Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  Ronnie hadn’t been at the storage auction that day.

  But he was supposed to be. He’d asked to see the storage items. Blair had mentioned she was glad he wasn’t there, because he would have outbid her.

  Storing drugs in the containers wasn’t such a risk if the buyer had an endless supply of cash to outbid everyone else. It would be easy to walk right off the lot with a truckload of drugs or cash. No one would suspect anything shady because the public could come and bid. Genius. Except Ronnie’s truck had broken down.

  Blair got caught in the crosshairs.

  This must be what Jeremy had discovered. But Keith or Ronnie or someone else either caught Jeremy nosing around the storage units or discovered he had knowledge of the operation and kidnapped him. Or killed him.

  God, let him be alive.

  “Any rap sheet on Ronnie Lawson?” Holt asked.

  “No, but I just received the information, so I’ll keep searching. Lived in Hope his whole life.”

  “What about Keith? Can you send over a picture of him?” Maybe Blair would recognize him.

  “Grew up in Memphis. It’s sent.”

  They might work for the cartel, but neither man ran it. So who did? “I’m going to pay Ronnie Lawson a visit.” Would Ronnie have taken out his own cousin? Or had the cartel? Holt knocked on the window and motioned Beckett outside, then told him what he knew. His phone dinged and he showed Beckett the photo of Keith Hill. Blond hair, blue eyes, horse-sized teeth. “You recognize him?”

  Beckett shook his head. “You want me to go over to Lawson’s? Shake the tree and hope something falls?”

  “No. I think I’ll handle this one.”

  “You’re emotionally invested. Keep a cool head, man.”

  Holt nodded and jogged to his truck. Eight minutes later, he pulled into Ronnie’s drive.

  Ronnie was nowhere to be found. “Lawson!” Holt entered the kitchen. Eggs still sat on the counter with a tub of butter. Bread remained in the toaster, toasted. Holt drew his weapon and searched the house. Nothing out of place.

  At the back door, he froze.

  The glass was smeared with blood.

  * * *

  Mr. Weston had repaired the window and Blair sat at her kitchen counter drinking a cup of coffee but not enjoying it. Holt had been with Beckett all morning trying to run down leads. He’d called earlier and told her he would be home for lunch. He’d used the word home.

  Yeah, Holt’s faith was shaky. But he was a believer. And Blair prayed and believed he’d renew that faith. He even admitted he wanted to. Shaky faith was more faith than Mateo had. He never claimed to be a Christian and Blair had been so enamored by his lavish life, his smooth but empty words and promises, and his extravagant gifts that she believed he was everything she ever wanted. They’d have beautiful babies, stay grounded in one place to raise them and she’d have her happily-ever-after.

  She couldn’t have been more wrong. She wanted nothing to do with that life. When she thought of her future, only one man came to mind. Holt. But in order to have a future with him, they would both have to make it out of this mess alive.

  Her thoughts turned to Gigi, yet another loved one in danger. She was at the senior center with Hunter today. Still, Blair felt the need to check in on her and sent her a text. A minute later Gigi replied that she was fine. She’d been acting funny the last couple of days. Blair couldn’t blame her, though. A giant target was on her back—thanks to Blair—and Hunter had been injured. They’d been inseparable since. One of the only decent things to come out of her latest run-in with the Juarez Cartel.

  Eventually, she was going to have to tell Dad about her former life. About her thoughts on what had happened to Jeremy. But she wanted some concrete answers first. She dumped her cold coffee in the sink and rinsed the cup.

  Gravel crunching drew her attention to the living room window. Doc Drummond’s silver Mercedes was in the drive. He stepped out and reached inside, brought out a pan covered in foil.

  Blair laughed. Looked like they’d be having enchiladas for lunch.

  She opened the door and Doc held up the casserole dish. “I guess you know what’s in here.”

  Blair motioned him inside. The scent of beef, tomatoes and green chilies filled her living room. “You didn’t have to do this. But Gigi will be over-the-moon. I’ll go put it in the kitchen. Tell Sophia and Riella thank you.”

