shocked to see him roll up to Jace’s. Guess she’d done a poor job of acting calm at the diner, and Jace had picked up on it, then called Beckett—who had followed them to Doc Drummond’s. She couldn’t play this off as teenage pranks anymore and Holt had changed his tune, suggesting she come clean with the deputy chief. He’d already probed around on his own anyway and knew most of it. She’d gone into the doc’s private office and spilled everything. Even about Mateo. And Hector.

  Beckett hadn’t batted an eye. Simply told her that everyone makes mistakes and thanked her for finally making his job easier. He also promised to keep her past to himself.

  “Any coffee?” Beckett asked. “I don’t drink tea.”

  Holt poured a steaming cup. “I’m a big fan of chamomile.”

  Blair eyed him and hid a smirk. “Since when?”

  “Since the other day.” He winked and sipped, his face puckering as if he’d sucked a lemon.

  “Yes, I can see how much you love it.” She shook her head and said nothing when he placed it back on the tray.

  Beckett watched Hunter sleep. “When he wakes up again and feels like it, maybe he’ll be able to identify his attacker.”

  This didn’t make sense. Gigi had been tied up but not killed. The house had been trashed. Why would they think Hunter might have something they wanted? She rolled the past events throu
gh her mind as she drank her tea and half listened to the conversation going on around her.

  I even talked Hunter into a few purchases.

  Blair’s adrenaline kicked into high gear, but she remained calm. “Gigi, come upstairs with me, will you?” Gigi followed her into Blair’s bedroom.

  “What’s going on?” Gigi glanced behind her and shut the door.

  “What did you sell Hunter? You said you talked him into making a purchase. What was it?” She might be grasping at straws, but all these events had happened after that storage auction. She’d placed several things out for sale. What if Hunter bought one or more of those items?

  “A hunting knife, a compass...a wooden duck.” She shrugged. “Nothing worth hurting us over.”

  Blair rushed to her laptop on the bed and pulled up the inventory log, scrolling through the items from the storage unit. There. Wooden ducks. Twelve. She’d put one out on the shelf to see how it’d sell before taking up shelf space with the other eleven.

  “What are you doing?” Gigi hovered over her shoulder.

  She slapped her laptop shut. “You’re right. Nothing of value in those items.” At least at first glance, but Blair needed to check those ducks, and she wasn’t clueing Gigi in. No one else was going to get hurt because of her. “You hungry?”

  Gigi ran her hands through her hair. “I could eat. But I’d rather have some answers.”

  “Me, too, but in the meantime, we have a houseful of people. I’m going to run and grab some pizza or something. Call if Hunter wakes.”

  Gigi blocked the bedroom door. “You promised me you’d keep me in the loop.”

  “I did.” But this was for Gigi’s own good. The only life Blair was willing to risk was her own.

  “Hunter could have died, Blair. As in D-E-A-D. Dead. Don’t keep things from me!” She grabbed Blair’s shoulders. “I was strapped to a chair!” She raised her hands, rope burns and bruises revealing her pain. “This isn’t going to go away. We have to do something. Drastic.”

  What exactly did that mean? “Beckett is in the loop now. He has access to things we don’t. He can get warrants. Right now he’s looking into the Magnolia Inn and a few hotels outside town to see if anyone fitting the description of the man who threatened me might be staying there. And he’s going to help look into Jeremy’s disappearance.”

  “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I won’t.” She swallowed down the guilt.

  Gigi waited a beat...two... “Fine. I want extra mushrooms. And Sprite.”

  “Done.” Blair hurried down the stairs and prepared to put on an award-winning performance for Holt. And boom, there he was. “I’m going to get pizza. It’s been a long day.”

  “I’ll go with you.” Holt grabbed his keys off the coffee table.

  Blair groaned inwardly. “I’m capable of going into town and picking up lunch.”

  Holt swirled his keys around his index finger. “Someone dangerous is running around town. Probably keeping tabs on you. You’re not going anywhere alone.”

  Great. How was she going to get out of this? “Fine. Whatever.”

  Amused, Holt opened the front door. “Fine. Whatever,” he mimicked. Even being stubborn he melted her insides like warm caramel. He opened the truck door for her and she climbed inside.

  As they neared the square, Blair glued on her best smile and hoped it worked on him. “I need to grab the receipts from yesterday. Mind dropping me off while you run by Mangiare and pick up the pizzas?”

  “Yes.” Holt didn’t even look her way.

  She fluffed her hair, moistened her lips and leaned forward to catch his eye. “Yes, you mind, or yes, you will?”

  He came to a halt at the stop sign. His gaze traveled to her lips. “Yes, I mind.”

  He wasn’t budging. Had she lost her touch? Not that she ever really had a touch per se, but... “Come on, Flawless. It’ll save us time.” She added a little syrup to her smile.

  Holt raised an eyebrow. “I’m all for the flirtin’, honey. And you look good doin’ it, but it ain’t your style, so what’s really going on?”

  Crud. Good looks and a quick mind. Time to think fast. “I need more than five minutes to myself. In my store. With my Christmas trees and lights. And I do need to get some receipts.”

