Mistaken Identity Page 3

  He’d damn well better control his reactions around this bit of fluff. He couldn’t let her throw him with those kittenish glances or melting brown eyes. There was too much riding on the next few hours for Marsh to blow everything now.

  What he couldn’t seem to control, however, was his imagination, which threatened to take off with each seductive sway of Becky Smith’s hips. She moved like the strawberry roan filly that had grown into her legs the summer Marsh turned fifteen. Her stride was all smooth, swaying magic. And her backside…

  He reined in that thought, fast. It stood to reason that she’d look as good from behind as she did from the front. She’d seduced Jannisek with one swish of her short, ruffled cocktail skirt, or so her various coworkers at the Desert Nights Lounge maintained. According to them, the hotel owner had fallen fast and he’d fallen hard.

  Fast enough to make his employees smirk when they described it.

  Hard enough to shell out two thousand dollars for the diamond pin his girlfriend sported on her lapel.

  She was wearing Jannisek’s brand, Marsh reminded himself grimly. The man had staked a claim to her. And he’d come looking for her when she didn’t return to wherever he waited for her.

  Marsh was counting on it. He sure as hell would come after her. If Marsh had claimed this woman and put his own mark on her, she couldn’t run fast enough or far enough to escape him.

  Unless he let her go.

  He tensed, anticipating the little jab of pain that always came with the reminder of how he’d let Jenna go. His shoulders went stiff, the way they did whenever he thought of his former fiancée. As if it had a will of its own, his mind reached back to those weeks he’d hovered between life and death. To the agony that came with each breath pulled into his bullet-riddled lung. To the woman who’d fallen apart every time she came to visit him in intensive care.

  If he let himself, Marsh knew he could summon in precise detail Jenna’s tear-streaked face. Still hear her sobs as she told him she couldn’t marry a cop, couldn’t worry whether she’d see her husband again every time he left for work.

  Deliberately, Marsh slammed the door on the memories. Four years had passed since Jenna had walked out of the hospital, three and a half since Marsh had fully recovered. She’d married a nice, safe junior-high science teacher. Life went on….

  Except for Ellen.

  The grim reminder of his murdered sister-in-law brought Marsh’s thoughts crashing back to the disaster zone Becky Smith called a bedroom.

  This time, he didn’t react with so much as a blink to the chaos. He’d seen the bedroom before, for one thing. For another, he was more interested in Becky than her lack of anything resembling order in her home. Face impassive, he waited while she made a quick survey of the room’s contents.

  “I don’t think anything’s missing.”

  Moving with seeming nonchalance, Marsh lifted a gold bracelet from the dressing table. Another Garfield dangled from the center link, this one made of gold and crystal.

  “A thief wouldn’t have passed up this piece. It looks expensive.”

  “It was a gift.” Her eyes clouded. “From my sister.”

  “You shouldn’t leave expensive jewelry like this lying around. Take that pin you’re wearing. If those are real diamonds, it should go into a safe place at night.”

  Her hand lifted to the sparkling piece. He moved closer, as if to examine the design.

  “What is it, a unicorn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you believe in the legend, Ms. Smith?”

  “About those who drink out of its horn being protected from poison or epilepsy?”

  “I didn’t know that one.”

  She tipped her head to the side, studying him with the same intent scrutiny he gave her. “Which legend are you talking about, then?”

  Her hair danced on her shoulder like dark flame. Marsh pulled his gaze from the shimmering curtain. “I seem to remember reading somewhere that only a virgin could capture and tame a unicorn.”

  Actually, he remembered exactly where he’d read that bit of nonsense—on the sales brochure the jewelry-store clerk had provided the police.

  Her head dipped in acknowledgment. “True. That was supposed to symbolize the triumph of spiritual love over the ferocity of the beast. Too bad it’s only a myth,” she added, with a twist to her mouth that didn’t quite make it to a smile.

  Obviously Ms. Smith didn’t believe in the power or permanency of love. That certainly fit her profile. In the past eighteen months, she’d taken up with a tattooed motorcycle jock and a drummer in a country western band before latching on to Jannisek—an association that might just get her killed.

  Carefully, Marsh repositioned the bracelet on the nightstand. “If the man who broke through the glass wasn’t after jewelry…”

  “Or some pervert after underwear,” she interjected coolly.

  “…then I’d say we were right the first time. It was you he was waiting for—you he wanted.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Marsh refused to follow the movement of that raspberry-tinted mouth. Refused to let her nervousness sway him.

  “Why did he wait outside?” she questioned, thinking back. “The front door was open when I got here. He could have walked inside.”

  “Maybe he did. Maybe he searched the place, saw you weren’t here, and was on his way out again when the cab pulled up.”

  And maybe he wanted to scare you enough to make sure you reacted the way you did. Reminding himself yet again that shaking up Becky Smith constituted an essential part of his plan, Marsh ignored the nervous way she had crossed her arms and rubbed her hands up and down her sleeves.

  “Why would someone come after you, Ms. Smith? Or should I call you Becky?” He aimed a smile at her. “We are neighbors, after all.”

  “Um…”

  He took that vague response as consent. “Any ideas, Becky?”

