Concealed Identity. Jessica R. Patch

snorted. “Blair? Date?”

      Holt spied Blair’s cheeks turning pink, but she didn’t offer a defense or retort. Would she still be grieving Mateo Salvador? He’d been nothing short of a monster with loads of money. It’d been over two years since he died. It had to be Blair’s own decision not to date. Holt couldn’t imagine the dudes in this town not beating her door down to ask her out. If this wasn’t an assignment and he was positive she wasn’t involved directly with drugs, Holt would be beating down her door. But this was an assignment. And personally, he was done opening himself up to love.

      “I don’t have time for relationships,” Blair offered, glaring at Gigi, but behind the irritation with her sister lay worry and unease.

      She had every right to be afraid and fret. Holt wanted to reassure her that things would be fine. But could he? He’d failed Trina. Holt had given her false hope every day. He’d believed with all his heart that God would heal her. He would let them be together and make a happy life. And in the end? Hope disappointed. Hope failed.

      The day he laid Trina to rest, he’d also buried his faith.

      They crossed the street and headed down to the storefront where red-and-blue-plaid curtains lined the lower half of picture windows. A large wooden sign hung overhead with black branded lettering: The Black-Eyed Pea. Home cooking, deep-fried deliciousness and the briny scent of seafood clung to the sticky air.

      Hopefully, during their meal, Holt would be able to extract more information from Blair and Gigi.

      Time was running out.

      An hour later, Holt hadn’t learned much more than the fact that Jace Black made a mean po’boy, could fix Blair’s truck if she needed him to and might be into her—which flared a green streak in Holt that irritated and surprised him.

      Blair had kept relatively low-key except to admit she stank at cooking. Now on his way to drop the sisters off at home, Holt turned down their country road. Only a few houses sprinkled in the area. A dark pickup truck whizzed by, kicking up dust.

      A love song played on the radio. He itched to switch stations. The last thing he needed was a ballad about lasting love. He pulled into Blair’s gravel driveway and cut the engine.

      Gigi’s phone rang. “Thanks, Holt.” She answered the call and climbed out of the truck, then sat on the porch steps.

      Blair exited the vehicle and Holt dogged her, stopping her before she reached Gigi. “If you need anything at all, I’m only across the street. Or better yet, take my number and call or text.”

      Blair huffed but traded numbers. “We’ll be fine.”

      Holt wasn’t so sure. “It’s not every day someone gets run off the road and shot at. I’m not an idiot, and I haven’t pushed, but it’s obvious you’re in trouble. And I want to help.”

      Blair fidgeted with her cell phone. “I don’t even know you.”

      “Fair enough, but I’m not the one running you down with a gun. The fact that you’re not going to the police tells me you’re into some bad stuff—”

      “I’m not a criminal!” Blair’s words carried conviction and pain.

      He couldn’t help softening. “I didn’t say you were, Blair.” And maybe she wasn’t. He was struggling to imagine she was. “But good people have bad things happen to them.” He’d been a witness to that.

      She touched his arm as if she’d known and felt his own pain. “Thank you,” she murmured. “For taking care of us and giving us a ride, but please don’t let what happened get around town.”

      Holt would never say a word. Not only because he was undercover, but clearly Blair Sullivan didn’t like the fact that she’d been associated with Mateo Salvador and his criminal activity. And Holt wanted her trust. “I promise you, I won’t say a word to anyone. I don’t promise to stay out of it. You could have died. Whether I know you or not...” He scuffed his toe along the gravel drive. “I don’t want to see anyone die.” Couldn’t bear it.

      “I don’t, either.”

      “Blair,” Gigi called. “Did you leave the door open after we got home from the auction?” Gigi stood with her keys in hand, staring at the front door.

      Blair frowned and marched toward the house. Holt followed. “No. We didn’t go inside and I know I wouldn’t have left it open.”

      Holt nudged both women behind him and studied the cracked-open door. “Did ya’ll notice that truck that flew by a minute ago? Either of you recognize it?”

      Blair’s hand trembled. “Not really.” She looped her arm in Gigi’s as if trying to hold them both up. Gigi shook her head.

      He handed Blair his truck keys. “Go get in my truck and lock the doors. Anything happens, you drive away. Don’t even hesitate.”

      Blair stared at the keys, lips quivering.

      “Go,” he said with a little more force, and gave her a gentle shove toward the steps.

      When she and Gigi were inside the cab of his truck, Holt drew his gun, toed open the front door, then slipped inside. Not a sound except for the refrigerator humming and the air-conditioning unit working to keep the house cool.

      Nothing seemed out of place.

      He cleared each room downstairs and up. Everything appeared to be in order, but his gut screamed someone had been in here. And the culprit might have been in that pickup. If they’d been five minutes earlier...

      Holt came outside. Blair and Gigi whispered inside the truck. Possibly keeping secrets and discussing information he desperately needed to find their brother and Agent Livingston. Blair opened the truck door.

      “I didn’t see anything out of place, but come in and take a look. See if you notice anything unusual.”

      Blair entered her living room first. “It smells like oil and exhaust.”

      Holt sniffed. “You’re right.” Definitely wasn’t Blair’s signature scent. She smelled like a bouquet of springtime, which irked him that he’d picked up on it...enjoyed the fragrance. He had one purpose in being here, and it wasn’t to admire Blair Sullivan’s flowery scent.

      He walked the house with her and Gigi.

      “I don’t see anything missing.” Blair shivered and rubbed her forearms. “I guess we did leave the door cracked.”

      Holt didn’t believe that, and the way Blair was nervously rubbing her arms said she didn’t, either. Gigi’s narrowed eyes confirmed what Holt was thinking.

      Blair was lying. But why?

      Blair walked to the front door and opened it. “We appreciate you checking out the house. We’re safe now. I’ll call if we need you.”

      Another invitation to leave. The last thing he wanted to do. Someone had broken in and they could come back. Blair and Gigi could get hurt. Worse. But she was kicking him to the curb.

      Shoving down the fight he wanted to give, he nodded and stepped onto the porch. At least he was across the street. “Please call me, Blair. For anything.”

      “I will.” Her eyes were wide with fright but she closed the door, leaving a barrier between them. No matter, he’d just go home and set up his surveillance equipment and play professional Peeping Tom. He wasn’t about to let anything happen to her.

       TWO

      Blair leaned against the kitchen door, knees quaking, throat tight. Someone had been in her home. Her sanctuary. Nothing was out of place. Whoever had been in here had been doing something else. But what?

      Blair rubbed her temples and tried to thwart the headache coming on. Neck muscles