Mistaken Identity. Merline Lovelace

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 away 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.

      “Joe’s Joint,” a nasal-sounding individual answered.

      “Joe’s what?”

      “Who’s this?”

      She threw a look at the bedroom door and lowered her voice. Henderson’s last threat still crawled along her spine. “Who are you?”

      “Whadda you playin’ games or something, lady?”

      “No! No, I…” She stopped, regrouped her thoughts. “Is there a woman named Becky, or Rebecca, Smith there? She’s twenty-six, has shoulder-length red hair.”

      “Becky? Yeah, she’s here. You wanna talk to her?”

      “Yes!”

      Her heart thumping, Lauren kept the cell phone jammed to one ear and the other tuned to the murmur of Henderson’s voice.

      “Hey, Laur,” her sister answered a moment later.

      “Where are you!”

      “At a truck stop outside Gallup.”

      “Gallup, as in New Mexico?”

      “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.”