by Vicki Hinze
TWO
A WEEK LATER, the swelling had gone, the bruises had faded and the time had come to enact Christine’s plan. She’d dubbed it “Operation Switch and Bait.”
The name said it all, and in days of deep discussions, Christine had shared sharp, pointed and logical answers for every objection and concern raised, yet Caroline remained uneasy with making Christine Martin’s target while Caroline healed and sought a divorce. Christine and Nell, a counselor coming to the house to work with Christine every day since her arrival, wholeheartedly endorsed the plan so it must be a good one. Nell had extensive experience with abuse victims. Truthfully, Caroline was an emotional wreck. Her judgment couldn’t be trusted. So, right or wrong, she relied on the two of them, and postponed seeking a divorce until her terror subsided to a reasonable fear. It wasn’t there yet.
They walked out of the humid heat and into Christine’s beauty salon. The receptionist, a short woman with spiky black hair smiled. “Chris—and” she looked at Caroline—“you must be her sister.”
“Hello.” Christine checked the windows, not mentioning that the receptionist had confused them.
“Are they there?” Caroline asked.
Christine nodded, looking pleased with herself and more confident than Caroline had felt in years. “Exactly as we knew they would be.”
Two goons had been watching Christine’s house since the night Caroline arrived. Martin’s goons, of course, and they weren’t making even a token attempt to conceal themselves. Parked, bold as brass, right outside the security gate to Christine’s ten-acre ranchette. Caroline had tried to get Christine to call the police, but she’d refused. Alex, her security guard, knew exactly what to do if they dared to cross the property line. Seeing the men rattled Caroline, but Christine had expected Martin would “play the goon card” and she had incorporated them into her plan, insisting, “They have an essential role to play.”
That revelation twisted the knots in Caroline’s belly into more knots.
Christine’s hairdresser, Dawn, joined them. “Good morning.”
She was a beautiful woman. Petite with dark-blond, streaked hair pulled into a ponytail and the glowing skin that assured she’d look twenty-five all her life. Wisdom burned in her eyes and a gentleness that comforted. “You two ready?”
Christine answered. “Ready.”
Dawn led them into the salon proper and then beyond the stations loaded with hairdressers and patrons into a private back room, out of the sight of the goons outside the window and others in the salon. She closed the door and flipped a wall switch. “White noise,” she explained. “Guarantees your privacy.” Motioning, she offered them the two burgundy seats. “Sit down and we’ll get busy.”
Christine slid onto the seat nearest the door. Caroline took the other.
Dawn studied them both. “Okay,” she finally said. “Caro, you’re going red—like Chris—and Chris, you’re going blond like Caro, right?”
“Exactly.” Christine met Dawn’s eyes in the mirror. “When we walk out of here—”
“Understood,” Dawn stopped the explanation with a sidelong look at Caroline. “Looking straight at you, your mother won’t be able to tell, okay? You can calm down.”
“Sorry.” Caroline shifted uneasily on the seat and ordered herself to stop shaking.
“Don’t apologize for being scared.” Dawn patted Caro’s shoulder. “But you can relax about this. Only I will know what happens in this room.”
“She’ll take it to her grave,” Christine assured Caroline.
Caroline looked to Dawn for confirmation.
She nodded. “Promise.” Truth burned in her eyes.
An army of Martin’s wouldn’t intimidate Dawn. Exhaling a shuddery breath, Caroline whispered, “Thank you.”
Three hours later, Caroline and Christine had changed hair colors—and everything else: clothes, purses, shoes, jewelry . . . and identities.
“Let’s put it to the test and see how we did,” Dawn said, then called the receptionist into the room. “I need some towels, please.”
The reception entered with them, and they each spoke to her. She responded to them as they presented themselves, then left.
Dawn closed the door behind her, crossed her arms and smiled. “I’d say we did it.”
“Sweet success.” Christine smiled.
