Hidden Identity (Harlequin Intrigue) Read online

  He looked into her eyes. “I should have told you last night,” he said. “I didn’t want to upset you, but I can see now my silence didn’t help. Chelsea, your grandmother died in a fire when you were twelve. You adored her, she was a constant in your life because your mom was at the tavern working so much—anyway, her death devastated you.”

  “My grandmother.” She swallowed hard. “I don’t remember her. What was her name?”

  “Ann, same as your middle name.”

  “I want so much to remember her. Well, at least it explains the tears and the dreams—oh, my gosh, Adam. Does this mean my subconscious memory is returning?”

  “I don’t know. The fire at Bill’s didn’t get to you like this, but on the other hand, you were fighting for your life.”

  “It was different this time, more profound. I must be getting better. I hope so.”

  “So do I.” He hugged her close, relishing the smell of her hair and the feel of her body next to his. But he could also feel the restraint in her embrace.

  “Where are you staying in the house?” he asked. “Which room is yours?”

  She pointed to the windows a little distance from the kitchen. “My room is right there. Why?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I just want to know where you are. Did you get a guest list for tomorrow’s party? What did you learn about the business meeting this morning? Did—?”

  “You want a rundown?” she interrupted as she held up a closed fist. “Okay, here goes,” She raised a finger. “One, Aimee almost canceled her party but don’t ask me why. Two, she is in a foul mood. I don’t think she got much sleep last night. Three, Miguel is going to man the grill.”

  “Then he’s still here. Good.”

  “I met his wife earlier. Her name is Sofia.”

  “They got married? How about that! Okay, continue.”

  “Four, no guest list, just forty or so unidentified people who are on their own when it comes to any allergies because Aimee can’t be bothered to ask them. Let’s see, her visitor this morning used the words trouble and adjustments while on the phone. I don’t know if he’s just a business associate or a boyfriend.”

  “Did he look like a surfer dude?’

  She nodded.

  “I saw him leave. Did you get a name?”

  “Davy.”

  “Not much help there. Anything else?”

  She thought for a second. “Let’s see. The party people called to say that they couldn’t get here to decorate the patio until tomorrow, which set Aimee off big-time.” She held up the other hand. “A refrigerator for the new house is being delivered this afternoon and that has Aimee spitting nails because it’s not supposed to come for another two months and now it’s got to be stored in the shop or shed or something way off down that way.”

  “The new shed.”

  “Yeah. Lastly, Aimee is headed off to the spa pretty soon. That’s all I’ve got.” She smiled and added, “It’s getting late and I have a ton of shopping to do for the party. Want to drive into Hard Rock with me? I could use the company.”

  “Sounds good, but I think I should follow Aimee. I’m also going to meet Dennis later on today. Take the teenager you told me about last night. Maybe you can ferret out how she got the bruise.”

  “Mariana’s whereabouts are currently a mystery. I’ll manage.”

  He grasped her shoulders and gently kissed her lips. “I’ll check the oil in the van, then I’d better get ready to trail Aimee. Love you,” he added, noting the anxious look in her eyes as he uttered the words. Well, she could hem and haw all she wanted, his feelings were crystal clear.

  He waited for Aimee to leave the property from behind the cover of the guard shack. When she finally drove by in her white convertible, he gave her a few minutes to get ahead so the sound of his motorcycle wouldn’t draw her attention. Once she hit Hard Rock city limits, she slowed down and turned off Main Street, traversing small roads to the seedier side of the city. It surprised the hell out of him when she pulled into a motel parking lot. The place was definitely not her style, but she got out of her car, quickly approached one of the outside doors, knocked, scanned the area around her as though looking to see if anyone was watching, and scurried inside when the door opened.

  Interesting.