  “About what?”

  “Who might come after you? And why?”

  He kept his tone even and nonthreatening, but every nerve in Marsh’s body quivered in anticipation of her reply. She took her time about it, dropping her lids, glancing away, looking everywhere but at him. Thinking, obviously, how she would answer.

  “I don’t know,” she said at last.

  Disappointment whipped through him. A part of him had hoped she’d cooperate voluntarily, and that he wouldn’t have to implement Phase Three.

  He didn’t see any other option now. He angled his head, his gaze thoughtful as it rested on her face.

  “You can tell me. In my line of work, I’ve seen about every kind of trouble people can get into.”

  She took her lower lip between her teeth again. Marsh figured she would chew off a couple of layers of skin before he got through with her. Her chocolate and caramel eyes searched his face.

  “I don’t know your name.”

  The abrupt change in direction threw him off stride for a moment. “What?”

  “I don’t know who you are,” she said again.

  “Henderson. Marsh Henderson.”

  “Or what you are,” she added slowly.

  “I told you. I’m a cop.”

  “Do you have some identification?”

  He blinked, and then gave a snort of laughter. “Isn’t it a little late to be asking to see my badge?”

  Her chin came up. “You know what they say, Mr. Henderson…”

  “Marsh.”

  “You know what they say, Marsh. Better late than too late.”

  His mouth kicked up in a half grin. “That’s what they say, all right.”

  Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out a black leather case. A single flip displayed his photo ID and gold badge with its blue enamel shield, surmounted by an open-winged gold eagle.

  “U.S.” She read the large initials in the center of the shield easily enough, but squinted at the smaller lettering around it. “U.S. what?”

  “U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. I’
m a special agent with the DEA.”

  “A special agent?” she echoed, paling.

  Obviously, his profession made her nervous. It made a lot of people nervous. As it should, Marsh thought sardonically. Flipping the leather case shut, he slid it into his back pocket.

  “I get the feeling you’re wondering just why I happened to move into the house next door.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Smart lady.”

  “Well?”

  “We’ve been using the place to conduct a surveillance.” He kept his eyes locked with hers. “We’ve been watching your house for the past three days, Becky, waiting for you to come home.”

  The “we” was stretching things, but the target didn’t need to know that.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “To take you into protective custody.”

  Chapter 3

  “Protective custody!”

  Stunned, Lauren gaped at the man staring down at her.

  “Why?” she asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few minutes.

  “Because you’re our only link to David Jannisek.”

  Becky’s latest love. The man she just might be serious about. With a shake of her head, Lauren tried to grasp what the heck this was all about.

  “Why do you want to find Jannisek?”

  His face seemed to get tighter around the edges. “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  Henderson’s eyes went ice cold. Lauren could feel the chill from where she stood.

  “Your boyfriend has had a run of bad luck at the track recently. Our sources tell us he owes his bookie more than five hundred.”

  “Five hundred dollars?”

  “Try five hundred grand.”

  “Good God!”

  Was that why Becky needed time to think things through? She’d fallen for a loser—just as her sister had? If so, Lauren ached for her. She could speak firsthand to that painful experience.

  “He liquidated every asset he owned,” Henderson continued, wrenching her attention back to him. “Didn’t you wonder what happened to his Jag?”

  Or didn’t you care? his expression seemed to imply. His gaze flicked to Lauren’s lapel once again, telegraphing an unmistakably cynical message.

  “Your boyfriend blew the last of his credit on that little bauble. The store clerk said Jannisek told him to spread the cost of it over three separate charge cards, all of which maxed out.”

  Lauren felt herself squirming on Becky’s behalf. Her sister didn’t have a greedy bone in her body, but there was no denying she was careless about finances—her own and everyone else’s. She never hesitated to hit Lauren up for a loan. And she’d apparently walked out of her house without her checkbook and credit cards! She probably didn’t have a clue that her latest love interest was up to his neck in financial hot water.

  “Is that why you’re after him?” Lauren asked, still trying to comprehend this bizarre situation. “Because of what he owes?”

  “I don’t care what he owes. It’s who he owes it to that I’m interested in.”

  From the set of Henderson’s mouth, Lauren had the feeling that matters were about to go from bad to worse for David Jannisek—and, by extension, for her sister. Digging her fists into her jacket pockets, she braced herself.

  “All right. Lay it on me. Who does he owe it to?”

  “The man we suspect of controlling organized crime in the Southwest.”

  “Organized crime?” Her jaw dropped. “You mean, like, the mafia?”

  “The modern-day version of it.”

  She was still reeling from that when he closed the distance between them, his boot heels thudding softly on the wooden floor.

  Lauren took an instinctive step back. From across the room, Marsh Henderson projected a sizzling masculinity. Up close and personal, he was just a little bit intimidating.

  Okay, more than a little. Except…

  He hadn’t felt intimidating when she’d plowed into him in the backyard. For a few moments there, he’d felt strong and solid and safe.

  “That’s the man I want,” he told her, his deep voice resonating with an intensity that raised goose bumps on her arms. “The mob boss. And you’re going to help me nail him, Becky.”

  “How?”