Caroline agreed it went well. But would it work against people who knew them? People like Martin?
Perceptive, Dawn looked from Christine to Caroline. “Don’t worry. I understand what’s at risk and I work hard to make sure I’m good at my job. But, Caroline, if you want to convince anyone you’re Christine, you’ve got to exhibit something I can’t give you.”
“What?”
“Attitude.” Dawn shrugged. “That’s got to come from you.” She pursed her lips. “Why not project what you think she’d be like or do in a given situation. That should work. You’re her twin. No one knows her better.”
“Great idea,” the real Christine said. “Just ask yourself what would I do or say, then do or say it.”
“It can’t hurt and it probably will help,” Caroline said, seeing the wisdom in Dawn’s suggestion. Changing the outside wouldn’t do any good if she didn’t change her attitude. Christine was confident—at times, cocky. She didn’t back down or take guff off anyone. Very, very different personality. “I’ll try. It’s not natural to me, but I’ll do what I can.”
Dawn chuckled. “I wish I could be someone else for a while. Not for the same reasons, of course, but just to be able to say and do exactly what I want . . . We all dream of it, you know.”
“We do?” Christine looked perplexed.
“Oh, yeah. Boy, do we,” Caroline agreed, drumming her fingers on the chair arms. “That needs work.”
“But it’s better.” Dawn laughed. “Practice your roar. Your sister’s a pro at it.”
“I will.” Caroline stood up. “Thank you, Dawn.”
“You’re welcome.” The look in her eyes turned tender. “You’ve no idea how much I hate that you have to go to these lengths. But if you have to—and you clearly do—I’m glad I could help you. You do what you have to do to get past this, and when you need a friendly ear, or anything else, you call me. Any time.”
Deeply moved, Caroline nodded, blinked threatening tears from her eyes. “Thank you.”
“You did a great job, Dawn.” Christine stood up. “I don’t even know I’m me.”
“That’s the point, right?” Dawn shrugged.
“It is.” Christine turned to Caroline. “Ready?”
“Wait.” Her heart beat hard and fast. “I know I said I’d be you while I’m working with Nell, and you’ll be me. But what if Martin hurts you? I know you say he won’t, but looking at you, I see me. He will, too. You’re deliberately putting yourself in lethal jeopardy. I—I can’t let you do that. Not while I—”
“Bluntly put, you have no choice.” Christine spoke softly but her words were no easier to hear because they weren’t shouted. “You’ve been beaten down, sis. You need this time and space to reclaim yourself, and you’re going to get it—with or without your consent. Martin won’t hurt me. He might come after you because his wife loves her sister. But he won’t hurt me.”
“You’d better be right. If he did . . . I couldn’t take it. I’m telling you that right now.”
“I won’t be an easy mark. I’ll be on the move, keeping him busy. He isn’t personally going to chase me across the country.”
“His goons will.”
“They won’t hurt me.”
“They might, if he tells them to and pays them enough.”
“They won’t, even if he wants them to and offers them a fortune. We checked them out and they’re reputable detectives. They’re not going to toss their business and go to jail for Martin. Odds are they think you’ve taken everything and run off to divorce him and that’s it. Alex says, if they knew why you’d left, they’d refuse to take the case.” Stepping out int
o the hallway, the real Christine waited for a woman with foil wraps in her hair to pass and get out of earshot, then whispered, “I’ll keep them busy away from Dallas. Piece of cake. You just get well and divorced.”
“For how long?” Caroline asked. “He will drag out the proceedings as long as he can to avoid sharing assets. What about your work?”
“I develop software. I can work anywhere,” Christine reminded her. “And we’ll do this for as long as it takes.” Her chin went up. “I’m not afraid of him, Sis.”
“You should be. You really should be—especially if you’re me.”
“I’ll be fine.” Christine patted her sister’s arm.
Her hand felt warm. “Letting you do this . . . what kind of woman does that make me?”
