Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  “And leave you?” He swerved to the side of the road and slammed on his brakes. “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind? I’m not going anywhere.”

  The conviction and loyalty in his voice brought tears to her eyes. “But you could get hurt—again. You don’t deserve any of this. Gigi doesn’t. No one does. I shouldn’t have let you help us so many times. I shouldn’t have...” She hung her head. Without meaning to, Blair had come to rely on Holt. And that wasn’t fair. If he died, she’d never forgive herself. Now that she knew who was after her, the probability of him losing his life had increased immensely.

  He leaned over and cupped her face. “Shouldn’t have what?”

  “Leaned on you so much.”

  “I don’t mind being your wall, Blair. I kind of rather like it.”

  Until he ended up dead.

  He skimmed his thumb along her cheek, then shifted back into Drive and headed to Blair’s. “Do you think Hector knows what’s going on?”

  “No. He’d have called or paid me a visit. He’s lethal, but he’s loyal to who he considers family. I suppose on some level that should make me feel comforted, but it doesn’t at all.”

  Holt worked his jaw. “What if he does know?”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t. He’ll come to finish what he started, and I don’t want a drug war in my town.”

  Holt parked behind Beckett’s police Bronco and cut the engine. “You sure he still considers you family? What if he knows and is letting this happen to you? Or if he’s behind it?”

  Blair fitted the cardboard sides back into the pizza box. “I get phone calls every so often. I have to answer. I’m afraid not to.”

  “What are these phone calls for?” Holt shifted and took the boxes from her.

  “Do I need money? Do I need a car? Do I need anything for the business? How’s small-town life? Anything new happening? Chitchat.” She shrugged. “I always turn him down for the gifts and money and he always ends with ‘I am still seeking justice for our Mateo.’” A tear slipped down her cheek. “He was never my Mateo. I don’t know who he was. It was a game, I guess, to him. Hector says it was to protect me.” She laughed but felt no humor. Then she looked at Holt. An amazing, honest man who made her laugh and feel secure. She said Mateo never played pretend, but he’d played the best game she’d ever seen. “He brought me into a dangerous world. A world I promised I’d never be part of again, and here I am. I hate drugs. Everything about them. I don’t want this.”

  Holt leaned over the stack of pizza boxes and hugged her, brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll figure this out. You’ll be safe again. I’ll do everything I can to make that happen.”

  “Even work with Beckett. I noticed you two getting along.” She broke the embrace and grabbed the Sprite and garlic knots.

  “Taking Mitch Rydell’s advice and not making enemies.”

  Blair closed the truck door. Gigi stepped out on the porch. “Hunter’s awake and feels like eating. And talking.”

  * * *

  A week had passed since Hunter and Gigi were attacked. Now Holt sat in Beckett’s cramped office on a sticky Saturday morning drinking a cup of coffee. Beckett had some information and Holt needed a lifeline. Hunter couldn’t identify his attacker because of the ski mask. The first blow had been to the back of the head while he was taking out the trash. But Hunter had gotten a punch in before the guy made sure he stayed down.

  Hunter had spent Thursday night on Blair’s couch. Holt had taken the love seat and Jace had slept in the overstuffed chair. It had been almost comical. Beckett had been the only one to leave.

  Blair had acted weird all through dinner, barely touching the pizza she just had to have with extra cheese. She’d claimed she needed some time alone in her shop. At first, Holt had bought the line, but after she’d come out worse than she’d gone in, he’d been convinced something was up.

  He’d suspected all along that somehow that storage unit held something the Juarez Cartel wanted. Drugs. Money. Both. Had Blair discovered what it was? Found it? If so, why not confide in him? He’d proven his loyalty. Several times Holt had thought about waking her up and flat-out asking her, but he’d hesitated.

  Lines between pretend and reality had blurred dramatically. He’d tried to distance himself, but it didn’t work. How was he going to leave this place when his case was closed? Blair might make it easy for him when she found out Jeremy’s disappearance was Holt’s fault. Right now any ember of hope that had flamed had been doused with lake water. Bryan was dead. Jeremy probably was, too.

