Taking the cloth, Cade studied it. “I’m really glad you like quilting. And Jenny will love this, too.”
Her heart picked up in beat as he handed the material back to her, their fingers briefly touching one another. “Thanks. Gwen came over this morning and we were talking about how to cut the material. She loaned me a cutting board, a ruler and a rotary tool to do it with.”
Nodding, Cade drank her in. There was fear in her eyes once more. Fear of him? Fear of their relationship that just seemed to be there no matter how he tried to evade it? Not that he’d helped things last night. “You’ll do fine. Mom has always said that quilters are artists with fabric. And you’re an artist already so I’m sure you’ll find this medium a lot of fun.”
“I already do.” Rachel sobered and held his dark stare. “You said we needed to talk?” She could no longer prolong the agony she felt in her gut. Better to get it over with.
Cade immediately sobered. “I broke the contract I had with you. I don’t know what happened last night except to say I was in such emotional shock that I wasn’t thinking straight. It’s not an excuse,” Cade said, his voice low. Holding her gaze, he once more saw what he thought was desire—for him. But Cade couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to go there. “The cabin is available to you, Rachel. I went back on my word to keep you at arm’s length. You’re my employee. I know it’s more work to be trudging between the house and cabin, but I want you to feel relaxed and not tense when I come home. I don’t want you thinking I’m going to hit on you again. That wasn’t my intent last night, I swear it wasn’t.”
“Last night,” Rachel choked, “you were hurting, Cade. What you did was human. I didn’t see it as breaking our agreement at all. I was glad I could do something for you. Holding someone when they’re hurting isn’t wrong.”
The softness of her tone flowed over him like sun warming the iciness he still felt inside from the trauma of the accident scene yesterday. Hanging his head, Cade stared at his clasped hands in front of him. “I don’t know what happened,” he admitted hoarsely. “I just—came apart. It’s shock, that I know. People react to shock in all kinds of different ways. This is my way, I guess….”
Rachel had to stop herself from rising to walk over and wrap her arms around his hunched shoulders. There was such anguish in the lines of his face and body. She had to sit there and not respond, because if she did, her reaction might be read the wrong way. Swallowing hard, Rachel whispered, “Listen, Cade, I did not take what happened last night as a romantic trick to get me into your arms if that’s what you’re thinking.” She opened her hands, her voice pleading. “You’re human. We’re all there at some point. I was happy to be here and be able to hold you. I wish, well, I wish I could have done more to help you. I can see how much this hurts you. It hurts me to watch you suffering.”
Lifting his head, Cade melted beneath the warmth of her searching blue gaze. How beautiful Rachel was—inside and out. He almost told her that, but swallowed the words. She was an employee, not his lover. But, God, how much Cade wanted Rachel to be that—and more. “I’m just afraid—well, I’m afraid I’ll drive you off, Rachel. And Jenny needs you so much.” I need you. Mouth quirking, Cade went on. “I don’t want you thinking I’m stalking you. Or trying to use a situation to manipulate you into my arms.” Or my bed, next to me where I’ll try my damnedest to please you like you deserve….
Her heart tore open a little more over his rasped words. “Oh, Cade, I never thought that for a moment. Everyone needs comfort at bad times. I never saw last night as a manipulation of any kind. You needed to be held.” Rachel forced a small smile, and the look of relief in Cade’s eyes made her stomach unknot. He believed her. That was good. A bitter taste in the back of her mouth remained. If he only knew that she was a liar.
“Thanks,” Cade whispered. “I really needed to know how you felt. I never want to put you at risk or take advantage of you. Because I’m not.”
“You’re not the type,” she told him, sitting up and stretching her arms to relieve the tension in them. “Why don’t you watch some TV? Just rest tonight?”
Cade shrugged. “What about you? I was thinking this morning about the fabric you had on the couch last night. I talked to my mother before I left for work. I had bought Abby a Bernina sewing machine from my mom’s store.” He shrugged. “It never got used. But it’s here, in her sewing room. Would you like to use it?”
“Why…sure, if you don’t mind?” Rachel searched his expression for any hesitation, but she saw nothing but happiness.
