Pre-Approved Identity Theft

by Nellie K Neves

  And I’ve survived.

  We wait until we hear the elevator ding and then the room erupts in celebration. It’s a big account. They’re all impressed with how Declan and I were able to hold our ground. I should be happy, I should be reveling in this excitement that everyone else is drowning in, but I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never escape him, not like this. One day, I’ll have to face him with my own name and tell him everything I’ve always kept hidden.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I’m on the news. I flip on the TV after dinner and I’m looking at myself with blonde hair, wearing a strapless black dress, and hanging off Reg’s arm. The picture is from a fundraiser last year. Our smiles are fake, but the newscaster is talking about us like we were star-crossed lovers from the start. The picture cuts to Reg in a wingback chair at his father’s mansion. His eyes are red but there are no tears as he speaks.

  “We were supposed to be married. I was waiting for her, but she never came.” His words collapse into controlled sobs. Though his parents are there in the room, it’s my mother’s hand that rests on his shoulder. I’m sure the rest of the world sees the mourning bridegroom, but I notice the way my mother’s manicured claws are digging into my ex’s collarbone.

  That sort of pain would make anyone cry.

  I flip off the TV because I can’t watch another minute of this propaganda. I’m sure there’s a chance that this broadcast is a coincidence, the organic movement of a story, but I don’t believe it for a second. My father knows that Indigo Maxwell might be his daughter, and that means he has to push the story on the west coast as well. I wish I felt loved, or missed, but instead I feel trapped.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  I’m walking into work when my phone rings the next morning. It was a fitful night of sleep, dreams of hiding and being found, and I’m not in the best mood because of it.

  “Hello?” I answer, but it sounds more like, “What do you want?”

  “Ms. Sutton?” the man’s voice asks and I stop dead in my tracks. “Miss Sutton this is Johnathan Pinnagree from the US Embassy in Mexico.”

  I exhale my waiting breath in relief. “Yes, hello. What can you tell me?”

  I hear his sigh echo on the phone line. “It’s not great news for your friend. It wasn’t just the teddy bear she had in her possession; her empty suitcase was stuffed with methamphetamines. She claims to only know about the bear, but the Mexican government isn’t believing any of it.”

  “Can’t you extradite her?” I ask. Once more Ashlee, our receptionist, is watching me with curiosity.

  “Extradition is not so simple, Miss Sutton. It takes time. For a crime as serious as this one, I’m not even sure it’s going to be possible.”

  “She may never come back?” I ask.

  “We will work as hard as we can, after all she is a US citizen, but it doesn’t look good. Conservatively, I’m guessing at least a couple months.”

  “Okay,” is my best answer. He promises to keep in touch and I’m standing in a daze. How wicked am I that I feel relief? Not four days, but months, and maybe never at all. Can I really assume her identity for the rest of my life?

  Chapter 21

  I try to keep my mind on work while I’m there, but all I can think about is the real Indigo sitting in a Mexican prison. Does guilt come naturally for me or do I have some part in this? I mean, if I hadn’t accepted her offer, maybe she wouldn’t have gone.

  “Have you seen this?” Greg says from the water cooler. “The reward is ten thousand dollars.”

  “Well, if you find her, you can collect, sugar,” Delores answers his unspoken questions. I kick my purse under my desk and take a seat. I hate everything about this conversation.

  “Maybe we can give them Indigo. She looks close enough,” Greg says with a sneer.

  My head pops up and I catch his eye. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your doppelganger,” Greg holds up something he’s printed. “They’re offering a ten thousand dollar reward for anyone who’ll return her to her parents.”

  “She’s probably dead,” Nix says from the other side of the room. “Gone this long without a ransom demand, whatever her kidnappers had planned went wrong. They’re hoping no one ever knows. Shallow grave in the middle of Kansas.”

  It chills me to hear them talk like this. I run my hands over my arms and try to brush away the goose bumps.

  “Or she ran,” Kathy from accounting suggests. “Wouldn’t be the first time a spoiled socialite went looking for attention. Probably holed up in some penthouse suite in New York.”

