by Anne Mather
"No!"
Caitlin couldn't bear it. Even the idea of her husband smuggling drugs was more acceptable than believing Jake had been involved. He wouldn't, she told herself desperately; he couldn't. Though the fact remained, he had been travelling on his brother's passport…
Marshall was regarding her a little sympathetically now, and Caitlin felt the hot colour invade her cheeks. What must he be thinking? she wondered unhappily. He'd seen them together on more than one occasion, and he must know they'd shared a room at her parents' house.
"You sound very positive," he remarked now, and Caitlin spread the damp handkerchief between her palms.
"Do I?" she said, hoping he couldn't tell how she was really feeling. "Well, perhaps I am. I can't believe—Jake would do something like this."
"For what it's worth, nor can I," declared Marshall flatly. "It's just difficult to come up with another alternative. One thing's certain. No one could have foreseen the accident. Which brings us back to the problem of where the real Nathan is now."
Caitlin got restlessly to her feet and paced across to the windows. "What would you say if I told you I didn't care?" She traced the line of the wood grain with a wistful finger. "I know it probably sounds crazy to you, but I wanted to believe he was Nathan. I suppose that was why I didn't question the way he behaved."
"I know what you mean." Marshall rose now and came to join her. "He seemed so eager to learn, I was completely taken in."
"But you knew he was different. You said as much that evening you came to the flat." Caitlin sighed. "I suppose I just blinded myself to the fact that it couldn't be him."
"So where do we go from here?" Marshall looked at her gently. "I guess we talk to—Jake. I gather you haven't spoken to him since this woman came to the shop."
"No." Caitlin looked up at him through her lashes. "I couldn't. He—left for New York this morning to find—his roots."
"Shit!"
For the first time in their short acquaintance, Marshall lost his temper. But she could hardly blame him for his impatience, or for the fact that he felt betrayed. She'd had the same feelings herself, ever since Lisa had dropped her bombshell. She'd been asking herself why, after all that had happened between them, she didn't have his trust.
"You do realise we might have seen the last of both of them," Marshall said at last, when he had recovered his composure. "I'm sorry if I was rude, but I can just imagine what your father's going to say when he hears this." He paused. "Did he tell you where he was going? Or is that a silly question? How can we trust a man who's spent the past three weeks masquerading as his brother to tell the truth?"
"Not three weeks." Caitlin wouldn't have that. "A few days at most, and he did tell Lisa his real name."
"Probably because she'd realised he wasn't Nathan," muttered Marshall dourly. "Oh, dammit, what the hell are we going to do?"
"I could go to Prescott," suggested Caitlin cautiously, the idea blossoming tentatively in her mind. "Prescott, New Jersey, that is. Where Nathan's father is living. He seemed a little confused when he saw Nathan—that is, Jake—in the hospital. If Jake is Nathan's twin brother, then he'd know who his son was, wouldn't you think?"
Marshall's expression brightened considerably. "That's a brilliant idea," he said, and even Caitlin felt her spirits lift a little at the unexpected praise. "But I'll go to Prescott, and you can go and tell your father what I'm doing. He might not cut off my—" he grimaced "—allowance, if he thinks I'm making progress."
Caitlin gave him an old-fashioned look. "You are joking, I trust," she stated tersely. "If anyone's following-Jake to Prescott, it's me. I am his wife—well, I thought I was, and he probably thinks I still believe it. How you explain what's happened to Daddy is your problem. Not mine."
24
The car stalled as Nathan was driving it into the storage shed, and he swore angrily, getting out to shove the heavy vehicle the rest of the way. He was loath to risk starting the engine again and maybe attracting the attention of a black and white out on patrol. In all honesty, he was relieved that the car hadn't let him down before he got back to the lumber yard.
It had been a hell of a journey, and a wasted journey at that. He'd have preferred to have gone by plane, but something—some sixth sense, perhaps—had warned him to use the car. And it was just as well he had, in the circumstances. At least that nosy janitor wouldn't know exactly when he'd left Jake's apartment.
