Identity Crisis (6 page)

Why had he changed his mind?

She ran a nail over the unglued inside cover of the Bible. Had the intruder also found the itinerary? That meant if he hadn’t known that they had ties to Wisconsin, he did now. It gave him a starting place, if he even needed one. Somehow, she was still convinced he knew all about Five Lakes.

She slipped the Bible and airline confirmation into her briefcase, glancing over at the bed where her dad had died. The covers had been stripped off and the mattress mutilated, stuffing everywhere. The red handmade quilt lay in a pile on the floor. He’d had it as long as she could remember. Had that been in his family also? Maybe his mother had made it. She picked up the quilt and something brushed against her arm. She scanned the quilt, spotting a syringe, its needle stuck under the material.

Why would her dad have had a syringe? He wasn’t diabetic, and she guaranteed he didn’t do drugs.
That
she knew for sure.

She walked into the connecting bathroom to peruse the medicine cabinet. Scanning the contents, nothing jumped out at her. No medication in the cupboards either. Since some medications were kept refrigerated, she went down to the kitchen and searched the fridge, zoning in on a plastic container at the back. It looked too large to hold leftovers for one person. She opened it to discover a box reading
Revonox
. She opened the box to find several syringes filled with a clear liquid. According to the instruction booklet, the drug was for treating multiple sclerosis.

She stared in confused disbelief at the box.

Her dad had suffered from multiple sclerosis?

Guess he
had
kept more than his past from her.

• • •

“You’re in some serious shit, Eduardo.” Ethan stared into the dark eyes of the punk sitting across the table from him in the interrogation room. The kid’s black hair was buzzed with GB — an abbreviation for Los Guerreros de la Bahia, the Spanish translation for the Bay Warriors — shaved into the back of his head. Gang tats covered his scrawny arms. Unlike Javier, Eduardo had undoubtedly joined his cousin’s gang to keep from getting the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis. His smart mouth was the biggest part of his body.

“Those bogus charges ain’t gonna stick. I ain’t guilty.” Eduardo rocked back in his chair, looking overly confident.

Ethan wanted to leap across the table and smack some sense into the kid, who was just two years older than Josh Sutter. He could see Josh getting involved with a gang to have a sense of belonging. He hoped like hell this wasn’t Josh sitting across from him in six months.

“We have two witnesses. Besides seeing your face, they saw your arm sticking out the car window. Your gang’s jaguar and snake tats are pretty distinct. With your track record, you’re going down this time.”

A flicker of panic flashed in Eduardo’s eyes before his cocky expression returned. “My lawyer got me off on that other bogus charge; ain’t gonna be no different this time.” He glanced around. “Where is that prick anyway? I ain’t saying no more without my lawyer.”

Like this punk could keep his big yap shut for five seconds. Ethan shrugged. “You know your rights. You should also know murder is a lot harder to get off on than some petty drug charge. Especially now that you’re an adult. You’re screwed.” Ethan relaxed back in his chair, a victorious grin on his face.

Eduardo paled, shifting nervously in his chair.

“Too bad you’re going to prison just when you got your big break, taking Javier’s place. Guess that’ll all change anyway once Javier returns. Unless of course he goes away for murder.”

Eduardo looked intrigued by the thought of being Javier’s successor, but said, “I ain’t no snitch, unlike the losers you work with.” Eduardo spit at the two-way mirror, behind which stood three cops. “Ain’t like you cops are ever gonna bust one of your own anyway. You all stick together.”

The fear of an inside snitch had been clawing at the back of Ethan’s mind. But who was to say Eduardo wasn’t just trying to save his ass? Because when he’d started shooting off his mouth, he likely hadn’t realized what the info was worth.

“Go on,” Ethan said.

“What’s in it for me?”

“Besides not letting it get around that you were talking to cops and turned on your gang leader, I’m much more interested in busting a cop who killed a witness and one of his own than some gangbanger shooting one of
his
own. We could make a deal.” But Javier was still going down.

Eduardo leaned in, his nervous gaze skittering around the room, like Javier might be ready to burst through the door. “Now this ain’t got nothing to do with Javier, but word on the street is some guy called some guy and handed this bitch over on a silver friggin’ platter. Guy was clear he didn’t want no witnesses. Way I heard it, he was more interested in offing them cops than that bitch.”

