Concealed Identity

by Jessica R. Patch

  Holt held back his emotion for fear that Blair would misinterpret it as fear of dying. He wasn’t afraid. Trina hadn’t been, either. In those last moments, he’d held her hand and prayed with everything in him for healing, but she’d whispered Holt’s name.

  It’s okay, Holt. It...it doesn’t hurt anymore. I love you.

  He’d told her he loved her, too, but he’d still hurt. Even as she closed her eyes and took one last gasp for air, he’d ached all over until he couldn’t breathe. He’d stopped breathing after that.

  Until Blair.

  “So, what is your choice?” Hector waited. Patiently.

  Blair held Holt’s gaze. A shudder ripped down his back. The resolve in her eyes frightened him. “Blair...” he rasped.

  “You let Holt and Gigi live. And I’ll go with you. A prisoner...whatever,” she choked out. “Because I can’t give you those drugs, Hector. I can’t let more people die. Not today. Not with that poison. So I’ll go willingly. But you have to promise that if I do, Gigi and Holt will never be harmed. I know you’re a man of your word.”

  “No!” Holt lunged for her, but Hector clipped his jaw with his gun. A searing pain tore through his body.

  “Fine. I will grant their lives for yours. You’ll like living under my protection. Who knows, Blair, you may even grow to care for me. In time.”

  He turned to Holt and pointed to the dining room chair. “Sit. I can’t have you attempting something heroic and stupid. I’ve promised our girl your life. Blair, on your stomach, facedown, hands out. I don’t want you getting any wild ideas while I tie him up.”

  Blair eased onto the floor. “Just don’t hurt him, Hector. Please. Or Gigi. I’ll do whatever and go wherever you want.”

  Sirens whirred in the distance.

  Hector raised his head toward the window, giving Holt a cracked window of opportunity. He rammed him in the side, knocking Hector off balance, and grabbed the gun, twisting Hector’s wrist.

  Hector released the gun and fell to the floor. Holt fell on top of him.

  The gun fired.

  Blair screeched.

  The door burst open and Beckett flew inside. “Holt! You hurt?” He slid to his knees and touched Holt’s chest, then raised a bloody hand. “Oh, Holt,” he whispered.

  Holt released a heavy breath. “It’s...it’s not mine, man. It’s not mine.”

  Beckett let out a relieved sigh, then checked Hector’s vitals. “He’s alive, but barely. He’s going to wish he had died once he’s behind bars.”

  Blair hovered in the corner, knees drawn up, head resting in her hands and shoulders shaking. Holt pulled himself up and crawled to her. Like he had the night he saved her from the snake. He touched her shoulders to coax her into his lap, but she wrenched away. “Don’t touch me,” she murmured. “I can’t... Just...”

  But she’d risked her life for his. How could she reject him now?

  Holt let the slicing pain slide away and he mustered the strength to put distance between them, when all he desired was to be close to her. To make the hurt disappear. The hurt he’d inflicted.

  Paramedics arrived and Beckett motioned them to Blair. He laid a hand on Holt’s shoulder and leaned in. “She’s in shock. That’s all,” he whispered, and gave a brotherly squeeze.

  No. She was done with Holt. Tired of death. Afraid Gigi might have been hurt. Jeremy was dead. And Holt couldn’t erase his part. Couldn’t erase Jeremy’s death. Couldn’t erase the deception or lies.

  The paramedics put a blanket around Blair and helped her to the ambulance.

  Holt stood in the Drummonds’ driveway. Death and blood everywhere. No one from the Juarez Cartel had been spared.

  Pain coursed through every vein in Holt’s body and yet within the cavern of dark pain, a light, warm and encompassing, shone. It hovered on the edges and grew, eating away the darkness, the emptiness, the hollow areas. Eating away the heavy veil that hid salvation until nothing was left but hope. And faith. And love.

  “We did a search over at the Lawson place. We found an area about a mile off the property. Looked like it’d been unearthed. Took a chance. We...we found Jeremy Sullivan. He’s gone to autopsy. But we’ll need identification to be certain.”

