by Rita Herron
She was Kendra Yates—the woman he was inquiring about. The one whose mutilated hand he had seen with his own eyes. The fingerprint must have been wrong—or had the cops faked them?
Could it be possible that she was Kendra Yates? And if so, why was she hiding out here while his brother took the fall for her murder?
* * *
CRYSTAL CLUTCHED the brick wall, a mixture of fear and excitement racing through her. Her first response was wariness that this man might find her hideous in appearance. Now that she could see his face, she realized just how masculine and sexy he was. God, she’d been shut away so long that she’d forgotten what sexy looked like.
It looked like this man. Dark-haired, tall with broad shoulders, a square jaw, eyes brown as dark chocolate, and prominent cheekbones that sculpted a strong face. An intensity radiated off him that screamed of raw, primal male. He was not only a cop, but the hard commanding air in his expression made her think he’d been military as well.
Dr. Pace had told her he’d alerted the police and FBI to find her identity—was that the reason this federal agent was here now?
Nerves triggered butterflies to dance in her stomach. He didn’t look as if he wanted to help her. Rather, anger radiated from his stark features.
What if he knew her identity, and she was some kind of criminal? She’d had nightmares about her past that seemed so real she sensed that something bad had happened, that she had been running from someone when she’d had the accident…
“If you saw the report about my brother’s arrest, then why haven’t you come forward?” Special Agent Dubois said.
She frowned. “I…don’t understand. Why would I?”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me. You’re Kendra Yates, the woman Antwaun is accused of murdering. You seduced my brother, and now you’re hiding out here while he’s sitting in a jail cell.”
Fear tightened her throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kendra Yates…She’s the woman that was killed. I saw the report.”
“What happened, Kendra?” he asked harshly. “Did you get too close to Swafford, and he threatened you, so you decided to disappear? Or was it the dirty cop you were on to? Did he scare you enough to make you seek out Pace for a new identity?”
She shook her head. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Tell me why you think I’m this reporter.”
He jerked a newspaper clipping from his pocket, unfolded it and shoved it toward her.
She glanced down at the picture, studying the face of the woman. It was the same woman they’d shown on the news report. She had seemed familiar….
Could she really be this woman Kendra? And if so, what had happened to her?
He gripped her arms, and she stiffened, suddenly terrified by the fury in his eyes. “Tell me the truth, Kendra. You may be a pretty woman and you fooled my brother, but I know you had your own agenda.”
“I…am telling you the truth,” she said, trying to jerk away. “I don’t remember what happened to me. I had an accident months ago, wound up here. I was severely burned, had several surgeries…”
A perplexed look tightened Agent Dubois’s features. “You had an accident?”
“Yes. My car exploded and caught fire.” Her hand automatically went to her face, felt the sensitive new skin, and she angled her head downward. “That’s why I…had plastic surgery. Why I’m scarred.”
His grip on her arms loosened. His breath rattled out as if he was weighing her statement, trying to decide whether or not to believe her.
“You have amnesia?” he asked.
She nodded, rubbing at her arms where he’d clenched them. An odd expression—regret maybe—inched onto his face. “Dr. Pace performed your surgery?”
“Yes. He says I need more, but I’m better now.”
His frown deepened, calling attention to the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked troubled, upset, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “Let’s talk to Dr. Pace together.”
She hesitated, didn’t know whether to trust him or not. The article said that Kendra Yates had been investigating dirty cops. What if this man or his brother was corrupt? What if Antwaun Dubois had been the man in her nightmare, the one who’d tried to hurt her?
* * *
DAMON SCRUTINIZED the petite fleur’s facial expressions and body language for any clue that she was lying. Any clue that she indeed knew her real name and had framed his brother for murder.
But if she’d been seasoned to go into WITSEC or to change identities for another reason, whoever had trained her had done so well.
She really did appear to be suffering from amnesia, to be completely stunned and shocked at his statements. That didn’t mean that she hadn’t faked her death, though, and wasn’t here to disappear beneath a transformed appearance. Maybe because she was terrified of Swafford’s men or the cop or federal agent she had discovered was crooked.
And if this woman was Kendra Yates, whose hand had they found in the bayou?
Another possibility teased his mind—what if she wasn’t really Kendra Yates, but someone who resembled her? Maybe a relative, a sister? Or someone who’d had plastic surgery to look like her?
But why would a person want to have plastic surgery to look like Kendra?
She pulled back from him. “Dr. Pace said he sent my DNA away to be analyzed and have the authorities look for a match.” Her voice quivered with nerves. “Is that how you found me?”
“No.” But he’d check and see if Pace really had sent her DNA to the cops. If so, why wouldn’t the results have come up when Kendra Yates had been reported missing?
Unless Pace had never reported her appearance at the hospital…
But why wouldn’t he?
* * *
CRYSTAL FELT COMPLETELY spooked by the agent’s scrutiny. He thought she was lying about the amnesia. She wished to goodness she did know her identity, wished she could remember what had happened to her before the accident. Her head ached from struggling to make sense of what he’d told her.