It had been just his bad luck that Fletch Connor should have been there when he arrived. He'd actually been feeling pretty confident, having fooled the janitor and all. He'd had to get the man to let him into the condo, and he thought his story about leaving his keys back at his office had gone down rather well. The janitor had bought his story anyway, even asking him how he was and if he'd had a nice trip.
Jake must have told the guy he was going away for a few days. In any event, the janitor had noticed Jake hadn't been staying at the apartment for several weeks. He hadn't seemed suspicious, and Nathan had been fairly sure he'd gotten away with it. And he would have done, if Fletch Connor hadn't been waiting for him inside.
He wondered how the old man had gotten into the apartment. The janitor hadn't mentioned he was there, but perhaps that was because he was a regular visitor. Whatever, as soon as he'd seen Nathan, he'd become almost deranged, accusing him of impersonating Jake, instead of the other way about. He wouldn't listen to reason; he wouldn't listen to anything Nathan had to say. He'd been like a mad bull, ranting and raving, implying that Nathan had done away with his brother, or something ridiculous like that.
As if.
Nathan hunched his shoulders as he closed the shed doors. It had been a stupid idea to go to Pine Bay in the first place. But he'd had to get away. Jacob was driving him crazy, and although he didn't trust him, if the old man didn't know where he'd gone, there was nothing he could do.
He doubted Jacob would have expected him to go to North Carolina. After what he'd said about Fletch, he'd have assumed Nathan would be too scared. He scowled. He should have listened to him for once. Connor was enough to scare anyone. When he'd come at Nathan like the mad dog he was, he'd had to fight to hold the old fool off.
Of course, he hadn't meant to hurt him. Well, not seriously, at least, but Fletch had been too reckless to control. He'd forced Nathan to use his fists to defend himself, and then crumpled like a pack of cards instead of fighting back.
Nathan groaned. Well, it was all academic now. Fletch was dead—sprawled across that fancy carpet in Jake's living room. And when he was found, they'd probably indict Jake for his murder.
Once again, everything had gone wrong. Why couldn't the old guy have let him have his say before lunging at him like some razorback in heat? But he couldn't have let the old man call the cops. Nathan felt sweat break out all over his body at the thought.
He grimaced. He hadn't realised his fist could be so lethal. When it had connected with Fletch's jaw, he was sure he'd hurt himself more than the old man. Jake had told him the guy had quite a reputation for being a hard man, but it hadn't seemed that way when he went down.
Nevertheless, it had taken Nathan some time before he'd had the nerve to check that he wasn't breathing. Panic had set in then, and it had taken every ounce of will-power he possessed not to go charging out of the apartment there and then. His initial instinct had been to put as many miles between himself and Fletch's corpse as was humanly possible. He was terrified someone else might come and find him there.
But common sense had persuaded him that darkness was falling. If he waited another couple of hours, he might be able to slip away without anyone seeing him go. He'd been glad he'd had the foresight to park the rental car a couple of blocks from the apartment complex. In his original bid to hide his real identity, he hadn't wanted any strange car ruining his plans.
The hours between taking the decision to wait and actually leaving had dragged. Nathan had never seen a dead body before. He'd been too young when his mother—his stepmother—had died, and i
t wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat. Fetch hadn't smelt particularly good when he was alive, and the apartment had seemed permeated by his unwashed smell.
But he'd known he had to be practical, so he'd spent some of the time wiping the surfaces where he might have left his fingerprints, and avoided looking at the body as much as he could. He would have preferred to drag it into the bed-room, but that would have entailed touching it again. Besides, he didn't want to run the risk of leaving more evidence. At present, the janitor thought Jake had returned home, and he preferred to keep it that way.
He hadn't left by the main entrance, naturally. He'd had no compunction about opening the patio doors and making his escape across the grassy slope beyond. It had meant leaving the sliding door unlocked, but that was a simple thing for anyone to overlook. And if a thief broke into the apartment—well, so much the better. The cops would have another set of fingerprints to muddy the scene.
The air in Prescott was much colder than the air had been in Pine Bay. It struck through the fine wool of his Armani suit with an icy hand. But the cold he could feel was not just a result of the weather. He felt chilled to the bone and in desperate need of sleep.