  Delores grunts her agreement. “Poor darling, running away from her perfect life and every opportunity on a silver platter.”

  My heart is racing as if there’s a neon sign blinking over my head that says, I’m Harper, turn me in. I don’t trust my voice, but I should jump in on this. There’s no good reason for Indigo to be nervous or panicked like I am. What if they see it? What if they figure it out?

  Greg would turn me in for ten dollars, no telling what he’d do for ten thousand.

  “What about publicity?” Declan asks. “The new ale is coming out. Grieving parents garner sympathy. Could be good for business.”

  “Ooo,” Cathy perches on the edge of his desk, “I like that angle. It’s juicy.”

  Declan laughs and for a second his eyes find the length of her legs. She’s a flirt. I know he can’t help but look, but I don’t have to stay here to watch. I scoop up my papers and hurry from the room.

  Running. That’s what I do best. Things get hard, and I’m gone. This new development is no different. Offering a reward? They’re that desperate?

  “Hey,” Declan calls down the hall. I don’t listen and duck into the closest empty room.

  “Max!”

  I kick the door shut with my foot. I’m stuck again. I need to get out of this city, maybe even this state, but I can’t get a job as Harper Sutton. I could use Indigo’s ID, fully assume her identity, but it’s wrong and I know it and I can’t.

  I can’t.

  Maybe I can hide out with Uncle Jerry in Texas, but I know they’ll look there. He’s my only ally, the only person I can trust.

  The door clicks and Declan pushes it open a millimeter a second as if he’s unsure of what he’ll find on the other side.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks.

  I make the mistake of meeting his eyes. There are wrinkles in his brow, deep with concern. Uncle Jerry isn’t the only one I can trust.

  “Nothing,” I say. “It was loud. I couldn’t work in there.”

  “You look upset,” he tries again. Declan moves closer, but keeps a professional distance. “No one is going to turn you in, Max. We know you. You’re not that spoiled princess. You’re nothing like her.”

  I drop my gaze to my shoes because it’s too confusing to look at him. When I look at him, I want to stay here and forget that I was ever Harper Sutton. His warmth moves away from me for a second. The door clicks shut.

  “We never got a chance to celebrate,” his volume drops as if it’s a secret. The blinds are drawn in this room, but it doesn’t matter because the chatter filters through the halls. We’re alone and it does nothing for my already fried nerves.

  “Celebrate what?” I ask. Too much of my frustration is over that errant glance he gave Cathy. But what can I be angry about? Two days before I told him I was leaving. Sure, I told him that I turned down the job that never existed, but we still weren’t anything, not really.

  I look up in time to see him glance over his shoulder before he steps closer to me, closer than professionally necessary. Close enough to run his palm over my pencil skirt and capture my hip.

  “Winning against Montgomery Sutton, getting the approval we needed, securing the account.” His tongue brushes over his bottom lip before he swallows his nerves. “You not leaving me.”

  “I don’t know.” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice. “You seemed pretty interested in Cathy a minute ago. I wasn
’t sure if I was old news already.”

  It’s the worst possible thing I can say and his hand falls away from me.

  “Is that what this is about? Because I looked at Cathy? Once?”

  I’m standing in my own grave with a shovel, and I can’t help but dig a little deeper.

  “It was a lingering stare.” I feel the need to highlight that detail.

  The air gels as Declan watches me, carefully dissecting the angles and curves of my face as only an analyst can do. His jaw stretches side to side as he inhales his frustration with me.

  “She caught my attention,” he admits. “She has nice legs.”

  I roll my eyes and turn away from him to start sorting the files I’ve brought. It’s time to run. I’ve seen enough movies to recognize a womanizer. No, he didn’t seem the type, but so what? People aren’t always what they seem. I obviously know that better than anyone.

  Declan moves to the door. I squeeze my eyes shut because he’s giving up on us and it’s my fault. I’m the one who ruins everything. I’m the one who can’t get it right. I’m the disaster and the mistake. I’m nothing worth staying for. Isn’t that the lesson I’ve learned over and over again?