  Two hours later, Tom Nolan walked out of the room with a smug grin on his tanned face. He ambled out of the parking lot and down a side street, where he got behind the wheel of a black Mercedes and drove off. Aimee didn’t appear for another thirty minutes. No sauntering for her. Huge sunglasses partially concealed her face as she scanned her surroundings and practically ran to her car. He followed her to the ritzy part of town. She handed her keys to a valet and entered her favorite spa, where he knew from experience she would linger for hours.

  So Tom Nolan was the boyfriend and the guy from the morning, Davy something, was just a business associate? What business, and did either man have anything to do with the attacks on him and Chelsea?

  Why had the attacks stopped? The reasonable explanation was that no one knew where they were. While it was nice not to be shot at or to have Chelsea threatened, it seemed the momentum of their situation had ground to a halt.

  And that meant that now was the time to keep alert and not become complacent. Whip was right, sooner or later, Dennis would tell someone he’d seen Adam or Adam would be spotted again—it was inevitable that something would tip someone off. Sooner or later the “bad guys” would be back on their trail. This was his opportunity to get to them before they got to him.

  Maybe he’d have to depend on Whip after all.

  He drove to the taco truck to meet Dennis, his thoughts now centered on the mysterious box. He found the place more crowded than usual and alive with music thanks to the efforts of a three-man band set up on a makeshift stage. People swayed to their country beat, occasionally dropping a dollar or two into the band’s open guitar case as the taco truck did a booming business.

  Good grief. Could he have chosen a more public spot to center his activities in Hard Rock? This was the absolute last time he was coming near this place. He took off his helmet but kept his cap pulled low on his face and his sunglasses in place.

  A man walking across the grass caught his attention. There was something about the way he moved—a little stutter in his gait. He wore slacks and a sports shirt. A baseball cap covered most of his head, but a few strands of auburn hair showed down by his neck. The guy looked over his shoulder as he approached the alley that ran behind the taco truck and Adam glimpsed his profile. In that instant, he knew who he was looking at.

  US Marshal Ron Ballard, here in Arizona, just like Whip had predicted.

  Adam waited until Ballard focused his attention back on the alley and then he began threading his way through the jostling crowd, the confusion created by the loud music masking his movement. He caught one last glimpse of Ballard before he turned a corner and disappeared into the alley. Adam broke into a trot until he stopped near the corner. He checked to make sure no one was watching him, then retrieved his gun and turned the corner carefully in case he was being set up for an ambush.

  The alley was heavily shadowed. Adam tore off the sunglasses and spotted Ballard fifty feet ahead of him walking toward the light at the far end. He picked up his pace as he followed the man, reviewing his options as he moved between shadows. Without a vehicle at hand, he couldn’t trail Ballard. He needed to confront him. Why was the guy here? Was it like Whip had said, that Adam was a loose end? And most important, who was Ballard working for?

  Adam left the shadows to stand in the center of the alley, gun still at his side. “Ballard!” he yelled.

  The marshal turned but with his back to the light, Adam couldn’t read his expression. A sudden laugh jarred Adam. “Is that you, Parish?” Ballard called, sounding anything but happy. “I knew you weren’t really dead, you jerk. Do
you know what trouble you’ve caused me? I wish you had gone down with your plane, at least then I wouldn’t have to—”

  Ballard’s hand suddenly rocketed up from his side. A single shot erupted from behind Adam, so he threw himself to the ground, aware as he did so that Ballard had crumpled to the pavement where he stood. Adam turned his head to find Whip standing several yards behind him, his arm still held out in front, his gun gripped in his hand.

  Lowering his weapon, the older man immediately walked up to Adam and extended a hand to help him to his feet. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m—I’m fine,” Adam stuttered. “I’m...wait. Why did you shoot—?”

  “He drew on you,” Whip interrupted. “I aimed to wound him so he could tell us who’s behind all this... I don’t know, though, I was kind of rushed.” Whip strode toward the fallen man, Adam right on his heels.

