Chapter Eleven
Spence paced in the hallway outside the dining room, grateful that they were here at his grandpa’s house where his security improvements ensured top-notch protection.
Nowhere was completely safe, but this property came close.
He assigned Rossi and Liz Quintana to supervise others on his staff to watch the CCTV transmissions, check motion sensors, scan for drones and patrol indoors and out.
While Spence ran this show, Julio Flores didn’t stand a chance of getting close enough to hurt Mollie.
She staggered out the door from the dining room. Barely able to stand, she leaned against him for support. He held her firmly in his embrace. Inhaled the orange blossom scent of her shampoo. Stroked her back. Patted her shoulder as if there were some way to make everything better.
“Did you know?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
With an effort, she shoved away from his chest. Her eyes wavered as she tried to focus on his face, searching his expression and daring him to lie. “Did you know I’m going to inherit the Rainy Day Gallery in Salem?”
With complete honesty, he answered, “Grandpa didn’t tell me, but I’ve got to say, it sounds like a great fit.”
“At a different time in my life, this would be a dream come true. But how can I take on this kind of responsibility while I’m under threat from the Peligro Cartel? I have to know that danger is over.” She covered her face with her hands. “I want to stay here and reclaim my life, but I’m scared.”
And she hadn’t yet heard his bad news. “Can I get you something to drink?”
She dropped her hands, shook her shoulders and bared her teeth in an angry grin. “I’m okay, Spence. Tell me your news.”
He didn’t want to add to her burden. “Let’s go outside. Get some fresh air.”
On the veranda, he brought her to the hanging bench swing painted white to match the trim. He sat beside her and gently rocked. “When you have to remove a bandage, do you carefully ease it off or do you give a yank and pull it off fast?”
She inhaled and slowly exhaled. “Rip it off, Spence.”
“Surveillance at the Salem Airport identified the driver who got the sniper away from his perch. It was Julio Flores.”
The name landed with a thud.
Her blue eyes widened as she stared at him. “That can’t be.”
Several times she had clearly stated her belief that Madison was alive. If so, it stood to reason that Julio had also survived. “The cameras captured a clear photo of his face and used advanced facial recognition technology. It’s Julio.”
The air went out of her lungs, and she slouched.
In her pretty teal dress, she looked like a wilted flower.
He watched as her disappointment faded. Her resilience took over.
“This might be a good thing,” she said. “I can talk to Julio and get him to call off this vendetta. When my inheritance comes through, I can pay him off.”
He appreciated her innocence, but naivety could get her killed. “Julio Flores is a drug-running criminal. An explosives expert. A murderer. He’s not a man of his word.”
“There must be something. Help me think.”
“Finding him is an excellent idea.” And then, arresting him. “I need to investigate.”
“We need to investigate. You and me. Both of us.”
“Not your job,” he said. “I want to get you out of danger.”
“How are you going to pull that off? Put me in WITSEC?” She scoffed. “That didn’t work out well in Denver. Those gunmen showed up on their watch.”
“Not WITSEC.” He still suspected Marshal Youngblood of informing the sniper of their whereabouts in Salem. “I can set you up in a secure location. A hotel. A resort in Vancouver. I have private security people who can watch over you at the safe house.”
“I’ll be careful,” she promised. “But I insist on coming with you to investigate. We should start by questioning the marshal who got shot in the legs. His name is Easton.”
“I know his name.” And her suggestion had actually been his plan.
Spence had intended to meet Jamison and go to the hospital in Salem where Marshal Easton had been admitted.
The bullet in his right leg was a flesh wound, easily repaired.
His broken left tibia required surgery and a temporary cast on his lower leg to stabilize the bone.
He wouldn’t be able to walk for quite a while but was expected to leave the hospital and return to Portland tomorrow.
“After that,” she continued, “I want to talk to Jamison about the undercover FBI agent who recorded the yacht explosion. I know it’s possible to create all kinds of phony scenarios with AI, but that looked realistic. And I’d expect the FBI to vet the video.”
“The feds don’t share information with civilians. They don’t even like to cooperate with other law enforcement agencies.”
“Well, then we’ll just have to convince them.” She hopped off the swing and left him dangling. “We’ll start at the hospital and take it from there.”
“Wait.” He stepped up beside her. “If we go to the hospital, you’ll miss the memorial service.”
She grabbed his hand and checked his wristwatch. “It’s not even eleven thirty. The memorial isn’t until two. We can make it back by then.”