  But the door doesn’t click open, instead one set of lights clicks off and the room goes candlelight dim, no more fluorescent. The outer ring of recessed lighting illuminates the space.

  “I thought I was pretty clear the last time we talked,” Declan says from behind me, somewhere near the door, but he’s moving toward me, one step at a time. Calculated, controlled, making my heart speed again, but not because someone might find me out. No, this is anxiety of the most delicious kind.

  “I looked, yes, and I guess I lingered if that’s what you saw. But what you’re missing, Max, is all the times I catch myself staring at you and daydreaming about getting you alone. Cathy has nice legs,” Declan stops directly behind me, “but you have everything and you’re making me crazy. I can’t think straight. I’m dreaming about you.”

  His touch tickles as his fingertips travel the length of my arms and his body is against mine. His breath warms my bare neck. It’s wrong to be like this at work. We both know it. But still he presses me closer.

  “Go out with me tonight.” The words brush over my collarbone and trace my jaw. “We need to talk about what this is, so I stop getting in trouble.” His hands pin my arms and spin me to face him, fingertips trailing my skin as he does. “Because it’s not fair to me that you’ve been kissing a married man in a supply closet for months, and I get the cold shoulder for one little glance.” His gaze moves to my lips for a moment and my breath hitches. My reaction pleases him, and the faintest smile pulls at his lips. “Obviously, things have changed between us, and for the better.”

  Once more I can’t trust my voice, but for an entirely different reason. If I speak now I’ll sound like a mouse, or worse, a child. He has no idea that it wasn’t me, and I don’t know how to be in a relationship even though I’ve had a boyfriend since I was fourteen. My lungs feel as though they might break open inside my ribcage because I’m barely breathing. He has no idea what he does to me.

  “Seven,” he whispers, “my place. We’ll keep it casual.”

  He waits for my objections, but I have none. A few strands of hair have pulled loose and he pins them behind my ear before he leaves. I stare after him, door still slightly ajar from his exit, and wonder how on earth I ever thought I could leave him.

  Chapter 22

  There are fourteen flyers with my face on them pinned to poles between Declan’s apartment and mine. That doesn’t include the three newspaper stands with the front-page story leading with my face. I don’t stop to read the headline, but the $10,000 reward glares back in bold lettering. Whispers follow me on the street. Despite the sun setting, it doesn’t take long before I put on my new oversized sunglasses to get some peace.

  My mind is heavy with thoughts as I begin the five flights of stairs. It’s the end of the month. Rent is due. That was the first envelope I opened.

  $2,700 in rent.

  For a one-bedroom apartment.

  I read it four times to make sure it wasn’t a typo. Then came the credit card bills, every single one completely maxed out. If I make all the minimum payments, the account will have about $30 left over.

  Maybe I should turn myself in for the reward money.

  I knock on the door. I wait and allow my mind to wander some more. The simple answer is to leave. I didn’t rack up the debt. I didn’t choose the expensive apartment. It should be easy to walk away. Someone is bound to turn me in anyway, my time here is limited.

  But he’s opened the door and the simple answer isn’t even an option anymore. Instead, I’m considering plastic surgery so I can hide in plain sight and stay with this man that excites me in ways that I never thought possible.

  “Hi,” he whispers. We didn’t talk for the rest of the day, not after our moment in the conference room. This moment feels new, as if it’s our first date. I might cough up butterfly wings at any moment.

  “Hi,” I whisper back. I let my hair down after work and curled the ends. I’ve worn a long sweater and some black leggings because he said casual. Staring at him in his jeans and loose button-down shirt, I’m thinking I don’t understand casual like he does.

  Rory screams through the living room with exuberant zeal before she reverses and screams her way back out. I can’t help but chuckle. She’s at the age where nothing matters and every thought is the right thing to do. It sounds liberating to me. For a second I consider following her down the hallway, waving my arms in the air, and squealing the same pitch.