  Holt heaved a sigh, parked in front of the store. “Why didn’t you say that to begin with?”

  Because she just now thought it up. “Don’t forget G’s Sprite.”

  “I’m going to at least check it out and make sure it’s all clear. Then I’ll remember the Sprite.” He jumped out, went ahead of her and made sure no one was hiding out inside.

  “Lock the doors behind you,” he said. “I’ll be gone six, maybe seven minutes. You said you only needed more than five.” He gave her the I’m-serious face.

  “Seven, tops.” Nerves bunching, she locked the door behind him and left off the lights. She knew exactly where she’d placed the wooden ducks.

  She hurried to the back room, kicked a few tubs out of the way and made a beeline for the old box with throw pillows on top. She moved them and grabbed a wooden duck from underneath. Flipping it over, she noticed a small groove. Grabbing a screwdriver off a metal storage shelf, she pried open the bottom.

  The air whooshed from her lungs.

  This was bad. Really bad. She pulled out another duck, pried it open.

  Eleven ducks.

  Eleven kilos of cocaine. Worth a fortune for sure.

  She sank to her knees. What now? She didn’t even know who to contact to give it back. Her heart slammed against her ribs until it hurt. She clutched her chest. Didn’t matter that she didn’t know who to give them to, she couldn’t anyway. These drugs were her only leverage. The only thing that would keep her and Gigi alive—might be the only thing that had been keeping them alive. The minute the cartel members found the cocaine, or she turned it over, they’d kill her for knowing. Might kill everyone close to her to be sure.

  Either way, she’d lived long enough in the drug world to know how it worked. The man with the pinky ring would be back. He was already looking in the store. Warning her. Reminding her.

  She had to find a new hiding place for the drugs. The cartel was searching for the ducks and it was the only way to throw them off. Scrambling, she opened the remaining ducks, removed the cocaine, then sealed them back up, returning them to the storage bin.

  Where wouldn’t they think to look if they made another attempt to ransack her store? Oh, God, please don’t let them come back. Help me.

  An idea formed, but she was racing against the clock. Holt would be back in less than five minutes. “God, I hope this is the right decision.” Blair couldn’t risk telling a single person. Gigi wouldn’t be tied to a chair—she’d be dead. And Holt might meet a similar fate to the guy at the bottom of the lake. People just didn’t end up that way. He had to be linked to the drugs somehow. And Jeremy. Oh, God, please!

  She finished hiding the last kilo as Holt’s truck pulled up in front of the store. She snatched the tub full of ducks and pillows and met him outside. Holt took the items from her and placed them in the truck bed. “Whatcha got here?”

  “Duck decoys and some pillows.”

  “Gonna cop a comfortable squat while doing a little duck hunting...out of season?”

  “Ha-ha. Pizza smells good.” She diverted his attention. “Did you get one with extra cheese?”

  “Just for you.” He winked and opened her door. She hopped in and buckled up. “Do you think Beckett has any new leads about the man who was in my shop? I mean, even if he does, he can’t arrest him for buying a cigar box. So then what?”

  Holt grimaced. “He...he did find out who he is.”

  He had? “When? That was fast.” Blair opened the pizza box and stole a slice. Holt shot a surprised l
ook her way. “I’m hungry. Sue me.”

  “He entered the description you gave, including that pinky ring, and it popped. Does the name Alejandro Gonzalez mean anything to you?”

  Blair stopped midbite. “Gonzalez?”

  Holt glanced over. “Yeah.”

  The few little bites she’d swallowed stuck in her throat. “I’ve never seen him...but the name. I’ve heard the name often. Usually in connection with the Juarez Cartel. Hector said they were responsible for Mateo’s death.”

  “Alejandro?”

  Blair nodded. “And another name... Seems like it wasn’t a first name but a descriptive name. I can’t remember.”

  Holt gripped the wheel tighter. “That might be pertinent information. Maybe try relaxing—if you can—and it’ll come to you.”

  “Relaxing. Yeah. Piece of cake.”

  “What did Hector say about Mateo’s death?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.” He turned onto her road. “It does. It could help us—help Beckett.”

  Blair had worked to push all those memories away and move on. Even put Mateo’s cigar boxes out at her store as a way to sell off the memories. She wasn’t unaware of the irony. Desiring to give others a fresh start with discarded memories. Adding her own to the mix.

  “Hector didn’t say much. He came to our house. Told me that Mateo died. He’d been shot. They weren’t shipping his body to the States and he’d be buried in Colombia. All I needed to know was that his killer was a family enemy and Hector planned to avenge his brother’s death. But I overheard him on the phone and Alejandro was mentioned and then that other name.” She racked her brain, but it wouldn’t come. La was about all she could muster. And the Spanish word for the wasn’t good enough.

  “Did he say which one actually pulled the trigger?”

  “It doesn’t matter. He’ll murder them all.” She dropped her half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box. “You don’t understand this kind of world, and I wish I didn’t. But they’re ruthless. Even more so than you see on TV or read about in the news. If the Juarez Cartel is responsible for these attacks, it might be best if you get out of town and take Gigi with you.”