  Ballard was lying on the pavement, a Glock 23-caliber pistol clutched in his right hand. “See?” Whip said, gesturing at the Glock. His voice sounded a little relieved. No cop liked shooting an unarmed man.

  Adam kneeled to check for a pulse. “He’s gone.”

  “Damn. I’m sorry, son.”

  Adam kept his gaze on Ballard’s body as he stood. “I saw him raise his hand but I didn’t see the gun,” he said as he met Whip’s gaze. “If you hadn’t been here... How did you happen to be in this alley?”

  “Ballard was waiting for me after my interview,” Whip said. “He started asking me a lot of questions about you. There was something off about him. I got the feeling he knew you were in Hard Rock so I decided to find out where he went next. My heart almost stopped when I saw you follow him into this alley.”

  Adam shook his head, still dumbfounded by Ballard’s presence in Arizona and by the finality of the man’s death. “You better call this in,” he said.

  “I’m not calling in anything until you get out of town,” Whip said.

  Adam shook his head. “I’m not leaving—”

  “This isn’t your decision. This is self-defense with or without your involvement. What with him being a Marshal and me being a cop, none of this will hit the news until the facts are known. Once Ballard’s activities are exposed, there won’t be a problem for me, trust me. Now go so I can start the ball rolling.”

  “But—”

  “No, Adam, now listen to me. Think about Chelsea. You don’t know that Ballard didn’t already tell Devin Holton’s goons he found you, there could be a new attack coming any minute. She’ll be a sitting duck if you get caught up in this, too. There are so few ways I can help you but this I can do. Go. Get Chelsea, get out of Hard Rock for good.”

  Adam nodded as he tucked away his gun. It went against the grain to walk away but Whip was right. As soon as Adam got involved with the police, Chelsea would be left high and dry. He looked Whip in the eyes. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again—”

  “Don’t get all touchy-feely on me,” the older man said, then gave him a spontaneous hug.

  Adam walked away. As he crossed the park, he tried calling Dennis but the call went immediately to voice mail. He rode out of town but not before making one fast stop at a small store, where he bought Chelsea a prepaid phone of her own. She needed a way to call for help should the occasion arise.

  By the time he got back to the mesa, the sun was well on its way down and the construction crew was long gone. He stopped off at his place to leave the bike so he could hike up the road.

  When he got close to the house, he heard music coming from the patio. Past experience at this house told him Aimee was out by the pool and that meant he could chance going around back to see Chelsea. Her welcoming smile went a long way toward easing his anxiety and she pulled him inside without hesitation.

  “I take it Aimee is on the patio?”

  “For the time being,” Chelsea said. The kitchen smelled wonderful. Trays of pretty little food lined the drain boards while the sink was filled with piles of dirty dishes. She was in her element and it brightened her eyes and flushed her cheeks a beguiling pink.

  “We have to talk,” he said as he snatched a shrimp and popped it in his mouth.

  “These are the test hors d’oeuvres. Aimee is coming in soon to choose what she likes.”

  He swiped another shrimp, and then told her about Ballard.

  “Dead?” she whispered. “Thank God Whip was there.”

  “I know. He’ll still have to go through an investigation, though. Without a witness and with the other gun unfired—”

  “He told you he’d take care of it,” Chelsea said. “Let him. If you have to come in later to make things right, you can.”

  “We have to leave tonight—”

  “No,” she said immediately. “Not tonight. Not until after the party.”

  “But—”

  “Just because the guy who fingered you is dead doesn’t mean you’re out of danger. The deal was to find out the truth. I know it sounds silly, but I have a feeling about tomorrow night, Adam. Something is going to happen at that party, I know it in my bones. Something that tells you exactly who is behind what.”

  He had the same feeling and it probably was silly. But neither Whip nor the police knew he was on this mesa—if he stayed out of sight until Saturday morning, they should both be fine. “Okay,” he said.

  She handed him a little biscuit with flecks of prosciutto baked in the dough. Heaven. “Did you see Dennis?” she asked. “I’ve been dying to know what’s in the box.”