  Holt squeezed his eyes shut. Jeremy hadn’t deserved evil for the good he was trying to do. Holt didn’t understand it. Didn’t have a single answer as to why Jeremy was taken. Just like he never had a single answer for why Trina died. But he had hope. Hope for healing. Hope for change. “I’ll do it.”

  “You sure?” Beckett asked.

  “Yeah. Blair’s been through enough and I don’t want her to remember him this way. I’ll...I’ll do it.” It was his responsibility anyway.

  “I can give you a ride.” Beckett walked to his SUV.

  “How’d you know we were here?”

  “One of Mitch Rydell’s stable hands said they heard multiple gunshots fired over here. Doc Drummond has done a lot of medical work in South America. Didn’t really click earlier. Guess I didn’t want it to. But I had a hunch.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “So, what’s next for you? You think you’ll settle down here? I could always use a good deputy.” He winked. “Or a name next to mine on the ballot for sheriff. I’d win being homegrown here, but you’d give me a good run for my money.”

  Holt chuckled but it hurt to do so. He hurt absolutely everywhere. “I need to report in, get the DEA down here. There’ll be lots of paperwork. I may never shovel my way out of it. Worst part of the job.”

  Beckett nodded and handed him a bottle of water from the drink holder. “Let’s say you do. Shovel your way out.”

  Could he come back to this town without Blair in his life the way he wanted her to be? Could she handle seeing him every day right next door? There was a lot to consider. As much as he loved it here, could he leave Memphis? The DEA?

  He had a lot of catching up to do with God. A lot of praying for direction. He’d been called to come forth like Lazarus. But he still needed some time to unbind the grave clothes. To strip away what was left of his hopeless, faithless life and raw emotions. Time to step out of the tomb into the light. And more than anything, he needed to hang out with the One who’d resurrected him.

  FIFTEEN

  The week following the nightmare at Doc and Riella Drummond’s house had been long and hard. Blair had spent most of her days being strong for Gigi and Dad. Nights had been spent curled up in bed crying and sinking into the pages of her Bible. The only way she could find any peace to sleep.

  She’d been lied to. Deceived.

  Her heart had been stolen and smashed.

  She’d never hug her brother again.

  The shop had been closed. Partly because she had so much to work through. She’d been interviewed by Beckett—and as gracious as he’d been, he couldn’t keep her past or what had transpired from the town. She’d gone into Memphis to give her interview with the DEA. Holt hadn’t been around. She’d spoken with an Agent Greg Carson. Told him she’d hidden the drugs in the gift boxes under the tree in her window display, and they’d recovered it all, including the kilo stolen from Hunter’s house.

  Part of her was relieved not to see Holt. The other part wanted to see those wildly blue eyes, touch that shaggy black hair and trace a finger around the cleft in his chin.

  Jeremy’s funeral had been excruciating but he hadn’t died in a crack house, homeless, jobless and addicted to drugs. He’d died a hero. Working to put away evil men with murderous agendas. She found peace in that. And while she’d love to continue blaming Holt for Jeremy’s death, she couldn’t.

  Holt had been doing his job. And now as Blair looked back on all the things that Jeremy said about his mystery friend, she couldn’t believe she’d missed that it was Holt. His friend was brave, stubborn, int
ense at times. Had always been loyal to him and done whatever he could to protect him, even if it meant speaking the truth out of love. If ever there was someone he needed to count on, it was the mystery friend.

  She owed Holt, in a sense, for pulling her brother from the ashes. Doing what she’d tried and failed to do so many times. Holt hadn’t sent Jeremy snooping, even if he’d asked him to keep his eyes and ears open. Jeremy chose to do that all by himself.

  Choices had to be made every day. Right or wrong. Consequences or not. Choosing was better than doing nothing. Which was what Blair had been doing. Living in limbo. Running like a hamster on a wheel simply because she feared making the wrong choice.

  Even when she prayed, she didn’t always make the right decisions. But she’d learned from her mistakes and God had been with her, even when she’d totally bombed out. When she turned left instead of going right. When she ignored the gnawing in her gut, like when she chose to marry Mateo.