“A wise one who knows she needs help and is strong and smart enough to accept it.” Christine smiled. “Now, there’s a checkbook in that purse. You have plenty of money, credit cards—everything you need. Use it all. Do not even think about going to work. That’ll be a dead giveaway that you’re not me. Your job is to work with Nell and to heal. That’s it. When you’re ready, file for the divorce. The important thing is to get to a place where you enjoy your life. See the good in yourself again, okay?”
“I’ll be worried sick about you all the time.”
“As your big sister, I insist you do not do that.”
“Being eight minutes older doesn’t give you that perk.”
“Fine. Sister privilege, then.”
Caroline frowned. “I forgot about sister privilege.”
Dawn appeared in the little alcove. “His goons have come inside. We’ve got them at the shampoo bowls to keep them in one place. You want to leave through the back door?”
“Oh no,” Christine said. “We want them to see us.” She looked quickly at her sister. “Remember, once you leave here, you answer only to Christine and I answer only to Caroline. On the way out, don’t look at the goons. Don’t acknowledge in any way that you’ve noticed them. Just get in the car and drive home. Nell will be there waiting for you.”
“And you?”
“It’s best you don’t know. I’ll call Saturday mornings at ten. If you need me, call any time.”
“Same for you.” Tears burned Caroline’s eyes. “Thank you for everything.”
“No thanks needed. I’m your sister.”
“My strong, courageous, selfless sister.”
“Shoes switched, you’d do the same thing.” Christine hugged her twin.
It felt so good. Safe. Secure. “I would, but we both know I wouldn’t be good at it.”
“That’s Martin talking, not you.”
“Don’t let him hurt you.”
“I won’t.” Christine backed away. “We have to go now.”
The new Christine paid the bill and they walked out of the salon, leaving the two goons sprawled back at shampoo bowls scrambling to get up and catch them.
Outside at the curb, one sister hailed a taxi. When she sat inside, the other sister eased into Christine’s car and waved good-bye.
Martin’s goons split up, each following one of them.
Operation Switch and Bait had begun.
THREE
“READY FOR A refill, Nell?”
Caroline had never slipped and called herself by her real name, but she couldn’t think of herself by any other. She looked across the sunny kitchen at her counselor and friend. After six months of intense therapy, she held no deliberate secrets from the woman, and in an odd way, that felt great. It had been a long time since she hadn’t been encumbered by secrets.
“I shouldn’t, but I will.” Nell snitched another blueberry muffin from the basket. “I’ve gained ten pounds at your kitchen table. Where’d you learn to cook?” She grunted. “It certainly wasn’t from your sister.”
Caroline laughed. Nell was a beautiful African-American woman. Svelte and toned with a little needed flesh on her bones. She hadn’t gained an ounce, but she thought she had. “No, not from my sister. She doesn’t do much beyond nuking water. But she keeps an impressive list of restaurants that deliver.”
“Seriously, did you pick up the knack from your mother?”
“No, she didn’t cook much more than my sister.” Caroline refilled their cups. Steam rose from them and she set down the pot then slid onto a chair opposite Nell. “We all hated it.”
“You can’t hate it. You’re too good.”
Caroline grunted. “When you’re trapped in an apartment all day every day, you’ll do anything to pass the time. Even things you hate. I cooked.”
“Ah.”
Caroline sipped at her coffee. “Did you notice I admitted that and didn’t even flinch?”
“I noticed.” Nell’s warm brown eyes went serious. “I’m proud of you, Christine. You’ve worked hard to assess your situation objectively.”
Assessing it had been easy. Accepting it had taken the hard work. The truth burned her throat. “I’m motivated.”
“Martin?”
“No. Well, staying away from Martin.” She looked at Nell. “But I meant my sister. With all she’s sacrificing to give me the chance to heal . . . I have to do it. I can’t fail her.”
“That’s important to you, but she’d rather you work to heal for yourself. Though I do have to say, she’s proud of you.”