  “It’s hot.” He handed her the dish with the oven mitts and followed her into the kitchen. “Thought we’d ignore your declines and bring them anyway. You’ve been through a lot lately, Blair.”

  “Well, you’re all very thoughtful.”

  “Where is she? Gigi.”

  “Sunny Living.” Blair turned the oven on warm and slid the enchiladas in. “Why?”

  “I was just there checking on a patient. I didn’t see her.”

  That was odd.

  She closed the oven door and stood.

  Doc Drummond clamped his hand around her mouth from behind. “This won’t hurt. Just a little stick.”

  TWELVE

  The smell of hay and horse manure assaulted Blair’s nose. She blinked as her vision cleared. Her hands were bound to the back of a wooden chair and her feet were tied to the legs.

  Panic shot a jolt of adrenaline through her, snapping her out of her daze as she pulled and writhed to gain freedom.

  Doc Drummond had injected her with a sedative of some kind. Why? And she’d been tossed in a stable. But where? Mitch Rydell’s?

  Were Doc and Mitch working with the cartel? Doc did do some pro bono work in South America. Could he have become entangled while down there? He made plenty of money, he had no reason for dirty cash. Except greed.

  Wait... No... Doc owned a set of stables, too.

  The hay tickled her nose and she sneezed. Something lay in a heap across from her.

  The heap moved. It was a man.

  Ronnie Lawson. Ronnie? Oh no! What did he have to do with this?

  His hands were tied behind his back and blood trickled down his cheek. “Ronnie,” she whispered, trying to tamp down her anxiety. “Wake up.”

  Ronnie moaned and struggled to get into a sitting position. “Blair?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Why did Doc Drummond bring you here?”

  “I’m so sorry,” he rasped. “I didn’t mean for this to get so out of hand. I was... I needed the money.” Ronnie leaned his head against the wooden stable wall, the hay rustling underneath his long legs.

  “What are you talking about? Let what get out of hand?” Her hands trembled behind her as she struggled to try to free herself from the ropes that bound her, ignoring the burn cutting across her wrists.

  “You weren’t supposed to purchase that unit. I was. But my truck...”

  Realization struck her with a thud. “You’re a drug runner? You?”

  Ronnie avoided eye contact, focusing instead on the stable wall. In the distance horses neighed and pawed at their doors. A dog barked. “My business was going down the tubes. I was in serious financial straits. Dawn was threatening to leave me. I went to see Doc about my blood pressure, told him about my stress, and he offered me a way to climb out. To make some serious cash. All I had to do was find a way to drive to Texas. I brought Keith in.”

  Blair wrinkled her nose and shook her head. “Who’s Keith?”

  “My cousin. Works with your brother, Jeremy. Over-the-road driver. Texas run.”

  Jeremy! Dread punched her ribs. “What happened? What did you do to him? Where is he?”

  Ronnie sniffed and hung his head. “It got out of control. Too fast.”

  Blair’s throat closed, but she forced the question again. “Where is my brother?”

  “He knew too much. Keith caught him. Jeremy admitted he’d been w
orking for a DEA agent. Jeremy shouldn’t have followed Keith to the storage unit.”

  “What did he do, Ronnie?”

  Ronnie’s eyes glazed over. “Keith handed off the items filled with drugs to the manager who put them in the unit to be auctioned off. My job was to come in and bid. Make it all look legit. Keep the cops away. Easy. Everyone got their cut.”

  Even Doc Drummond. Blair’s mind reeled. “You were buying units loaded with drugs. Using drug money.” No wonder he could always outbid her. “Doc Drummond gave you the money?” He was connected to the Juarez Cartel?

  “I’m sorry. I had to make up for my mistakes or they’d kill me. I never wanted to hurt you, Blair. Just scare you.”

  Blair struggled, but the ropes were too strong. “You ran me off the road?”

  “Keith and Manny. They were going to wreck you...and take the ducks with the cocaine. But you fired on them!”

  “Manny. Sophia’s brother? He’s in on this with Doc Drummond, too?” He drove her and Holt back to the lake after they found the dead DEA agent. Blair squeezed her eyes shut. “You tried to shoot me down, abduct me and terrorize me! You put a snake in my bed!”