It would be light soon, he noticed. He'd driven through the night, and already he could detect a slight diffusion in the darkness around him. What the hell was he going to do now? he thought, self-pity gnawing into his stomach. He just hoped his father wasn't dragged into the murder inquiry. Jacob would be bound to be suspicious of his whereabouts at the time of Fletch's death.
He reached the door of the house and pressed the bell insistently. Unlike the last time he'd come here, he had little hope that his father wouldn't be in bed. But, to his surprise, he heard the old man unlocking the door almost immediately, and as far as he could tell, Jacob hadn't had to draw the bolts. Perhaps he'd taken what he said to heart, reflected Nathan with a grimace. There was nothing in the house that anyone would want to steal.
But when the door swung open, it wasn't Jacob who was standing behind it. Almost before he had a chance to register the fact that his brother must have recovered his memory after all, Jake's hand snaked out and grabbed the front of his shirt. He was hauled into the hall of the house and the door slammed before he could make a protest. But, in any case, Jake's expression warned him that any attempt to resist would be futile.
The hall was dim, as usual, but even in the poor light he was aware of his brother's menace. They might be alike, but Nathan was sure he had never looked as savage as Jake did at that moment. It was obvious he couldn't wait to get his hands on him again, and only a thin veneer of civilisation was holding him back.
"Well, well," Jake greeted him coldly, his bulk successfully blocking Nathan's attempt to move to comparative safety along the hall. "The prodigal returns." His lips twisted. "How did I know you would? What happened? Did Fletch throw you out?"
Fletch!
Nathan swallowed, a little of his fear subsiding. Jake didn't know about Fletch. He didn't know his father—so-called father—was dead. Well, how could he? he chided himself impatiently. Jake hadn't gone to his apartment, thank God! He must have come here straight from the airport.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he blustered now, gaining strength from his secret knowledge. "Why would I go looking for that old fool? Why would I go to North Carolina at all? In any case, who are you to question my movements? You haven't been hanging about here for weeks, waiting for your dumb brother to come to his senses."
"I didn't lose my senses," grated Jake angrily, his jaw tightening at the deliberate slur on his character. "I could have been killed in that crash, and you know it." His eyes darkened. "I bet you wished I had. Then all your troubles would have been over. Well—" his mouth twisted "—almost."
"Don't be a fool!"
"I'm not the fool," said Jake. "You are." He regarded the other man with contempt. "So where have you been? Disposing of the dope?"
Nathan blanched. Until that moment, he'd believed he was prepared for anything Jake might throw at him. He'd had plenty of time to prepare his excuses after all. But his brother's accusation was just too near the truth for his liking, and a look of consternation crossed his face. What had his father been saying? he wondered. Had the old man told Jake what he thought Nathan had planned? No! He took a couple of nervous breaths to calm his system. Jacob wasn't up as he surely would have been if they'd been conspiring against him. Jake was whistling in the dark, that was all.
But his silence had betrayed him as a denial might not. While he was still assuring himself that he had nothing to fear from his brother, Jake moved in and slammed him back against the wall.
"You shit!" he said harshly, his forearm beneath Nathan's jaw, forcing his head back at an impossible angle. Nathan could feel the bones in his neck grinding together as Jake's grip threatened to sever his air supply. "You bloody, selfish idiot! What have you done?"
"For Christ's sake, Jake," he gasped, raising his hands to try and dislodge his brother's arm from beneath his chin, but all Jake did was use his free hand to twist one of Nathan's arms up behind his back. The pain was excruciating, and the sweat broke out on his forehead. He almost screamed at the agony it induced.
"I should break your neck," Jake told him without sympathy. "You planned this, didn't you? You sent me on that plane to London, knowing there was no cocaine in that suitcase—"
"No—"
"What do you mean, no?"
Nathan gulped. "You don't know that there was no cocaine in that suitcase. Unless my father was lying when he said all the baggage had been destroyed."
"He wasn't lying."