  “Come on in,” Declan says as he pulls the door wide, “she’s a little crazy tonight. There was a birthday at daycare and she had three cupcakes. I’ve been letting her run the sugar off.”

  I step in and he closes the door behind me. A few pots are set to burners in the kitchen. Puffs of steam billow up and catch beneath the ledge of the loft that he uses for a bedroom. I smell tomatoes, basil, and balsamic vinaigrette. For a guy who claims he can’t cook, it’s impressive.

  “I thought we’d stay in,” Declan says when he sees me spying the pots on the range. “I’m not great at cooking, but Rory seems to think my spaghetti is okay.”

  “It smells delicious.”

  “Make yourself at home,” he tells me. “I have a little more to do, but it shouldn’t take long.”

  There’s a nervous tremor in his voice tonight. I can’t decide if it’s me that makes him anxious, or the fact that there’s a woman in his apartment and my intrusion sets him off guard.

  The walls are decorated with pictures of Declan and Rory, Declan and what I assume to be his family, and one picture of Declan and Samantha with a newborn Rory. Samantha is breathtaking, mysterious with olive skin, jaw length black hair, and a glow that accompanies a mother in love. Tattooed sleeves cover both of her arms in the picture, and I wonder if Declan is hiding any from his previous life.

  They were happy. It’s easy to see that. It worries me that I can’t measure up to her. My mother always warned against divorced men.

  “Their hearts belong to the first, my dear. You’ll always be the replacement. They left her, they can leave you too, it’s easier the second, third, or fourth times.”

  I set the picture back. The clatter of his work fills the air, but he analyzes for a job, it’s not like he’d miss any part of this. I’m sure he’s watching my every move.

  Something wet slides over the back of my hand. I jump back with a yelp to escape the sensation. But when I glance down into those brown doggie eyes, I instantly melt.

  “Apollo,” Declan shouts from the kitchen. “Apollo, how’d you get out?”

  Apollo’s ears are cocked up as if he’s asking who I am. I extend a nervous hand and he sniffs it carefully before he licks it. I bend a knee, drop to his height, and rub behind his furry ears.

  I had a dog like him as a child. We kept him four years until my mother decided he w
as a distraction to me at the ripe old age of ten. I have a feeling she simply hated the dog hair in my bed and on my clothes. Not that she did any of the work, we had a maid for all those motherly chores.

  “I’m sorry,” Declan says as he comes around the back of the couch. “I left him in the bathroom. I didn’t know how you felt about dogs.”

  It’s funny because most men hide their children, not their pets.

  “I love dogs.” I dig my fingers deep into Apollo’s thick fur. Apollo leans forward and licks the full length of my face with his tongue. I can’t help but giggle.

  “Apollo, back to your bed,” Declan scolds and snaps his fingers. The dog drops his head, and with only one glance over his shoulder, Apollo follows his command and disappears into the dark hallway.

  Declan has a dog. Of course he does.

  And it's trained. Of course it is.

  Because his daughter is perfect. His apartment is perfect, and I'm a bride who ditched my high school boyfriend at the altar.

  Can no one see the glare on my facade but me?

  “Sorry,” Declan apologizes again. “He’s really friendly. He likes meeting new people, and he’s pretty lonely while I’m at work.”

  “I don’t mind.” I follow him back to the kitchen. “He’s a sweetheart.”

  “Sam never liked him,” Declan says as he stirs one of the boiling pots. “I actually gave him away to try to save our marriage. Obviously that didn’t work, so when she left, I bought him back.”

  The strain of his divorce is written on his face. My mother might not have been right about a man always loving the first, but I’m not sure she’s wrong about being careful of divorced men. His scars are impossible to miss.

  “Daddy?” Rory’s little voice breaks over the sound of dinner. “Daddy you read a me?”

  She’s holding a board book tight in her grasp and stretching up as if he should hold her. He glances down and beams naturally upon seeing her. “Sorry sweetie, daddy’s making dinner. Maybe later?”