Mistaken Identity

“You got it.”

“What in the world are you doing there?”

“Well, I was on my way to your place, but I remembered you were in D.C., so I decided to detour by way of Albuquerque to visit Aunt Jane until you got back. Only I’m, uh, in sort of a bind.”

“No kidding!”

“I know, I know.” She chuckled into the phone. “I’m always in some kind of a bind.”

How could she laugh? Lauren wondered in astonishment. Didn’t she know a hard-eyed cop was after her? Maybe the mob?

Apparently not. As it turned out, Becky’s most pressing concern at that moment was that she’d driven off with only the cash in her pocket—which had now run out.

“Be a sweetie and wire me a hundred, would you? I’ll pay you back when I get to Denver.”

“I’m not in Denver. I’m in Phoenix, at your place.”

“You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was. Becky, this David Jannisek. Do you know he’s in trouble?”

The chipper note in her sister’s voice dimmed. “Yes. That’s why I had to get away for a while. I thought…I thought I knew him. I was sure I could trust him.”

From her own bitter experience, Lauren could have pointed out that knowing a man and trusting him were two entirely different matters.

Take this Marsh Henderson, for example. She might have trusted him. She’d wanted to trust him. His blunt admission that he intended to use her sister as bait had nipped that misplaced impulse in the bud. Now that she knew Becky was safe, Lauren’s protective instincts were fast revving up to full power.

“Beck, listen to me. Forget about going to my apartment. That’s the first place they’ll look for you.”

“Who?”

“Jannisek’s gangster friends. The police. They’re both after him. And you.”

“Me!” she squeaked. “Why me?”

“They think he might come out of hiding for you.”

“Oh, God!”

“Listen, I don’t have time to explain any more right now. I’ll call Josh and have him wire you some money. Go on to Aunt Jane’s and stay there.”

Their mother’s best friend. The woman the Smith sisters had stayed with that awful summer of their parents’ divorce. Jane wasn’t actually a blood relation. No one would connect her with Becky. Her sister was safe there until Lauren got this mess with the police sorted out.

She didn’t even stop to consider that it wasn’t her mess to sort out. She’d jumped into every crisis Becky had precipitated over the years without a second thought. She wasn’t about to let anyone use her sister as bait.

“Stay there, okay?”

“But…”

The thud of footsteps sent Lauren’s heartbeat into a spike. “I’ll call you!” she whispered urgently and snapped the phone shut. It slid into the tote just seconds before Henderson loomed in the doorway.

“Well?” she asked with what she hoped was credible nonchalance.

“I’ve verified that a Lauren Smith lives at 2205 Crescent Drive,” he growled. “That doesn’t necessarily prove you’re Lauren Smith.”

She pushed off the bed, her relief at making contact with her sister shoved to the background by this flint-edged cop’s unwillingness to accept the facts in front of his face.

“If I’m Becky, what am I doing with Lauren’s wallet?”

“If you’re Lauren,” he fired back, “what are you doing with Becky’s?”

“She left it here. I just picked it up for safekeeping.”

“Right.”

“I don’t believe this.”

Totally frustrated, Lauren speared a hand through her hair. Her closest brush with the law was a parking ticket three years ago. She’d paid the fine promptly and always maintained a healthy respect for police officers. But Henderson’s subtly veiled threats and flat refusal to accept her assertion that she wasn’t her sister punched all the wrong buttons. She had rights, didn’t she? So did Becky. Lauren was still formulating those rights in her mind when Henderson blew them away.

“I’m going with the hard evidence here,” he said on a tight note. “You walked into Becky’s house like it was your own. You’re wearing the pin Becky’s boyfriend shelled out two thousand dollars for. You’re carrying Becky’s ID. You’re Becky Smith, lady, unless or until someone says otherwise.”

“All right,” she fumed. “What if I am Becky? That still doesn’t mean I have to go anywhere with you.”

“Guess again.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I’d prefer your cooperation,” he said, his voice flat and uncompromising, “but we can do this the hard way if necessary.”

“What are you going to do?” she scoffed. “Slap on some handcuffs and haul me in?”

“If I have to.”

Lauren brought her chin up. “On what charges? Since when is getting involved with the wrong man against the law?”

A mistake, maybe. A big mistake if you ended up married to the cretin. But against the law? She didn’t think so.

“Try obstruction of justice,” he shot back. “Hindering a law enforcement officer in the performance of his duty. Being a material witness in an ongoing criminal investigation.”

That got her attention. So did the acerbic observation he tacked on.

“You know, you ought to be more careful about who you get ‘involved’ with. You seem to have a propensity for the wrong men.”

Her chin came up another notch. “Been checking into my sister’s colorful past, have you?”

“I’ve been checking into Becky Smith’s past,” he countered. “She’s left a string of broken hearts all across the Southwest.”

As he reeled off a list of her sister’s recent affairs, Lauren’s temper came to a slow boil. She knew how deeply their parents’ acrimonious break up had scarred her sibling, and how gun-shy Becky’d grown about commitment. With the sting of her own divorce fading but not forgotten, Lauren wasn’t exactly anxious to jump off the deep end with another male any time soon, either. Her jaw tightened as Henderson issued another of his brusque orders.