"Then, how—"
"You don't think I'd carry a suitcase on a plane not knowing what was in it, do you?" Jake sneered. "For all I knew, it could have contained a bomb. You're stupid enough—or irresponsible enough—not to care."
"As if I'd give you a suitcase with a bomb inside."
Nathan was incredulous, but his brother wasn't convinced. "There are other ways of causing an explosion," he said grimly. "Did you hope Walker would deal with me first, thinking I was you, and ask questions afterwards?"
"No, I…" Nathan's brain was buzzing. He had evidently underestimated his brother, and he thanked God he'd hidden the cocaine in a safe place. But Jake wasn't aware of what had been inside, or that he'd intended to call the cops, he assured himself more confidently. "It wasn't like that," he mumbled at last. "Jake, let me breathe, for God's sake. I can't tell you anything while you're crushing my spine."
"So speak."
Jake eased up just enough to let him take a gulp of air, and Nathan struggled to find a convincing explanation. "I—I gave you the wrong suitcase," he offered lamely. "I've still got the drugs, like you said."
If he'd hoped that news would win him a reprieve, he was mistaken. "You're a liar," said Jake harshly, "but you're not stupid. Well, not totally stupid anyway. If you've got any sense, you'll tell me the truth before I lose what little patience I've got left."
Nathan expelled his breath on a frustrated sigh. "And if I don't, what will you do? Kill me?" A sob escaped him as Jake increased the pressure on his arm yet again. "For pity's sake, Jake, I'm your brother. Your twin brother! Isn't there supposed to be some respect around here?"
"Did you respect me when you sent me on that trip to London?"
"Yes." Nathan swallowed with difficulty. "I didn't know what was going to happen, did I?"
"That's what bothers me," said Jake, regarding him dourly. "I keep asking myself what you had to gain."
"To gain?"
"Yes." Jake gnawed at his lower lip. "I wonder—could there have been some cocaine in that suitcase after all?"
"No…"
Nathan didn't want him to start thinking along those lines. Jake was too astute; he'd had too much experience dealing with traffickers. God, if he guessed what Nathan had planned, he might really break his neck.
"Then what?" demanded Jake, thrusting his face close to his brother's.
"It wasn't the first time you'd carried drugs. You lied."
"How do you know that?"
"I spoke to your—girlfriend," replied Jake, shocking him still further. "She was pathetically open, actually. When I told her you'd arranged the whole deal, she believed me."
Nathan was speechless, but Jake didn't give him time to absorb the implications of what he was saying. "She told me about Walker. I guess he's looking for you, too. She also told me about the Colombian deal," Jake continued chillingly. "You've really fucked up your life, and you tried to fuck up mine, as well."
Nathan shook his head. "Lisa's a liar—"
"Not as big a liar as you." Jake's eyes bored into his.
Nathan's stomach contracted. He had always regarded his brother as such a pushover—someone who'd do anything to strengthen the bonds he thought there were between them. As if he really had anything in common with this thug, he thought disparagingly. He'd thought he could use Jake, but once again, he'd misjudged the situation.
"What's going on here?"
His father's voice restored Nathan's belief in miracles. The old man was coming slowly down the stairs, and Nathan managed to turn his head to watch his approach. Not that he expected the dressing-gowned figure in worn carpet slippers was likely to be any match for his brother, if Jake chose to ignore him. But he managed a pathetic cry for help as Jacob reached the hall.
"Let him go."
Jacob's voice was low and controlled, and Nathan felt a moment's contempt for his naiveté. As if Jake was likely to take any notice of him, he thought frustratedly. Dammit, why didn't he come across the hall and try and prise the bastard off him?
"I said, let him go, Jake."
Jake eased his hold slightly, and Nathan was able to take his first deep breath since his brother had slammed him against the wall. Jake turned towards the stooped, but composed, figure of their father almost too obediently, and Nathan had a chance to see what was going on.
Shit! The breath left his lungs in a rush. The old man was holding a gun. It looked like his old service pistol, but it was obvious that Jake thought it might still be in working order. The fool! Didn't he realise that old Colt hadn't been fired for years?