The mention of the articles teased her memory, but a curtain fell and the black abyss in her mind swirled deeper and darker, an empty hole of nothing. Thunder grumbled behind her, shaking the trees, and a streak of lightning zigzagged across the gray sky. The storm brewing outside mirrored the one rumbling in her mind.
“All right, let’s go.” She moved past Damon, aware of his hulking size towering over her, of his deadly gaze on her back, of the slight brush of his hand on her waist as he opened the door for her.
Hope and dread knotted her stomach. She’d wanted answers for months.
Yet she was terrified of what she might find.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DR. PACE’S COMPLEXION paled when Crystal walked into his office alongside Agent Dubois.
“Reginald?” Agent Dubois said tersely.
Crystal’s head jerked sideways as she realized that the men knew each other personally.
“Special Agent Dubois, I thought you’d left.”
“I was on my way out when I noticed one of your patients.” He gestured toward her. “She strikes an amazing resemblance to Kendra Yates.”
Dr. Pace twisted his mouth into a grimace. “Is that so?”
Agent Dubois grunted. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t see it when I showed you her photo. Why did you lie to me?”
Dr. Pace shrugged, but Crystal saw him take a step back, one hand clutching the desk as if he needed to steady himself. “Actually, they look more alike now, I suppose, than they did before the surgery, so I didn’t really see the point.”
“Maybe you should explain yourself,” Agent Dubois said, his voice hardening to a menacing tone. “Though I understand the confidential nature of your work, you know that you can trust me. I need the truth.”
“The truth is that she was a Jane Doe burn victim, the result of a nasty explosion and fire. You know I’m bound by doctor-patient confidentiality.”
Crystal thought she detected a sligh
t flicker of emotion in the agent’s face at the mention of the accident, but he quickly recovered.
“Please, Dr. Pace,” Crystal pleaded. “I want to find out who I am.”
He gave her an odd look, caring, concerned, but also worried. “All right. But I won’t divulge anything you don’t want me to about your medical condition.”
“If it helps uncover my identity, it’s all right. Maybe Agent Dubois can help.”
“Very well then.” His mouth formed a flat line. “Crystal…Jane Doe was transported here from the local hospital a year ago.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Pace continued. “Her condition was critical. She sustained massive injuries to her chest and abdomen, and her face was essentially…destroyed.”
Detective Dubois folded his arms. “I want to see documentation of the date she was admitted. Pictures of before and after.”
Dr. Pace glanced at Crystal for approval.
Crystal felt exposed and vulnerable. “It’s true…my face was ruined. Dr. Pace saved my life and performed several surgeries over the past few months.”
“And you have reports to prove when she arrived and the details of her condition?” Agent Dubois asked.
“Of course.”
Suspicion flared in the agent’s eyes. “You can fake those if needed.”
“You don’t trust me, Dubois?” Dr. Pace asked with a raised brow.
“My brother has been arrested for murdering Kendra Yates,” Agent Dubois snapped. “If this woman is Kendra, if she’s alive, I can clear him.”
Crystal sucked in a much-needed breath. “I need answers, Dr. Pace. Show him the photos.” Crystal swallowed back emotions as Dr. Pace removed a form detailing her admission, another one with various notations about her condition, photos of her face and body following the accident, then some of her bandaged after a series of surgeries. She barely looked human.
“Am I Kendra Yates?” she asked the doctor.
“I honestly don’t know your real name. I told you that I never received anything back from the police so I assumed they didn’t find you in the system.”
“And you did file a report with the police when she was admitted?” Agent Dubois asked.
Dr. Pace nodded.
“When was that?”
Dr. Pace consulted the file. “June 1.”
“Why was she brought here, instead of a regular hospital?”
“She was taken to the hospital but we transferred her here because she needed long-term care, and because of my expertise.”
Agent Dubois unpocketed his cell phone, clicked a few numbers, identified himself, then asked the party on the line to verify the information the plastic surgeon had just given him. A minute later, he ended the call, then snapped the phone shut. “There is no record that you ever contacted the police regarding this woman.”
Dr. Pace looked appalled. “Then someone on your side made a mistake.” He gestured toward the file. “My records prove I did.”
“And you didn’t falsify those files?”
“What possible reason would I have to do so?” Dr. Pace glared at the agent.
Crystal cringed. She’d never seen the doctor so angry. And what reason would he have? He’d been nothing but kind to her, patient, comforting.
“I don’t know,” Agent Dubois said. “But I know you’re lying now.” He waved a hand toward Crystal. “She said you told her she needed more surgery.”
A hint of guilt flickered in the doctor’s eyes.
She pressed a hand to her cheek. Felt for any imperfection, a drooping cheek or eye, grooves of scar tissue, but her face felt smooth. Normal for the first time in ages.
“Let me see for myself,” she said.
Dr. Pace’s nostrils flared. “I only meant that we’d have to wait for some of the redness to fade. Make sure the skin wasn’t rejected.”
She nodded, but trembled as he removed a hand mirror from his credenza. His pleading look as he handed it to her confused her even more. “I was only trying to take care of you, Crystal. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to help you. To protect you.”