  What was the answer for her and Holt? Was there one?

  Holt’s career was all about taking life-threatening risks. Long hours. Long nights spent away and undercover where he couldn’t call or check in. Blair might go crazy. She simply couldn’t handle being with that kind of man. Was that selfish of her?

  Someone had to fight for justice, take risks, save lives. Was it fair to penalize Holt for being a hero? For trying to make the world a better place?

  Blair needed to get out. Get some air. She had been hiding in her house too long. At first, out of fear that people would judge her and try to run her out of town.

  But the people in her community hadn’t. Her fridge was proof people loved her. Food for decades had poured in. That must be what forgiveness really looked like. Unconditional love and grace in the form of a potluck and a tableful of mercy. Chocolate and pecan pie kind of mercy.

  She walked the cobbled streets, waved to friends. Welcomed the July heat. Tonight was the Fireworks on the Square. An amazing display of beauty in the sky set to the tune of songs about country and freedom. Songs about those who risked their lives to fight for justice.

  Someone had to do it. Someone like Holt.

  She stopped in the square. Took in the red, white and blue bows and banners that hung around the gazebo and the makeshift stage where Mayor Tuesday would give her annual freedom speech. The woman had a way with words. Not a dry eye in town would be had tonight.

  “Hello, Blair.”

  Blair turned to see Aurora Daniels in her business suit, with her shiny strawberry blond hair and twinkling blue eyes. Not a drop of sweat on her brow. How was that possible?

  “Hey, Aurora. How’s court?”

  “Judge Treadwell is a grouch. But I’m winning. So it’s a good day.” She sipped her coffee.

  “How do you do it? Defend people like the Drummonds? Like Hector Salvador?”

  “Everyone deserves a fair trial.”

  “Have you ever defended people like those in the cartels?”

  Aurora’s pointed but perfect nose twitched. “Everyone in the cartel is dead. I don’t defend the dead.”

  But she hadn’t answered her question. And she’d been beyond interested in the DEA agent at the bottom of the lake.

  “You coming tonight? To the fireworks?” Blair asked.

  “Maybe. I have a lot to do.”

  “With all the criminals in Hope?” Blair smirked.

  Aurora raised her cup. “Take care, Blair. I’m very sorry about what happened to your brother.” Genuine sympathy poured from Aurora’s wintry blue eyes.

  “Thank you.”

  “I don’t cook much, but if you need coffee, it’s on the house. Anytime.”

  Blair nodded and watched as Aurora strode down the sidewalk, heels clicking. Beckett drove by, waved to Blair, then slowed next to Aurora and rolled down his passenger window. Blair couldn’t be sure what he said, but by the way Aurora bristled and scowled it hadn’t been anything pleasant. But then Aurora tried to set free the very people Beckett arrested.

  Laughter rang through the throng of people gathered downtown, and families broke out lawn chairs, blankets and picnic baskets, sharing desserts and settling in for the live music that preceded the speech and fireworks display.

  Gigi and Hunter sat under a maple tree. Her new ring glittered in the sunlight.

  They were on again. Till death do them part. Blair was happy for G, even if Blair had given her grief for calling Hector. But as Gigi put it, someone had to do something. And it wasn’t going to be Blair.

  That had been true. She paused and turned the knob to Holt’s fake store and slipped inside. Nothing had been removed. Today would have been opening day.

  Blair switched the white lights on in the window display. Tears burned and a lump formed in her throat as she thought of what would never be.

  * * *

  Finally, Holt had tunneled his way out of paperwork. Read over Blair’s interview. Missed her and the people of Hope every day. He’d opted out of Jeremy’s funeral. Blair needed time to grieve and say goodbye without Holt reminding her of everything bad that had happened. He’d made his way to Jeremy’s grave after the service. Said his goodbyes. Had a few tearful laughs as he reminisced with the memory of his old friend.