If Eduardo had indeed heard it right, which likely he had since it’d come straight from Javier, the marshals, rather than the witness, had possibly been the targets. Maybe not as far as Javier was concerned, but for whoever had given him their location. Who would have wanted Roy dead and what was the motive? Another case Roy had been working on?

What if Roy had learned that Andrew Donovan had resumed his life of crime and Donovan or his partner had killed Roy? Then the partner had taken out Donovan? Ethan would check Roy’s phone records for the months preceding his death to see if he’d had any contact with Olivia’s father or possibly this unknown partner.

Or, what if Ethan had been the target? Maybe the killer didn’t realize he wasn’t there when he blew up the place. Who the hell would be after him? But it was a bit too coincidental that Roy and Donovan were murdered just months apart.

Either way, Roy’s death just got a helluva lot more complicated.

Olivia knelt in front of her “mom’s” grave, brushing a finger over the white silk petals stained with dirt and watermarks from the rain. According to her dad, daisies had been her mom’s favorite flower. Yet, he’d also claimed her mom was buried there. The headstone read
Annette Doyle
, but it was either a Jane or John Doe, or nobody, that Olivia had been sharing her life with for the past twenty-two years. She wanted to believe this her dad’s idea, not the U.S. Marshals’. That he’d been compassionate enough to realize she would need a memorial to visit.

She’d been seven when she’d first visited this spot. Her nanny, Maria, rather than her dad, had taken her to the cemetery when Olivia kept questioning where her mom was and why she couldn’t see her. Her dad had never talked much about her. Olivia knew she’d died of cancer. That was it.

Maria had been the closest thing to a mom Olivia had ever known. Then one day, Maria had taken Olivia shopping without leaving a note and they’d returned home late. Her dad had arrived home early and freaked out, afraid she’d been kidnapped. Maria had been so upset over his reaction, she’d quit.

Olivia fidgeted with the gold wedding band on the chain around her neck. Even though she knew her mom wasn’t buried here, she still believed she was listening.

“Did you forgive him? If so, how?”

She focused on the headstone, willing her mom to give her a sign. Sometimes she would concentrate on a photograph, attempting to conjure up a memory of how her touch had felt, the scent of her perfume, or the sound of her voice calling her Livvy, like her dad always had. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember the slightest thing about her. It killed her that she’d erased her mom from her memory, along with the rest of her family.

“Seems like it’s always dreary out when you’re at a cemetery.” A man’s voice jarred her from her thoughts. Guess she was a bit rusty at
I Spy
.

She glanced over at a ruggedly built man dressed in jeans, a Forty-Niners sweatshirt and baseball cap, and mirrored sunglasses. Short brown hair framed the rim of his cap, and his facial features put him in his fifties. He wore a strained smile, and even though his eyes were hidden behind sunglasses, she knew the smile didn’t include them. A foreboding shiver slithered up her spine.

She nodded. “Seems like it.”

“Makes it all the more peaceful I guess.” His low, gravelly voice made her feel far from calm and peaceful.

A weekday morning, the cemetery was deserted, except for a brown car parked on the far side.

“You visit your mother’s grave often?”

How did he know whose grave this was? Heart pounding in her chest, she tried not to look panicked and tip him off in case he hadn’t realized his slip-up.

“I should get going.” She quickly turned, intending to race over to Rachel’s car parked a hundred feet away.

“Not so fast. How about we go back to your place, Olivia?”

Certain he had a gun aimed at her back, she cautiously turned and faced him and his gun. Having left her briefcase and pepper spray in the car, she had no form of defense. She peered at her distorted reflection in the guy’s sunglasses, thankful she couldn’t see the evil depths lurking behind them. “What do you want?”

“Just wanna take a look around.” He grimaced in pain and massaged a hand over his outer thigh.

“I guarantee you I don’t have whatever you think I do.”

His sadistic laugh caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. “Oh, you do.”

She stared at the gun. “Did you kill my dad?” she blurted out, wanting a heads-up if she might be next.