The doctor sounded so sincere, yet fear laced his voice as if he’d gotten caught doing something wrong. She didn’t understand him, or why she suddenly felt drawn to the agent, as if he were the one protecting her. Something about him just seemed so familiar. His voice, it was husky, low, dangerous, but sexy. She’d heard it somewhere before.
But if she was Kendra, she’d known his brother, not him….
She lifted the mirror slowly; her breath locked in her chest as she studied the face in the reflection. Slim, oval, a small nose, high cheekbones, dark eyebrows arched above pale green eyes. Other than a slight swelling around her eyes and some redness along her chin and her temples, the face was healed.
Not only healed, but attractive.
Relief brought a wave of tears to her eyes. She was no longer a monster.
Then why hadn’t Dr. Pace wanted her to see herself? He’d performed miracles.
A chill suddenly coursed through her as questions bombarded her. Questions about herself, about the doctor. If he’d lied to her and told her she needed more surgery, maybe he had lied about filing the report to the police. But why would he do such a thing? Did he know her identity and have some reason to keep it from her?
Another shiver rippled through her, and she had the uncanny realization that this face wasn’t hers.
It belonged to that stranger, to Kendra Yates.
* * *
DAMON HADN’T QUITE EXPECTED Reginald Pace to cooperate fully, but he hadn’t been prepared for the number of questions interrogating him raised. Crystal—Kendra?—appeared genuinely confused as well.
At least if those photos of her were actually of her. The woman in the pictures had been scarred severely, was unrecognizable. She must have suffered terribly. Been in pain for months. The injuries she’d sustained during her accident along with heavy medication she must have been under could have caused her amnesia.
The mention of fire caused a wave of nausea to flow through him. Memories of that last mission, of the explosion, the fire scorching his skin as he’d run through the flames to try and save the woman. Her screams as the heat and flames consumed her…
Crystal dropped into the chair, a long sigh escaping her, dragging him back to the moment.
Pace was an expert in manipulating evidence, so Damon didn’t take anything at face value. If Kendra Yates had come here investigating Pace, and he or someone Pace knew had killed her, why perform plastic surgery to make another patient look like her? Kendra’s killer wouldn’t want to draw attention to the fact that she had been here, or that she might be alive. And if Kendra Yates had come to fake her death and disappear with a new identity, why hadn’t she?
Unless she had been so severely injured she’d needed time to heal first…
None of it made sense.
“Crystal,” he said, using the name she’d referred to herself as. “We confiscated a brush and toothbrush from Kendra’s apartment. I’d like to take your DNA, fingerprints to compare, see if we can determine your real identity.” He watched her carefully for any sign that she intended to run. But she seemed vulnerable, even frightened. She wanted help….
Obviously, if she didn’t remember and had been in trouble or running from something or someone, then maybe she feared the cops, or was afraid someone was still after her. And she was probably right. If Swafford or the real corrupt cop knew she was on to him, he’d want her dead.
“All right,” she said, although her voice trembled. “In fact, I think I’d like to go with you when you leave.”
Damon glanced at Pace. “Is she strong enough to be dismissed?”
The plastic surgeon shifted, and Damon noted the subtle play of fear and anxiety on his face. He’d known Reginald Pace for five years and had never seen him react emotionally.
An underlying air of panic radiated from him that suggested something else was going on here. Something
more sinister.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“Please, Dr. Pace,” Crystal said. “You’ve given me a new face now, helped me heal. I feel healthier. I need to do this, to find out who I am. I think I do have a connection to this woman Kendra.”
“But, Crystal.” He gripped her wrist so tightly that Crystal winced. “I’m not sure you’re strong enough. You need rest, need to be careful. Too much sun exposure, too much stress might cause adverse reactions.”
“I’ll check back in, continue the antirejection medications.”
A vein throbbed in his forehead. “No, I won’t release you. Not yet.”
“You lied to me,” Crystal said. “You made me think I was still scarred and ugly. Why would you do that?”
“You need me,” he said in a harsh, almost desperate tone. “You’ve made it this far only because of me. You can’t leave me now.”
Damon squared his shoulders. Pace’s behavior was odd, almost possessive. Was he in love with Crystal?
Or was Pace afraid of what she might find out about him if she left?
“No, I have to do this,” she said as if she, too, picked up on Pace’s strange behavior and found it threatening. “But I want to say goodbye to Lex before I go.”
“Lex?” Pace’s brow drew into a scowl.
“Yes, Lex Van Wormer,” Crystal said.
Damon tensed. Lex Van Wormer—he had been part of the secret elite squad that Damon had joined in the military. Lex had been injured and had taken a medical discharge. Damon knew he’d been admitted here for treatment, but Damon’s neighbor, Lex’s grand-mère Esmeralda, had said Lex had died.
How did Crystal know him? Had he told her about the E-team?
Pace frowned. “You must be confused, Crystal. Lex was a patient here last year, but he passed away months ago.”
Crystal swayed and Damon watched as Dr. Pace knelt to rub her back.
“No,” Crystal whispered. “I saw him, I spoke to him, I held his hand just last night.” She turned a shocked look toward Pace. “He told me stories about the military. And he played blues tunes on his harmonica at night.”