  “That wasn’t me. I didn’t do that. I wanted to find the drugs and save Keith. Save myself. That’s it. I’m not a killer. I was desperate. I wanted to scare you in the woods, get you to make the drop, but by that time it was too late. I’d failed. Manny was sent in to take you in or take you out.”

  Manny had shot at her, but he hadn’t counted on Holt being there and hot-wiring that four-wheeler.

  Ronnie wiped his eyes on his knees. “I couldn’t save Keith. He made a mistake by killing your brother. He paid for it. And now they’re going to kill us, too.”

  Time stopped. Blood whooshed in Blair’s ears. Bile rose in her throat. “My brother’s dead?”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It...it got way out of hand.”

  Jeremy had died working for the DEA. “Who was this DEA agent? Do you know? Did he say?”

  “No. Wouldn’t give him up. He tried to get Keith to flip. But...but it got so out of hand.”

  “Stop saying that!” His mystery friend had to be the agent. That was why Jeremy wouldn’t talk about him. He’d protected him even when it killed him. Oh, Jeremy. How did he know a DEA agent? Had he been arrested or mixed up in some kind of bust and the DEA agent took pity on him? Didn’t matter now.

  This agent had gotten her brother clean.

  Then got him killed.

  No wonder they couldn’t find anything on him. Blair’s eyes filled with tears; they ran hot down her cheeks. “The man in the lake. Who was he?”

  “I don’t know. I suspect he had something to do with the drugs. If I hadn’t broken down on the interstate, none of this would have happened.”

  “If you hadn’t chosen to run drugs, none of this would have happened.” Blair couldn’t handle the excruciating pain. “Where? Where did my brother die? How?”

  Ronnie buried his head in his knees and cried.

  “Answer me!”

  Sounds of hooves approaching caught her attention. They would torture her for the drugs. Doc had to be working for the man who came into the store that day. He might have been staying here at Doc’s place. It could be him now.

  A man’s gravelly voice sounded. Muffled. In Spanish. But Blair knew the language. A younger voice spoke back. They were discussing what to do with Ronnie and saying that Joseph needed to get out of town now more than ever. If Hector found out.

  Hector! Did they think Blair would have gone to Hector? Maybe she should have.

  No. No she needed to rely on God to get her out of this. To have some mercy on her. Ronnie looked at her. “He died at the storage unit. Keith shot him. He called me and I came. We loaded Jeremy’s body into his truck and drove it to my shop.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “We—”

  “Hola, Hermosa.” The man from the shop opened the stable door, sinister eyes boring into hers. “Do you know who I am?”

  Alejandro Gonzalez. “Don’t call me beautiful.”

  He chuckled and stepped into the stables, then glanced at Ronnie and curled his lip. He sat on a feed bucket across from Blair. “I see why Mateo had such interest in you. Feisty.” He grabbed her face with one hand and squeezed until she was sure her jaw would break. “I asked you a question. Do you know who I am?”

  If she told him the truth, they’d know she’d brought the cops in. They already suspected it. Tears slid down her cheeks. “No.”

  He released his grip, but the ache continued. “I wasn’t so sure at first. The fact that you moved here. Hector’s sister-in-law.” He rubbed his chin. “We watched you. No contact with Hector.” He touched her knee and she flinched. “Coneja asustada.” He laughed. “No, you’re not in on this. It’s not in your eyes.”

  He was right; she was a scared rabbit. “I left that life. I didn’t steal your drugs.”

  “The snake in your bed told the tale. If you were connected to Hector, you’d have called him. Known it was us. Brought him here. You passed that test.”

  “Test! I could have died. And you’d never have found your drugs.”

  Alejandro shrugged. “I was willing to take that chance. But you passed. And here we are. And there is no Hector to save you.”

  Blair bit the inside of her lip to keep it from trembling. “You’re afraid of Hector?”

  He laughed. “Alejandro Gonzalez is afraid of no one. I have a score to settle with that pig. But I want my son long gone on a plane first.” He stood, walked around Blair and grabbed her index finger, twisting it until blinding pain forced her to cry out. “And tomorrow I’m going to start with this finger and send him one every single week until all your fingers are gone. Like he did with my son.”