“Mind? No, not at all.” Cade rose. With a gesture, he said, “Come on, I’ll get it out for you. My mom had bought the special sewing table for Abby. I’ll set it up so you can quilt away.”
Standing, Rachel followed him. “That would be lovely, Cade. Thanks so much for the unexpected gift. Gwen had told me I could use one of the sewing machines they keep for classes at her store.”
“You don’t need to,” he said as he walked down the hall. Opening a door on the left, he switched on the light. Cade came into this room once a month to clean it. There had been too many poignant memories of Abby quilting and sewing in here for him to remain in it for any amount of time.
Rachel had been in the room to clean it. Light and airy, it was almost as large as the master bedroom. She watched as Cade slid back a door on a closet. He brought out three sewing tables and set them up.
“Abby had these three tables placed around the room. Two were for cutting fabric and other stuff,” Cade explained as he brought the tables upright on their legs. “This one is for the sewing machine. It’s a bit lower and allows you to have the sewing machine at the right level so it doesn’t kill your shoulders and back.” He drew out a lime-green suitcase that said Tutto on it. “Now this,” he said, hefting it up to the middle table, “is the special suitcase that is built to carry the Bernina she used. You can take it to class with you.”
Fascinated, Rachel said, “This is like Christmas.”
Cade felt the rest of his worry dissolve. It was positive to focus on something that would give Rachel joy. And how much he wanted her happy. He loved seeing the joy in her eyes. “Hey, after the rotten Christmas you had, this is a good thing.” After unzipping the side of the suitcase he carefully pulled out the Bernina.
“There,” Cade said, placing the machine on the sewing desk. “Here’s your Bernina. It’s called a ‘patchwork’ machine and its focus is for people who want to quilt. Take a look.” He stepped aside.
Rachel leaned over and gave the machine a thorough examination. “Gwen was telling me that they have special classes on how to use a Bernina. I think that I’ll take those courses first before I do anything with this one.”
A lightness moved through Cade as he walked to the open door. “Do what you want. I don’t think you’ll hurt it at all, Rachel.”
Touching the white machine with her fingertips, she said, “Classes first.”
“Okay,” Cade said. “I’m going to read the evening newspaper.”
Rachel stood there and listened as the pleasant thunk of his cowboy boots disappeared down the hall. She turned and looked around. The room was painted a sunny yellow color. Rachel wondered if the bright cotton curtains across the only window were made by Abby. No one, it seemed, dodged the awful realities that life threw at them. No one.
After their sweet moment, Rachel felt relief. Her talk with Cade had been open and without emotional drama. How different from her marriage to Dirk. Reaching out, Rachel touched the machine once again. How many times had Abby used it? What had she sewn on this machine? And if she’d made a quilt, Rachel had not seen it in the house. Or was the quilt on Cade’s bed made by her? So many questions. Rachel knew she had no business asking him any of them.
And then, her cell phone rang.
Rachel froze. Her phone never rang and she ditched it each month after talking with her mother. The FBI had taught her to never use the same cell phone twice.
Shutting the
door, Rachel pulled the phone out of her pocket. It was her handler, Brenda.
“Hi, Brenda. What’s wrong?” Rachel said, keeping her voice low so that Cade wouldn’t overhear her.
“Just wanted to give you an update. We had police in Des Moines, Iowa, think they saw Dirk Payson.”
Her heart began a wild pounding in her chest. Rachel’s voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “Are you sure? What would he be doing there?” Fear for her brothers’ lives slammed through her. Rachel closed her eyes, wanting to scream.
“I said think. We’re not sure yet. We got a photo ID on him from TSA video. Right now we’re running it through our office to see if it is him or not.”
“What if it is? What’s he doing there, Brenda? My God…”
“Don’t freak out yet,” the FBI handler warned. “What I want to do is send you a copy of the photo. I want you to look at it and you tell me if you think it’s Dirk. I’ll send it now.”
Rachel pulled the phone away and heard it make a bell-like sound that meant a jpeg had been forwarded to her. She pressed some buttons and looked on the small, narrow screen. A gasp tore from her. No matter how much Dirk had disguised himself, she would always recognize his narrow, close-set eyes anywhere.