  No hope. No way for it to rise to the surface.

  But he had to wonder, why wasn’t the Juarez Cartel coming in and taking care of business as swiftly as was their custom? Not that he was complaining. He wanted Blair and Gigi alive. As he replayed the attacks—other than the snake—it seemed they wanted to scare Blair and Gigi more than kill them. Could be because they wanted the drugs first or it could be because they feared Hector. He already had a score to settle; murdering his sister-in-law would only make things worse.

  Keeping things on the down-low kept Hector from getting wind of their attacks and the drugs. If the face behind the Juarez Cartel lived in this small town, he wouldn’t want to draw attention to himself. Another drug lord showing up and inciting war would ruin the sweet little life of obscurity he had going here.

  “Any news on Alejandro Gonzalez?” Holt asked. “You did call.”

  Beckett nodded. “I did my own search and called in a few favors. An old SEAL buddy, who would never go into Mexico because that would be illegal, didn’t tell me that about six months ago a couple of DEA agents turned up dead in Mexico—I mean Texas—”

  “I get it. It’s all under the radar. Skip it, I’m not going to say a word. As I’ve never even been to Mexico to investigate drugs. Or Colombia.”

  Catching his drift, Beckett nodded and smirked. “The Juarez Cartel intercepted about six million dollars’ worth of Hector’s powder outside Atlanta a few months ago. Gonzalez’s oldest son, Juan, was executed on a yacht in Buenos Aires. My buddy’s friend—who’s on the inside—said Hector had one of Juan’s fingers delivered to Alejandro’s home. One finger every week for ten weeks. How’s that for vengeance?”

  Holt had seen this kind of thing on several occasions.

  “Rumor has it Alejandro sent his younger son, Joseph, into the US to hide him from Hector.”

  Holt chewed on the information. “That’s why Alejandro was here. He was visiting his son Joseph.” And it explained why the Juarez Cartel continued to threaten Blair and not actually kill her or Gigi. Holt’s suspicions had been right. The last place Alejandro would want Hector Salvador was within striking distance of Joseph. Didn’t mean they wouldn’t attempt to kill Blair if they had to, but they might be trying to work around it, to keep the DEA out of town, to keep any law enforcement from investigating and discovering who headed up the Juarez Cartel.

  Which meant if they were willing to keep Blair alive—for now—they might also be keeping Jeremy alive.

  But they’d exhausted their little means to search for what they were after. And they hadn’t found it. Which meant they would be forced to use drastic measures. Blair was in more danger than ever before.

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?” Beckett asked.

  “Depends. What are you thinking?”

  Beckett raised his eyebrows. “Alejandro may be here to threaten Blair but also move his son so they can take Blair out. If it draws Hector Salvador, Joseph won’t be around to become collateral damage or the object of revenge from Mateo’s death and the stolen cocaine from Atlanta.”

  Holt and Beckett were on the same page. “We need to check manifests for private air strips and planes. See if their names are on it. No way they’d go commercial, but it wouldn’t hurt to check flights leaving Memphis in the ne
xt few days. You have a photo of Joseph? Age?”

  “Twenty-four.” Beckett grabbed a folder. “No photos. Alejandro guarded his sons fiercely. Especially Joseph. He was his father’s favorite. Never came to the ranch in Mexico, according to my buddy on the inside.”

  “How very biblical.” Holt massaged his tense neck muscles. “Anyone new pop into town in the last few months? Latino?”

  “If someone has, I wouldn’t necessarily know it. He’d be keeping a low profile.”

  “Who are your wealthiest citizens? One of them is the face behind the Juarez Cartel. No way this guy would live as a pauper. I’ve already been keeping my eye out, but no one fits my profile.”

  Beckett shifted in his chair. “Richest man in town is Mitch Rydell and he uses lots of Latino labor. But Mitch isn’t the head of a Mexican cartel. I grew up with him.”

