Identity Crisis. Laura Scott

that she needed to find her twin as much as Gage did, maybe more.

       Gage seemed a little surprised when she returned to the living room in less than five minutes, but then he gestured to the answering machine in the corner. “You didn’t listen to your messages?”

       “No.” She didn’t want to admit the simple task hadn’t occurred to her. “Why?”

       He crossed over to press the button on the machine, which was located on the back wall of her kitchen. She followed more slowly, carefully stepping over the sticky orange juice mess she’d left on the floor. She felt foolish having avoided the kitchen after the scene with Gage.

       “Mallory? This is Rick Meyer. We won the bid for the Jefferson project. I’d like to get started with some color schemes as soon as possible, so call me.” Gage hit the button to stop the tape.

       She stared at him. “Who’s Rick Meyer?” Was it possible he was the older guy in the photo with her?

       “Your boss. But I’m looking for a message from Alyssa.” Gage rewound the tape and then replayed all the messages from the beginning.

       “Mallory? Call me the second you get this message. It’s urgent that we talk as soon as possible.”

       Gage stopped the machine. “That’s her.”

       Mallory nodded. Her sister’s voice sounded like an exact replica of her own. “I figured as much. But what does it mean? Why would it be so urgent that we talk?”

       “I don’t know.” Gage spun away from the counter, his movements agitated. “Alyssa called me two days ago. She sounded paranoid, saying something about the Jefferson project being dangerous. She wanted me to drop the project and warned me to be careful.”

       Mallory suppressed a shiver. There was no denying the tense note of fear in her sister’s tone. The laughing image of Alyssa standing beside her in the photograph mocked her. “What exactly is the Jefferson project?”

       Gage dropped into a kitchen chair. “Hugh Jefferson is a wealthy businessman from Chicago. He bought several old warehouse properties along the Milwaukee River and apparently promised to bring in businesses, but then changed his mind and decided to build condos instead. The city government wasn’t pleased and fought him tooth and nail, refusing to change the zoning permits. After a year-long debate, Jefferson finally got his permits and my company was awarded the construction contract. Despite the hassle of getting it approved, the project is nothing more than a real-estate endeavor. I can’t see how there’s anything dangerous about it.”

       Mallory frowned and sat at the kitchen table across from Gage. She tried to make sense of the pieces, which frankly was easier than trying to remember. “I don’t understand. What gave Alyssa the impression it might be dangerous?”

       Gage scrubbed his hands over his face. “She worked the trauma room the night City Councilman Ray Schaefer was brought in. Apparently he was mugged and stabbed twice in the abdomen. According to Alyssa, before he died he told her a guy hired by Hugh Jefferson stabbed him.”

       “He died?” The blood-splattered clothes she’d been wearing flashed in her mind. Logically, she couldn’t imagine she’d been anywhere near the councilman who’d died, but then again, the doctor did say that her amnesia was the result of a traumatic event. Watching a man being stabbed certainly would be traumatic. Had she really been there? Was Schaefer the guy standing with her in the photo? Her nausea deepened.

       “Yeah, but according to a statement made by the chief of police, Councilman Schaefer was killed in a simple mugging, and they’d already caught the gang member who’d done the crime. The councilman was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the kid had stabbed him as part of a gang-initiation dare.”

       So she hadn’t been there. Her relief was quickly replaced with fear. “But what if the chief of police is wrong?”

       Gage’s face reflected his skepticism. “How could he be wrong? They caught the guy—it was all over the news.”

       “Yet Alyssa sounded frantic and claimed the project was dangerous.” She tried to curb the rising panic.

       “Thinking the worst isn’t going to help.” Gage’s expression was one of sheer determination. “I have to believe Alyssa is all right. And I have to trust that we’re going to find her.”

       Arguing wouldn’t help, so she let the matter drop. Think. She needed to think. “Okay, if Alyssa was worried about something shady going on, what would she do?”

       “She tried coming to me.” Gage stared down at his hands for a long moment. Self-reproach shimmered from his cinnamon-colored eyes. Sympathy stirred deep in her heart. He really cared about her sister. And the radiant happiness reflected in Alyssa’s eyes on the glossy photo was a strong indication she felt the same way about him.

       The two of them deserved to find happiness together. She should be thrilled for them. So why did she feel depressed?

       Gage raised anguished eyes to hers. “Since I refused to help, I’m not sure what she’d do. I left a message with a friend of mine who might be able to help find her. I checked her place, but she’s not there. I even stopped at my house, but she wasn’t there, either. All I know for sure is that she called you.”

       Mallory nearly apologized, before she caught herself. “Okay, obviously Alyssa’s not here. Who are Alyssa’s closest friends? People from work? Maybe she’s staying with one of them because she was afraid to be alone?”

       “Yeah. Maybe.” Gage brightened, as if he hadn’t considered that option. “I think Paige Sanders and Emma Banks are her closest friends from work. We can start with them.”

       “And what if they’re not home, or don’t want to talk to us?” She watched as Gage swiftly paged through the phone book.

       “We’ll find a way to make them talk.” He scowled darkly. “Because I’m not leaving until we have answers.”

      * * *

       Gage slammed the phone book shut with a sense of frustration. He wasn’t close to Alyssa’s friends, another thing she’d complained about while they were engaged, and he soon realized he didn’t know if either of the women were married, which meant they might not be listed under their own last name in the directory.

       Finally he asked Mallory to call Trinity Medical Center, pretending to be Alyssa to request the numbers. He wasn’t surprised when she was readily given the information. Mallory sounded more like Alyssa now that she had amnesia than she did before. He tried to put his finger on the difference. Maybe because the brittle edge had vanished from her tone.

       Mallory acted more like Alyssa now, too. Not only was the sharp edge gone, but she didn’t flirt the way she had before she’d hit her head. Even her clothes were more conservative than usual.

       Thankfully, after that fiasco in the kitchen, she’d kept her distance from him. Which was a huge relief.

       He felt bad for her. Having amnesia couldn’t be easy. His memories of Alyssa were painful, but at least he had them. He couldn’t imagine what his life would be like if he couldn’t remember Alyssa.

       “I have the phone numbers,” Mallory said. He gratefully took the slip of paper and then used directory assistance to get addresses. At least they still had home phone numbers, because cell numbers would have been a dead end. Finally they were ready to leave. Hoping Jonah Stewart, his detective friend, would return his call soon, he waited, rather impatiently, while Mallory grabbed her massive purse and slung it over her shoulder.

       She must not have noticed his impatience, because she grinned at him. “Okay. I’m ready, Freddie.”

       For a moment he stared at her in shock. I’m ready, Freddie, was a phrase Alyssa had often used, but had he ever heard Mallory say it? He tried to think back but couldn’t honestly remember. She sounded too much like Alyssa, which made it harder to remember that he didn’t like her. Normally Mallory was easy to dismiss. Especially