“Yes, that’s him,” Rachel rasped. “Is he going to kill my brothers, Brenda?” Terror leaked into her voice and tears jammed into her eyes. Rachel pushed them back. This was no time to get hysterical.
“Thanks for the ID. I thought so myself, but my boss wanted to run the facial recognition on this to be sure.”
“What does this mean? What are you going to do?”
“First things first. Payson has fraudulent identification. We’ve got all the info from TSA and I have a team working on it right now. He never uses credit cards because they’re too easy to trace. Payson always pays in cash for the tickets, for the rental cars and anything else he needs.”
“You said he was on a flight? To where?”
“Back to Miami.”
Relief made her shake. “He’s going back to his old stomping grounds.”
“Yes, it appears so.”
“And my brothers? Are they okay?” Oh, how she yearned to talk with them!
“They’re fine. Like I told you before, they know Payson is on the loose. The local law enforcement is keeping an eye on the farm. So, just start taking some deep breaths and relax, okay? I’m assuming you’re getting out and filtering into the local population? You can’t hide. You must live a normal life so people don’t get suspicious of you. I know there’s a fine balance between being out in public and hiding in your home, but you need to keep a balance between the two.”
Pressing her fingers to her brow, Rachel nodded. “Yes, I take a quilt class. I go get groceries. But I still try to keep a low profile. I think I’ve met that balance.”
“Good. Once we get official identification, Rachel, I’ll call your mother and the law enforcement who keeps tabs on her. I’m sure Payson doesn’t realize he’s been located. I’ll be working with Miami-Dade County law enforcement to find him. And I’ll keep you abreast of our efforts.”
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate that, Brenda. I just live in terror of him being close.”
“I know you do,” Brenda said gently. “But every one is working on this. Stop worrying, okay? We’ve got it handled.”
“Should I throw this cell away and go for the next one with the new number?” One call was all that could be made on it.
“Yes, do that. I’ve got all the numbers of the cells you have in your possession.”
“Right, I will. Thanks, Brenda. This is really good news.”
“Yes, it is. How are things going there for you? We haven’t talked in a while.”
“Okay,” she answered. “Cade is wonderful. I love taking care of Jenny. I just wish—well, I wish so badly that I could tell Cade the truth. And I worry about Dirk being loose. Half the time I want to run away to protect this family from him. I know if he finds me, he’ll go out of his way to kill anyone nearby.”
“I know this is putting you on edge, but you need some place to hide. Wyoming is perfect. I don’t want you to think of leaving there, Rachel. There’s no need to run. I’m sorry you can’t tell Cade, but that’s how leaks get started. You can never tell anyone, Rachel. You know that.”
Miserably, Rachel nodded. “Yes, I know.”
“Okay, gotta run. I’ll be in touch when we know more.”
Rachel flipped the phone closed and slid it back into her pocket. She stood there with her hands pressed against her cheeks. Fighting back relief and fear at the same time, she wanted to cry. But she couldn’t. Cade might catch her and then she’d have to explain why. No, whatever she did, she had to tough it out and remain the liar that she was.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“I WANT YOU TO CHANGE my mug,” Dirk told Mexican physician Dr. Jorge Morales. Dirk had sneaked across the border in another disguise—clean-shaven and dyed red hair. Word had gotten to him that the cops at the Iowa airport had identified him, but it was too late. He’d gotten off the Miami flight and was long gone before the news reached Florida law enforcement.
The Mexican doctor nodded. “Sí, señor.”
Dirk grinned. He sat in an air-conditioned office in a high-rise in Mexico City. Dr. Morales worked for the drug cartels. His business was to change faces with a scalpel so that a person could no longer be identified as a criminal. “Make me look pretty,” he told the doctor.
The physician nodded and smiled beneath his black mustache. “Of course, Señor Payson.” He pulled out several books and opened them up. “Let’s talk about what changes can be made and which ones you’d like. We’ll work together this hour to redesign your face.”