Hoping to distract her, he pointed out, “You should talk to Bethany and Erin before you leave them in the lurch.”
“Bethany is going to be mad no matter what I do. And Erin will give me a high five for encouragement.” She skipped down the stairs from the veranda, surprisingly agile for someone who didn’t usually wear high-heeled platform heels.
“Move it, Spence. We have a lot to do if we’re going to catch this scumbag. ”
Heaving a resigned sigh, he accepted her plan.
If he was with her, he could still concentrate on keeping her safe, even though she seemed determined to do everything in her power to bring on more threat.
Running into a burning building. Defusing a bomb with mere seconds left before detonation.
Facing down a cartel with nothing but a beautiful smile and a lot of nerve.
* * *
Standing in the hospital corridor between Spence and Agent Jamison, Mollie felt awkward and out of place.
She’d never been involved in law enforcement, either as a cop or a felon, and had no idea how to handle an interrogation.
She clung to her initial bravado that inspired her to undertake this investigation.
She needed to know: Why was someone after her? Why now?
They’d already made progress, no thanks to her.
Evidence gathered by the police showed Julio Flores as the person working with the sniper.
She still didn’t know why. Her mood fluctuated from the intense fear of knowing a cartel murderer had targeted her to the realization that Julio’s survival boded well for Madison’s escape from the explosion.
She might be closer than ever to finding her twin alive.
At the hospital gift shop, she’d bought Easton a hypoallergenic stuffed teddy bear—recommended by the salesclerk who vetoed flowers and balloons for ICU patients.
Mollie had to borrow the money for the purchase from Spence.
In the small purse Erin had brought to go with the teal dress was Mollie’s wallet, which was thin on cash and valid credit cards.
She also carried eyeliner, lipstick, pepper spray and her ceramic pocketknife, which easily passed through the hospital metal detectors.
Spence had to surrender his weapon. Jamison—in his role as an FBI agent—held on to his gun.
A pretty young nurse in pink scrubs joined them.
She lowered her mask and offered an overly friendly smile that lingered on Spence long enough to send a message that she wouldn’t mind a private chat with him.
An unwarranted pang of jealousy pinged inside Mollie, though she had no claim on Spence.
Whatever he did with his own time was his business.
“Only one of you can visit with your friend at a time,” the nurse informed them.
“That would be me,” Jamison said as he stepped forward. Though he wasn’t wearing a neat men-in-black uniform, he’d added a rumpled sports jacket to his jeans. “I was right next to Easton when he got shot. And I have official questions.”
He charged into the small cubicle and drew aside the curtain, revealing Marshal Jerome Easton sitting up in a hospital bed with the side rails in place.
Tubes, wires and IVs sprouted from all over his body.
With the sheets pulled up to his hips, Easton’s legs were visible.
One was wrapped in gauze. The other was casted from below the knee to the foot.
“Is he going to be all right?” Mollie asked.
“Recovery will take a while,” the nurse said. “He’ll be in physical therapy, learning how to put weight on his legs. But he ought to be fine.”
Spence squinted into the room. “He doesn’t look well enough to be released today.”
“Wheelchair transport has already been arranged.” The nurse moved closer to him.
Mollie noticed that the young woman accidentally on purpose rubbed against Spence’s chest. In the dapper, navy blue suit he wore for the memorial, he looked good.
The nurse whispered to him, “It’s nice to hear your concern about your friend. ”
Jamison rushed back to them in the hallway. “Mollie should talk to him next.”
She waited until the nurse moved away, after giving Spence a flirty, little wave. Then, Mollie turned toward Jamison. “Why me?”
“Easton is still dopey from the anesthetic for the surgery. He caught a glimpse of you out here and demanded to see the Princesa. I think you know who he’s talking about.”
“My twin.” How could Easton mistake her for her sister? “But he saw me at the airport. I was pinned down on the field right next to him.”
“Spence was hovering over you, protecting you. Easton couldn’t see much.” Jamison fixed her with a sharp gaze. “He already thinks you’re Madison. Can you pull this off?”
If he’d asked her to impersonate a celebrity or disguise herself, Mollie wouldn’t have known what to do. But she and her twin had been swapping identities since birth. “I can be Madison. Give me a minute.”
Using the mirror-like surface of a cabinet, she accented her eyeliner and added a heavy smear of lipstick.