“Really?” Starved for approval and praise, Caroline still had trouble believing anything good about herself. That anyone else, even her beloved sister, might see good in her felt alien.
“Definitely.”
A bell chimed.
Nell jumped, and Caroline smiled. “It’s okay. Security.” Christine had hired gate guards to monitor Martin’s goons. He had two watching her, two more tracking Christine. Caroline stepped over to the intercom, pressed the button, and spoke to the guard working the day shift. “Yes, Alex?”
“Miss Branch, you have a visitor.”
The hair stood up on Caroline’s neck. She wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?”
“Mr. Martin Easton, ma’am.”
Panic flooded her. Caroline jerked, shot a fearful look at Nell. “He’s here.”
“Send him away.” Nell stood up. “You aren’t obligated to see or talk to him, Christine.”
She needed to think. Think. What would Christine do? The answer came immediately and settled by that, Caroline pressed the button and issued instructions. “Escort him to the door, Alex—and keep a close watch on him. Do not trust him for a second—and keep his spies on the other side of the locked gate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Or you can confront him. Meeting him head-on is good, too.” Nell went back to the table and grabbed her purse, clearly worried about Caroline’s decision. “He crosses the line with so much as a toe, and I’m ready for him.”
“He won’t. He thinks I’m Christine, not me.” Caroline now felt oddly calm. There was power in being her sister. The strong, independent one. And there was power in taking action. “You stay out of sight.” She wiggled a finger at Nell’s purse. “Do you have your recorder in there?” She always recorded their sessions so, of course, she did.
“Yes, I do.”
“Use it.” Caroline nodded. “I want every word he speaks on record. It’ll make getting a restraining order easier if he tries my patience.”
“When did you get a restraining order against him?” Nell asked. “I like this emerging side of you, girl. Good for you.”
“Thanks. It feels good, too.” It did. Surprisingly good. “I haven’t gotten an order,” she told Nell. “Caroline’s gotten several in the last couple months—and a permit to carry.”
Nell nodded and let out a little grunt. “Knowing her, she guided her goons with her to get it—just to make sure they knew she was armed.”
“She did—but I don’t know if she actually has a weapon.”
“Honey, get real. Your sister is always prepared.”
She was. “She probably has two—one on her and a backup.” And
she’d no doubt learned to use them. Caroline’s stomach fluttered. Oh, but she hoped she never had to do that.
The doorbell rang.
Nell gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “I’ll be right here if you need me. And so you know, I carry.” Nell moved into position behind a short wall. “Why are you surprised by that? This is Texas, girl. Everyone carries.”
Caroline took in a steadying breath, braced to look into Martin’s face, and then answered the door.
Martin stood on the landing. Framed by the tall white columns, he looked bigger and even more dangerous than she recalled. He’d lost weight, and his sharp features now looked razor-honed and haughty. “Martin.” She blocked the doorway with her body, noted Alex standing within earshot on the edge of the front landing, close enough to intercede if the need arose. His hand hung loosely at his side. He too was armed and, if the need arose, ready.
“Hello, Christine.” Martin attempted to step inside. When she didn’t move out of his way, he paused, clearly taken aback. “May I come in?”
She kept her voice flat, unemotional. “No.”
His jaw clamped and a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Fine. I can talk from here. Where’s my wife?”
“I don’t know.”
He glared at her. “You don’t expect me to believe you. Someone’s funding her jaunt. It isn’t me and that leaves you.”
“I’m not interested in your expectations, Martin, and her business is none of yours.” That felt pretty good. Talking to him that way. Responding to him the way she’d longed to their entire marriage. Maybe if she had, he’d have been different. “You asked your question. I answered it. Are we done now?”
“No, we are not done now. I won’t be done until you tell me where she is.”
“Ask your henchmen. They’re following her every move.”
“I won’t apologize for being concerned for her safety. She’s a weak, fragile woman. You should know that.”