Leaning forward, Dirk felt excitement. He didn’t like the eight weeks of enforced hiding in Mexico’s Yucatán Peninsula while his face got rid of the bruising and swelling, but he did enjoy the fact that U.S. law enforcement would no longer be able to identify him. He was also getting a new passport, social security number and the whole nine yards, so once he went back into U.S. territory, he’d be invisible to police.
“I just don’t like the time it takes,” he griped, moving to the “chins” section of the book.
“I understand, señor, but what you are asking, it will take a good eight weeks.”
Dirk shrugged. “I guess I can’t complain. I’ll be at an exclusive resort, have my own apartment, maid service and meals brought to me.”
“You will live the good life, señor, while you heal.” The doctor smiled a little. “The authorities will never be able to use any facial recognition software to find you again. You will be the proverbial wolf among the sheep. And the sheep won’t have a clue.”
Dirk intently studied the chin illustrations and suggested changes for his shape of face, and muttered, “Well, no matter. I got a hacker dude looking to find my ex-wife. He said it would take time. Now, I can use that time to make some serious changes.”
“You will be quite handsome when I’m done with you,” the doctor said. “I will broaden your cheekbones with implants. Your nose, which is very aquiline, will have a slight curve. Just enough to fool the software. And your chin, instead of receding, will be strong and masculine-looking. I’m having my optometry department create special green contact lenses so that your eye color will change, as well.”
Dirk nodded. He liked the sleek chrome-and-glass office, and this doc was efficient and organized. The doctor was a plastic surgeon of great renown. He worked for the drug cartels on the side, and cash came in by the wheelbarrow load for his face-changing work. Greed, Dirk felt, was the best motivator in the world.
“You ever botch a face?” he demanded, giving the doctor a steely gaze.
“Never,” Morales said proudly. And then he flashed Dirk a toothy white grin. “Look at it this way, señor. If I was bad at what I did, I’d be dead by now. Sí?”
“Sí,” Dirk said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “L
isten, can you give me fuller lips? Chicks dig men with a full lower lip.” He pointed to his. “Mine’s too thin. Can you fix that, too?”
“Of course.” The doctor pointed toward his ears. “Señor, your ears stick out quite a bit. I intend to pin them back. It will give your face a completely different look. It’s a quick, easy fix but one that will make a world of difference.”
“I like that,” Dirk said, pleased. “My old man always called me Dumbo ears.” He snickered.
“Excellent. We’ll make the change,” the doctor murmured, typing the notes into his laptop.
After choosing the appropriate chin and cheeks as well as a less-pronounced brow, Dirk felt exhilarated. It was almost akin to the cocaine highs he enjoyed so much. The doctor had taken a photo of his face and then typed in the changes. What came out in the printer was astoundingly different. Dirk stared down at the photographic paper in his hands.
“This is the new you,” the doctor said in a pleased tone. “I also suggest that you shave your head, which is now quite the fashion. With a thin red mustache that you can dye every few days and your green contact lenses, no one will recognize you, señor.”
Dirk stared mutely at the photo in his hands. How far he’d come from a scrawny Dumbo-eared teen with acne all over his face to this. The man in the photo was damned handsome in comparison. Tears leaked into his eyes, but Dirk quickly shoved them back. Too emotional to speak, he quirked his mouth instead.
“Do you like it, señor?” the doctor asked, concern in his tone.
Clearing his throat, Dirk blurted, “Yes…yes, I like it. A lot.”
Relief in his face, Dr. Morales sat in his chair. “Bueno, good. Well, look at it this way, Señor Payson, you will have eight weeks of rest and recuperation. And, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon, you will emerge handsome and different.”
“Yeah,” Dirk laughed giddily, “from worm to butterfly. I like that, Doc.”
“You keep the photo, señor. I’m scheduling you for surgery tomorrow morning. After that, you’ll recover for a week here in my office in a nice little area reserved for special patients. After that week, you will then have your face wrapped in bandages and you’ll be driven by limo to the resort where you’ll stay for another seven weeks. One of my assistants, Dr. Gomez, will be there to check up on you. There is enough business of face-changing for me to have him there permanently, so you will not have to worry about not receiving appropriate medical attention. We are there for you.”
Deadly Identity Page 15