  “I missed Dennis.”

  “Shoot. Well, how about Aimee. Who did she meet?”

  “Tom Nolan and at a motel no less. Probably because of his wife.”

  “I overheard her on the phone a little while ago. It sounded like she was talking to her father and she was asking for money. I think Aimee may have stretched herself too thin.”

  “That explains the paycheck thing,” Adam said.

  “And judging from the way she threw her phone after she disconnected, I don’t think Daddy said yes.”

  “Speaking of phones,” Adam said and produced the new one he’d bought her. When they heard a door close somewhere in the house, it was time for him to go.

  She pressed a napkin filled with appetizers into his hands. “Hurry,” she said, “I hear footsteps.”

  “Call me later, okay?”

  “I don’t know your number.”

  “I programmed it into the phone. Call me. I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too,” she whispered and sounded as though she meant it.

  * * *

  HIS PHONE RANG as Adam patrolled the deck. Half expecting a call from Whip, he was pleased to hear Chelsea’s voice.

  What she didn’t know, couldn’t remember, were the hundreds of calls they’d made to one another. Some people fell in love over endless texts and emails but he and Chelsea had used the phone, craving the sound of one another’s voices, discussing their days and dreaming about what was to come. Sometimes they’d spend the whole day and evening together and still find things to talk about in midnight calls.

  And so it was tonight. Was it a pipe dream to think she might fall in love with him again even if her memory never returned? As for him, the sound of her voice transported him to her side. But eventually, he had to remind her to stay around other people the next day, that he was going to find Dennis and retrieve the box. He made her promise to call him if anything alarmed her. When he heard an approaching vehicle, he ended the call. He stood up and dug Diego’s camera out of his pocket.

  What if it wasn’t the vandals? What if this was the beginning of another attack on him and Chelsea?

  He moved down the path toward the clearing, careful to stay out of the moonlight, gun drawn.

  It sounded like the vehicle stopped out by the construction office, out of view of where he lurked. He heard doors open and close, then ma
le voices, adult voices, and he tensed. “Where is it?” someone said.

  “I think we turned too early. Didn’t they say the second right? It’s up the road.”

  “Man, we’re so late.”

  “That engine trouble wasn’t our fault. At least we can still make today’s deadline if we deliver before twelve. Don’t forget the bonus.”

  “But we still have to unload—”

  “Stop whining. It’s up the road, I’m sure of it. Look, you can see lights.”

  “I can’t believe we have to drive back to Phoenix tonight,” the complainer grumbled as the sound of opening and closing doors reached Adam’s ears. The vehicle soon continued up the mesa toward the main house. By the position of the headlamps, it appeared to be a truck.

  That had to be the refrigerator people and the delivery bonus had to be huge to justify these hours. He walked back to the house and leaned against an outside wall, where he could look down at the valley below. Thirty minutes later the delivery truck bounced and squeaked its way back down the hill, refrigerator apparently signed, sealed and delivered.

  He walked around the house a few times, something made possible because of the 360 degree deck. Were those kids ever going to show? This was the last night he planned on waiting out here—a lot of good he’d done Diaz construction.

  Forty minutes passed before the bass beat of a rap song and skidding brakes announced more visitors. Adam was once again alert for someone with worse intent than vandalism. Doors slammed, high-pitched giggles erupted. A thud announced someone had fallen and the subsequent slurred warning to be quiet made Adam certain he was listening to three or four drunk kids.

  Was the driver sober?

  Pounding footsteps ran toward the house, slowing down when the vandals reached the front deck and entered the semi-skeletal structure. Judging from discernable shapes, there were three of them and they could barely stand up straight. One held a can above his head and shook it, the sound of the marble rattling inside the can disturbing the still night air. The kid staggered around a bit before he randomly sprayed. The other two followed suit, weaving their way around the structure, pausing to spray when the mood hit them.