  He’d thought about what Beckett had said. Even had lunch with him a few times over the past couple of weeks. In Memphis. Blair needed space.

  So had Holt. He’d been immersed in the Word and had been going to church again. It felt good. Right. He’d been praying about direction. Was working with the DEA God’s plan? Yeah. Even though Holt hadn’t meant for it to be. He’d been part of helping people, like Jeremy. And it had brought him here.

  To Hope.

  He stood at the back door of The Great Outdoors. His store. Leased in his name now...if Blair was okay with that. He wouldn’t stick around if she told him to go. But he hoped—because he was hoping again—that she’d tell him to stay. Being in the DEA had brought him to her.

  And there was no denying she’d been divinely ordained in his life. The whole rocky journey had been part of God’s plan.

  But now? Did he want to be a sheriff? A sheriff’s deputy?

  No. No, he didn’t.

  God hadn’t just resurrected his faith.

  He’d resurrected his dream.

  Holt opened the back door and tiptoed inside. The lights twinkled from the window display up front. The sun had gone down and the music blared from the square. He loved this place.

  Blair stood in front of the display. Her hand trailing down the side of the pup tent.

  “That tent over there?” Holt murmured. Blair started but didn’t turn around. Not the best sign. “That tent housed a couple on their wedding night. They had an outdoor ceremony near a pond. A pasture with horses grazing in the background. Floating candles flickering on the green water. That night, they held each other and gazed up at the stars dreaming together. Making plans. And then they made the best, most tender memories inside that tent.”

  Blair dropped her hand from the tent. Holt moved closer to her, his hiking boots clunking across the wood. She loved the pretend game. Would she play along? See that it wasn’t so much pretend as it was his hope for the future. New memories. With her. And only her.

  She raised her hand and swiped her eyes. He wanted to wipe her tears, hated that he’d caused them. Finally, she turned, so beautiful, so amazing, knocking him breathless. “And did they have a happily-ever-after?”

  Holt had been contemplating that. The whole happily-ever-after and how much Blair thought she wanted it. “No.”

  Blair’s eyes widened and her eyebrows lifted.

  “They didn’t.” He closed the distance and stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Because life is full of bumps in the road. Ups and downs. Disappointments. Failures. And pain. Pain that sometimes
feels like it’s slaying us. Life isn’t always happy. So they didn’t get a happily-ever-after. Instead—” he glanced at her signage, the bell that gave an angel its wings with each ring “—they got a wonderful life. For better. And for worse. They were together.”

  Her lip quivered. “I’m so sorry. For what I said about your part in Jeremy’s death. I didn’t really mean that.”

  “Thank you,” he whispered, searching her eyes for hope. For answers he desperately wanted.

  “And I know why you lied. It was your job and you were trying to protect me. I did the same thing for Gigi. I withheld information because I loved her.”

  Holt slowly nodded and grinned, his heart ballooning with promise. “So you know.”

  Blair sniffed and touched his cheek. “I know. You love me.”

  “I love you,” he echoed.

  “I’ve made so many wrong choices I was afraid to make any choices.”

  He framed her face. “Until you made the choice to become some kind of slave to Hector. You crazy, crazy woman. Did you think I could ever live knowing you had done that? I’d have come for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I would have hoped so.”

  He traced her lips with his finger.

  She shivered. “I’m ready to live again. To stop being afraid to make choices concerning my life.”

  “Good.” He inched toward her lips. “Because I have a question that will require a choice. But I’ll make it easy for you.”

  She giggled, gasping as his lips grazed hers. Oh, he hoped he always had that effect on her.

  “Blair Sullivan, will you marry me? A, yes.” He pecked her on the lips. “B, yes.” He kissed an eyelid. “C, yes.” Pressed another to her other eyelid. “D, all of the above.” Hovering over her mouth, he waited, heart galloping.

  She opened her eyes. “You do make choices easy.”

  “They won’t always be, Blair. I’m stubborn. Set in my ways. And you’re opinionated and sassy—which I adore.”

  Blair beamed. “I love you, Holt...” Her jaw dropped. “I just realized something.”