  Mitch had been on Blair’s property that night. “Doesn’t mean he’s not in cahoots. People change, Beckett. You left for the navy at nineteen. You’ve only been back in town less than a year. A lot can happen. For many reasons.”

  “You did do some research on me.” Beckett rose and trudged to the window that gave a direct view to the parking lot. “I guess I can ride out there and take a deeper look.”

  “Want me to go with you?” Holt asked.

  “Nah. Don’t need Mitch raising questions. I told him I didn’t like you.” Beckett grinned.

  If Holt stayed in Hope, he and Beckett might end up buds. “No harm, no foul. I told Blair the same thing about you.”

  “Well, now that that’s settled...” He chuckled.

  Holt wondered if Beckett planned on staying in Hope, as well. A guy with his creds working in this small town didn’t make much sense. No action. “How’s the sheriff?”

  “He won’t be able to come back to work. But it could have been worse. Lou’s a great guy. I ate Sunday dinner over there often growing up. Miss Ida makes the best fried chicken you ever put in your mouth.”

  “I love Southern fried chicken.” Holt leaned forward, arms across the edge of Beckett’s desk. “Why did you come back? Heard the rumors about the Secret Service.”

  Beckett rubbed his forehead. “It’s not a rumor. I’ve turned them down twice now.” He laughed, but the sound came across dry and maybe a tad sorrowful. “I like it here.”

  “So you’ll run for sheriff?” What would being the sheriff of a small town be like? Peaceful. Well...considering what was happening now, it wasn’t so peaceful, but mostly it was. Be home every night, still be able to keep people safe. The only drugs might be marijuana. Which wasn’t small potatoes. Drugs were horrible no matter what kind, and Blair said she wouldn’t have any part in that lifestyle again. Didn’t matter that Holt was on the right side, he was immersed in the drug world.

  “I don’t know. I’ve been offered a job in Atlanta. But there’s too many factors to weigh on the side of yes.” He waved off the personal information, ending it. “I guess I better get to steppin’ if we’re going to try to track down Joseph and Alejandro Gonzalez.”

  Holt finished his coffee and dropped the cup in the trash next to Beckett’s desk. “I need to open up the store.”

  “You say it as if you actually own it.”

  Part of him wished he did. “It’s my cover. If we haven’t solved this thing by the Fourth, I will open.”

  “And Blair?”

  “You know the job. The complications that come with it.” It had never bothered Holt before. Not until Blair. “If Jeremy’s dead...”

  “You did everything you could to save him. She’ll understand that if you decide to tell her the truth.”

  “With her history? Drugs are drugs. I don’t see any hope for a future.”

  “But you want it. Which is hope. What you’re saying is you have no faith. No anchor to that hope.” Beckett stretched. “I know what that’s like, Holt. To lose faith. To stopping reaching for hope. It’s a miserable way to live.”

  It was a lonely way to live. Sounded like Beckett might be in the same boat without an anchor. But the pain of losing everything he wanted hurt too much. It was easier to give up. To not expect good things. Then, when faced with utter disappointment and despair, he’d have already been prepared.

  And yet had that really taken away the disappointment? The despair? Did not hoping ease the pain when the crushing blow connected with his heart?

  No.

  Expecting the worst and not allowing his heart to feel didn’t bring an iota of peace.

  “If she did forgive me I’m not sure how we’d make it work anyway. This is what I do. I’m drowning in everything she hates. No point pursuing it.”

  Beckett shrugged. “Better to have loved and lost than never love at all. I think. I don’t know. Maybe I saw that on a social media post.”

  Sounded like Beckett got a little too personal again and was backpedaling. Had he come home to nurse his wounds?

  What would happen if Holt left when this was over? Without pursuing Blair further?

  God, I...I could use some help with the shoveling, if I’m going to dig up some faith. Some hope.

  “If I hear anything else, I’ll call you.” Walking down memory lane must have thrown Beckett for a loop. Pain pulsed behind his dark eyes.