  God, help me! “If you kill me you’ll never find the drugs.”

  He laughed in her ear, the smell of Cuban cigars filling her nostrils.

  “By finger number three, you’ll tell me,” he whispered. He kissed the top of her head, patted her shoulder in a fatherly way and left the stall. Her choice backfired. She’d once again made the wrong decision. But this time, she would pay with her life.

  * * *

  Holt raced to Blair’s. Ronnie was in the middle of this and had been broken down on the side of the road when he should have been buying the storage unit.

  The fact that he was missing and foul play was at hand didn’t sit well. Keith was gone, too. The cartel’s key players were removing anyone connected with their plot, which meant they might be uprooting. Somehow Ronnie and Keith had gotten mixed up as grunt men. Alejandro would never have been in town to meet with a low-level runner. He was here to see his son—if his son was indeed in Hope—or he’d been here meeting with the head of the cartel.

  Anyone could blend in, including Joseph Gonzalez. Beckett might not have found anything suspicious at Mitch Rydell’s, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to be found. How did Keith and Ronnie get mixed up in this? Someone had approached them. Bribed them. Or offered an amount of money they couldn’t pass up. Holt slowed on Blair’s road. A car he’d never seen before was parked in her drive. Sleek black sedan. Memphis plates. A rental?

  He eased out of his truck and drew his weapon, inching up the walk but keeping from the windows. The front door stood ajar. Pushing it open with his foot, he entered the living room. Nothing out of place.

  He cleared it and moved to the kitchen.

  A man with his back to him held a syringe.

  “Hands up. Slowly.”

  The man turned. If Holt didn’t already recognize him, he’d think a celebrity had made himself at home. The man had quite a presence.

  Hector Salvador.

  “You must be Mr. Renard. Although I suspect you’re not who yo
u claim to be. Your entry into town and into my sweet Blair’s life seems a tad too coincidental.” He smirked. “Put the gun down. I mean you no harm. I’m here to protect what’s mine.”

  Heat filled Holt’s gut. “Blair doesn’t belong to you.”

  “She’s familia.” He held up the syringe. “And she’s been taken.”

  The blood drained from Holt’s face. “By who? What is that?”

  “A tranquilizer of some kind. And I think we both know by whom.” Hector laid it on the counter.

  Holt had a million questions, but they’d have to wait. If Gonzalez had Blair, time was of the essence. He could be torturing her for the cocaine right now. “How did you know she was in trouble?”

  “Gigi called me a few days ago. I got here as soon as I could. Apparently, in the nick of time.” He showed his straight pearly whites. “I can see you don’t like this, no?”

  No. No, he didn’t. Hector would choose drugs over Blair.

  “I feel partly to blame,” Hector crooned.

  “You cut his son’s fingers off one by one and had them sent to him by courier. I’d say you’re fully responsible.”

  “I didn’t buy that storage unit.” Hector rounded the counter. Holt aimed his gun. Hector didn’t even flinch. He knew Holt needed him to find Blair. It sickened Holt, but it was true. “He killed my brother. He stole from me. He deserved it. And I’m far from done with him, even now.”

  Holt didn’t care about the war raging between the cartel leaders, but he didn’t want Blair caught in the crosshairs.

  “Was the door unlocked when you got here?” Holt asked.

  Hector nodded. “Sí. Gigi says that Alejandro is here. Of course, she had no idea of his name, but she described him. Have you seen him?”

  Holt shoved his gun in his waistband and examined the syringe. “No. We’ve been searching.”

  “You have another undercover DEA agent positioned?”

  “No.” No point hiding what Hector had already picked up on. He didn’t evade arrest this long by being stupid. The man was something straight out of a gangster movie. Holt took in Hector’s charming smile. The amused gleam in his eyes. His white dress shirt and black dress pants probably cost more than what Holt made in a year. He couldn’t trust this guy, but he needed his help because he had a feeling Hector knew where Blair might be. He divulged everything including the fact that Blair had inadvertently stolen the cocaine.