He opened his mouth to respond when a black Mustang barreled into the cemetery. Ethan. Thank God. She’d turned her cell on when she’d arrived at the cemetery to call and tell Mike she was fine. She let out a relieved sigh — a bit premature considering this thug still held a gun on her. The car paused briefly before Ethan apparently spotted them and sped down the narrow road toward them.

The guy shook his gun at her. “I’ll see ya around. Count on it.” He took off across the grass, running at a fast pace for a guy with a limp.

By the time Ethan screeched to a stop and flew from the car, gun drawn, the guy was disappearing over a hill.

“You okay?” Ethan yelled out, his gaze quickly assessing her for damage as he ran past.

“Mmm hmm,” she muttered, nodding numbly.

When he neared the top of the hill, a motorcycle fired up on the other side and roared off toward the entrance. Ethan got off a few shots before racing back down the hill. By the time he reached his car, the bike had escaped out the cemetery gate and was gone.

“Shit!” He lowered his gun, letting out a frustrated growl. He bolted over to her, getting in her face, anger hardening his features. “What are you doing turning off your cell phone and lying to me about where you’re going? You could have been killed, damnit!”

She swallowed hard. “I, ah, went, to my dad’s,” she sputtered.

“What the hell for?” His jaw muscles tightened, and the scar on his cheek twitched.

“I need to find whatever this guy is after so I have some bargaining power to stay alive.”

“You’re not gonna stay alive if you keep pulling stunts like this. Why didn’t you take Mike with you?” He shoved his gun in its holster.

“I was afraid I might find evidence that would lead you to believe my dad had ties to a forgery ring. Even though he didn’t. And if this ever got out, my career and future could be ruined.”

His gaze sharpened. “And what about your life?”

Her career was her life.

“I don’t give a damn about some friggin’ forgery ring. By the time I figure out if this guy was your father’s partner, it’ll be too late. You’ll be dead. All I care about right now is protecting you. Got it?”

She nodded faintly.

She didn’t blame him for being ticked. If he hadn’t showed up, she’d likely be dead. Her chest tightened and the lump in her throat grew bigger. The realization brought her to the cusp of hysteria in seconds. A sob caught in her throat and tears flowed down her face. She slapped a hand over her mouth, unsuccessful at stifling more sobs or stopping her body from shuddering uncontrollably.

Ethan wrapped his arms around her in an awkward embrace, drawing her to him. She collapsed against his rigid body. Offering comfort obviously wasn’t his thing, yet he still made her feel safe. She buried the side of her face into his broad chest, curling her fingers into his T-shirt, holding onto him for dear life even though the strength of his arms was holding her up. His arms slowly relaxed around her, molding to her body, and he smoothed a gentle hand over her hair, muttering reassurances that everything would be all right. Between his soothing voice and the calming scent of his sandalwood cologne, she finally regained a bit of control.

He drew back slightly, his arms still around her. “Don’t ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. Okay?” Concern took the hard edge off his tone and softened his expression. “I can’t protect you if I don’t know where you are.” His thumb wiped a tear from her cheek and lingered. “Promise me?” He stared deep into her eyes.

His gentle touch and compassion were so out of character, she nodded faintly, dumbfounded. She reminded herself that calming hysterical witnesses, and keeping them alive, was his job. But had Ethan ever touched any of them the way he was touching her right now? His touch felt more personal than professional, or did she merely want it to? His facial features hardened slightly, yet a flicker of desire remained in his brown eyes, like he was battling for control of his emotions. He stepped back, releasing her from his embrace. She wanted to continue crying so he’d take her back in his arms. It’d been so long since anyone had held her like this.

“What did the guy look like?” he asked.

“Five-ten, one ninety, well built, in his fifties, brown hair, big nose, rounded features. Couldn’t see his eyes, he had on sunglasses. No distinguishing scars or moles. From his gravelly voice I’d say he was a smoker. He had a limp and rubbed his right leg like he’d been injured. I can’t believe I never saw him following me. My dad would be disappointed after all those years of training.”

“Training?”

She explained the
I Spy
game.

“I’d say you play the game quite well. I rarely get such thorough descriptions. So, did you find anything at your dad’s that this guy might be after?”