  “By letting me tuck you away in a nice, safe place. If Jannisek’s half as much in love with you as everyone says he is, he’ll come looking for you.”

  “In other words,” she said slowly, incredulously, “you want to set a trap?”

  “Yes.”

  “With…with me as bait?”

  “Yes.”

  The blunt admission ignited a little curl of anger deep in Lauren’s chest. It hadn’t taken this tough-edged cop long to show his stripes. He didn’t care about her sister. Didn’t care about David Jannisek. All he wanted was to bring down this shadowy mobster. So much for solid and safe!

  “And when Jannisek comes looking for the woman he supposedly loves,” she ground out, “he’ll find you instead.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “At which point, you’ll convince him to identify the man you say he owes so much money to.” Her nails dug into her palms. “What if he doesn’t want to cooperate?”

  “As I see it, he doesn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. He’ll either cooperate, or spend the rest of his life dodging bullets.”

  Shocked, Lauren took a step back. Henderson followed, relentless.

  “That shook you up, didn’t it? To have the police show up at your door and inform you that Jannisek missed taking a clip full of bullets by a few turns of a car wheel?”

  “I… I didn’t…”

  He crowded in closer. “He’d just dropped you off, hadn’t he? A minute or two earlier, and you could have been sitting beside him when the bullets started flying. No wonder you skipped town for a few days.”

  Oh, God! This was worse, so much worse, than Lauren had imagined. Poor Becky. She must be scared to death. It was time to set the record straight.

  “Look, Henderson…”

  “Marsh,” he corrected with a tight smile. “If we’re going to spend the foreseeable future in close proximity, we might as well get comfortable with each other.”

  “We won’t be spending the future in any kind of proximity. You’ve made a mistake. I’m not Becky Smith.”

  He went still. Completely still. The air around them took on a charged tension. The seconds ticked by while Lauren’s nerves stretched wire thin.

  “The hell you’re not,” he growled at last.

  “I’m her sister. Lauren Smith.”

  Those incredible blue eyes narrowed to slits, dropped lower, settled on the diamond unicorn. When they lifted again, Lauren read scorn and flat denial in their depths.

  “Nice try, Becky, but it won’t work. You’re coming with me.”

  “Oh, for…!” Turning, she snatched her tote off the bed. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I have…”

  Her breath left with a squeak when Henderson ripped the bag out of her hands. She stumbled back, realizing belatedly that the cop thought she might have been reaching for a weapon.

  “My driver’s license,” she gasped. “It’s in there. It will prove I’m not…. Oh!”

  Groaning, she recognized the hand-tooled leather clutch he dug out.

  “That’s not mine!”

  He shot her a sardonic look, flipped open the wallet and compared the grainy, three-year-old picture on Becky’s Arizona license to Lauren’s stricken face.

  “Not your best shot,” he drawled.

  “That’s—not—me,” she ground out. “That’s my sister. If you dig a little deeper, you’ll find a day planner with my license and credit cards inside.”

  When he pulled out the zippered notebook, a frown sliced across his face. It deepened to a scowl as his glance went from the photo to her face and back again.

  Lauren cringed inwardly. She took horrible pictures. She’d shied awa
y from family photos, even as a child, maybe because her parents’ marriage had started to fall apart so early and group pictures had always seemed forced. Whatever the reason, she always froze in front of a camera. The photo on her license was even worse than Becky’s.

  “Sit down.”

  She blinked at the abrupt command. “I don’t…”

  “Sit down!”

  Lauren decided that discretion was the better part of valor at this point and sat.

  “Don’t move until I get back,” he snarled, tossing the tote down beside her. “I’m going to the other room to make a few calls.”

  Her heart pumping, she watched him stride out of the bedroom. A moment later, she caught a muffled snatch of conversation.

  Who could he call to verify her identity? she wondered wildly. The phone at her office would ring unanswered. There was no one at her condo. She leaned forward, straining to hear the deep rumble of Henderson’s voice.

  “…run an ID for me. Right now, Pepper. I’ll hang on.”

  Wrapping her arms around her waist, Lauren rocked back and forth on the edge of the bed while her thoughts tumbled chaotically. How in the world had Becky gotten tangled up with someone who had ties to the mob? Would they really come after her sister, thinking she’d lead them to this Jannisek character?

  Oh, God, would they hurt her? Maybe kill her?

  Lauren had to convince Henderson he had the wrong sister, had to get him looking for the right one. When he got off the phone, she would get on. She’d call their parents, now divorced and living on separate coasts. Contact their aunt Jane. Check with her assistant, Josh. Maybe Becky had gotten in touch with one of them. Maybe she’d left a message….

  She jerked upright. Her gaze shot to the tote.

  “Idiot!”

  Her heart pounding, Lauren yanked open the side zipper on her tote. The mobile phone that always traveled with her nestled in its snug compartment. She had the lid up and the first few digits of her home number punched in before she noticed the message on the digital display.

  She had voice mail.

  Chewing on her lip, she debated for all of two seconds before dialing the code to retrieve her message. When she heard Becky’s voice asking her to call an unfamiliar number as soon as possible, she almost wept with relief. Her fingers shook as she punched in the digits.