The demure teal dress that suited her wasn’t right for her sister.
Using her ceramic knife carefully so none of the hospital staff saw, Mollie cut off the sweet, lace sleeves.
She slashed open the neckline nearly to her waist and sliced off several inches of hemline.
Mollie threw back her shoulders so her posture would reflect her sister’s overwhelming confidence. She ruffled her hair, wishing she had about six more inches in length to play with. With a toss of her head, she confronted Spence and Jamison. “How’s this?”
“Very good, Princesa Peligrosa.” Jamison gave her two thumbs-up. She aimed a seductive, Madison-like gaze at Spence, who was still gaping. His mouth snapped shut. “I liked you better,” he said, “before you chopped up your dress.”
“Really?” She cocked her hip and arched her back to emphasize her cleavage. “I thought all men preferred a naughty girl.”
“You’re a little scary,” he mumbled under his breath. More loudly, he said, “See if you can work in a question about Marshal Youngblood.”
She gave him a pat on the cheek and sashayed into Easton’s hospital room. She stood at his elbow, fluffed her hair and dropped the teddy bear on his lap. “A get-well present.”
He bowed his head. “Thank you, Princesa.”
Mollie felt bad about lying to him and taking advantage, but she knew Madison wouldn’t care. And she needed to get information.
“You really blew it this time, Marshal Easton.” She hoisted her lip in a sneer her sister had used for years to put people in their places. “I’ll need to punish you.”
His expression told her that he just might like to be punished. “I tried to reach your sister, to take care of her.”
“Take care?” Mollie/Madison said archly. “What does that mean?”
“Protect.” Easton attempted a loose smile.
Not what she expected, but she made sure she understood. “That’s right. You’re supposed to make sure my sister comes to no harm.”
“Yes,” he said. “She’s not very pretty. Not like you.”
“How dare you insult my twin sister.”
“I am sorry, Princesa. So sorry. Didn’t expect an attack. A sniper.”
“Learn to think.” She rolled her eyes and tapped the side of her head. “It was Julio, was it not? He hired the sniper.”
“Had to be him, the bastard. He gave the order. Shoot at my legs.” His eyes filled with tears. “A message. Tells me I can’t run back to you.”
Mollie wondered if her twin had been leading this poor guy on, using her wiles to convince him to do her dirty work. The only thing Easton had admitted so far was he meant to protect Mollie, which was also his job as a marshal.
Why would he work for her? Was it money? Mollie took a stab. “You don’t deserve what I pay you.”
“But I’d do anything for you. Everything, my Princesa.”
Aha! Easton was on her payroll. She pushed. “What about those idiots that shot at my sister in Denver? Who hired them?”
“Youngblood said you knew.”
Another piece of information. If Easton had been fully conscious, he never would have revealed so much of their plan. She snapped at him. “The fools tried to kill my sister.”
“Never.” He wiped at his mouth. His lips were wet and rubbery. “They were supposed to kill the guy who came to see your sister.”
Spence. That made sense to her. The thugs had been waiting outside her rental house in Denver. They only started shooting after Spence arrived. How long had they been watching her? “They didn’t work for me. Julio must have hired them.”
“Princesa.” He gasped and fell back against the pillows.
She turned her full attention on him and took on the role of Madison at her meanest and her sexiest. “Julio won, and you lost.”
“So sorry.”
She leaned across his bed, giving him an up-close-and-personal view of her breasts as she grabbed the teddy bear. “You know how I deal with losers, don’t you?”
“Forgive me. Please, Princesa.”
He was pathetic. Her instinct told her to reassure him, but she didn’t capitulate.
Her sister wouldn’t let him off the hook.
To “punish” Jerry Easton, Mollie plunged her knife into the belly of the stuffed animal and yanked out the innards.
Then she tucked the knife into her purse where no one would see it.
“Tell your pal Marshal Youngblood that he’s a loser, too. ”
“His fault,” Easton whined. “He never should have let her leave Denver.”
“Did Youngblood talk to Julio? Did he betray me?”
“Must have.” Easton’s eyes closed. He was fading fast.
There was more Mollie needed to know. “Don’t you fall asleep, Jerry. I need answers. What about the Peligro Cartel? Are they after Mollie and her father?”
“Count on me, Princesa.”
His head flopped to one side, and his eyelids slammed shut. She wasn’t going to get any more coherent information from Marshal Jerome Easton.