  Holt let himself out and ambled down Main Street, crossing at Read It and Steep. Inside, the little blonde who owned the place stood behind the counter. He couldn’t remember her name. Book Lady was all that came to mind, and the fact that she looked way too young to own her own business.

  He waved at the uppity lawyer lady who’d been in Beckett’s office hunting for information on Bryan Livingston. Beckett said she’d stopped asking when he told her Bryan was a DEA agent and to keep that confidential.

  She gave him a half wave and moved along toward the courthouse. Only woman in town who didn’t make with the niceties and chitchat. Folks passed that aloofness off as her being snooty. Holt had suspicions she was hiding something. But that wasn’t any of his...

  That was when he saw it.

  Painted across his window in hunter green. The Great Outdoors. Pine trees had been painted at the corners of the words. It hit his gut with force. This store was real. But it wasn’t his.

  How had...? He stepped up to the shiny window, his reflection staring back at him—the liar. The man Blair wouldn’t want to be with when she discovered the truth.

  The man who might not want to only pretend this was his place and his life anymore.

  A ray of light peeked through the casket of his heart and shone a ray on the decayed hope there.

  “What do you think?” Blair’s voice floated on the early morning breeze before her reflection came into view.

  “When did you do this?” He pivoted and gaped. Hair swept up all messy-like in a knot on her neck. A soft red dress that stopped in time for him to admire her lovely calves.

  “I called Mr. Weston last week when you nailed down the store name. Looks good, huh?”

  Better than. He unlocked the door. “You amaze me, Blair. You think of everything.”

  “It’s the least I could do after everything you’ve done for me. I didn’t...I didn’t trust you in the beginning. Trust is really hard for me after Mateo. But I do now, and I know you’d never lie or deceive me. You’re not him. You’re nothing like him.”

  No amount of light was going to resurrect dead hope. Not with words like this that touched places he’d long buried. He swallowed and kneaded his neck muscles, unsure of what to do. If he wasn’t lying and deceiving he’d have swept her up in a kiss made for the movies.

  But he was. And he was utterly sick over it.

  “Thank you, Blair. For the window...and for your faith in me.” Even if he was lying because of his job, he could be trusted to protect her and do the right thing by Jeremy and thi
s case.

  She pointed to the sign. “It’s time to make your window display.”

  Good. A change of topic. He was having trouble reining in his emotions right now. “No Christmas lights.”

  “A few Christmas lights.” She smirked and slipped inside the store. “We need stars. I’m thinking all about under the moonlight.”

  He followed her into the back room and studied her as she pilfered around. She snagged a navy blue pup tent. “Let’s pop it.”

  An hour later, Holt stood in astonishment at the scene Blair had brought to life. A tent stood in the corner. She’d used logs, ash and battery-operated candles to produce a campfire. White lights hung like twinkling stars and she’d used three different-sized Christmas trees to create a forest.

  She beamed and clasped her hands. “I’ve grown to like having you next door.”

  He’d grown to like being next door.

  “I need to get my shop opened. Mrs. McKay said the inn was full and a group was heading out to the bike trails, but some of the women were shopping this morning.”

  Holt ambled along beside her. She opened her shop door and froze.

  “What’s the matter?” He scanned the store. Listened.

  “Someone’s been in here.” She walked to the register, bent over to pick up a few ink pens on the floor, then placed them in the holder. “These were in the holder last night. And it feels weird. Like...like a presence is here.” She whipped her head toward the window display and gawked.

  “What aren’t you telling me?” She’d been keeping her motives about stopping by here since last week a secret. What did she know?

  The back door slammed.

  Holt’s pulse soared, and he zipped through the store toward the back exit.

  * * *

  Blair clutched her throat and prayed for Holt. Chasing criminals wasn’t smart.

  It was only a matter of time before they’d come back. Blair had kept her discovery bottled up since Thursday, afraid that confiding might be worse than keeping it quiet. She was lying to guard Gigi and Holt. But was that the right thing to do? To withhold information? Blair wasn’t sure. Holt had been nothing but honest with her.