Assumed Identity (12 page)

Jake checked his watch again. It was a full fifteen minutes after closing and her rental car was the only one left in the lot. “Walk out to your car, Robin,” Jake willed, hating the instinct that warned him he needed to get over to that shop now. “Five more minutes,” he argued with that darker urge.

Several more cars were parked on the street in front of the shop—maybe one of those belonged to a last-minute customer. The goal of coming here was to make sure she was safe—not to talk to her, touch her or be some kind of hero to her again. That wasn’t the role he was here to play tonight.

He bargained with the silent red alert churning through his blood by slipping out of his hiding place and moving down the street to scan for the green sedan that had been watching her place the other night. There was no green car, but there was plenty of traffic tonight—people leaving work, others pulling into empty spaces to try out the coffee bar or dance club on the corner.

Funny how nobody noticed a man strolling through the shadows if he didn’t want to be noticed. A trio of women heading into the club breezed right by him, either too eager to get to the party or too ignorant of the dangers of this neighborhood to pay him any mind. A young couple exited the coffee bar. The woman bumped Jake’s shoulder as he turned the corner, and she mumbled an apology without taking her attention away from the man she was with.

Was he really that good at blending in? Or were these covert skills an unfortunate byproduct of having a face that no one really wanted to look at? Pretty good cover for a hit man or whatever kind of lowlife he might have been in his forgotten past.

Swallowing the bile that the possibility of being that kind of man invariably triggered in him, Jake walked another half a block without any sign of the green sedan and turned into the alley behind the businesses to make his way back to Robin’s shop. He hoped her car was gone before he had to get back to finish his shift at the Shamrock. And if she was still there...

What the hell?

Jake pulled back against the bricks when he recognized Bow-tie guy from the shop pulling into a parking space and getting out. Maybe the guy had an aversion to exercise and half a block was too far to walk after work. But those sly looks up and down the street before reaching back into the car and pulling out a flat manila envelope made Jake think this stop wasn’t about laziness. When Bow-tie guy walked to the car parked directly in front of him and climbed into the passenger side, Jake’s suspicions jumped up another notch.

He inched out of the shadows to read the plate number of the first car and try to get a glimpse of the driver. The angle was wrong to see a face, but the dark clothes and general build could have been a match for the man in the green sedan the night of the assault. Was this a different rental car? If so, why would the guy go to so much trouble to cover his tracks and mask his identity? Or was this the guy who’d accosted Robin outside the Shamrock? Could they be the same man?

What
was
clear were the unmistakable signs of an exchange taking place. Bow-tie guy opened the envelope and pulled out a pair of photographs. Again, the angle was wrong to see the images clearly, but Jake thought he could make out a dark round halo that could be a head of hair. Pictures of Robin? Emma? Something else? The driver quickly pushed the photos down into the seat between them and pulled a business-size envelope from his jacket. He didn’t need Bow-tie guy to open the envelope to know that it was cash.

Jake took another step onto the sidewalk, thinking how easy it would be to get into Bow-tie’s car and be waiting for him when he returned. He didn’t doubt that he could get a few answers out of him. But the driver pulled out a cell phone and Jake saw the gloves he was wearing—on a balmy spring night—and realized that he was the bigger threat.

If this interchange was a threat at all. Jake inhaled a deep, steadying breath as the driver pulled the phone from his ear and asked Bow-tie a question before returning to his call. Had it always been his nature to suspect a conspiracy wherever he looked? What if there was an innocent explanation for this? Bow-tie had printed some pictures for a friend. He’d designed a floral arrangement and been paid a commission for his work. Even if it was something a little less savory, like selling porn or insider trading, it didn’t necessarily have anything to do with the danger lurking around Robin and Emma.

Except... Ah, hell. Of all the people in this busy neighborhood to finally notice him, the driver glanced up into his rearview mirror, then turned in his seat to look right at Jake.

Maybe he suspected Jake was a cop who’d seen the questionable transaction. Maybe the driver just wanted to know why he was curious about his business.

Either way, the meeting was done. The man with the gloves ended the call. Bow-tie guy scrambled out of the car. The driver pulled out and turned the corner, heading north toward Robin’s shop. Jake obeyed his instincts, even if he didn’t understand where they came from. Ducking back into the alley, he ran its length until he burst out into the parking lot, just in time to see a dark-clothed figure scurrying across the sidewalk and jumping into a car parked in front of the shop.

Had he been
in
the shop? With Robin?

“Hey!” Jake shouted.

Just as the car squealed out of its parking space, the rental car he’d been watching jerked to a stop behind it and honked. The near collision didn’t worry Jake as much as the bad timing.

Breathing hard at the unexpected race he’d run, Jake swore and took off across the parking lot. Robin’s car was still here. And there was no mistaking it was hers because of the car seat strapped into the back. “Fool woman.”

He ran straight to the sidewalk when the car slowed down, making sure the driver could see him there waiting for him in case he was thinking about stopping. Damn those instincts. The car had slowed, but when Jake ran a few yards farther, the brake lights flashed and it jerked to a stop. Jake hustled his legs to catch up to get a good look in the window at the man he suspected was harassing Robin. But when he reached the glass and closed his hand around the door handle, all he saw was a camera flash. “Son of a...”

Blinded for a split second, he could do little more than spin away as the driver gunned the engine. It sped through the yellow light at the next intersection to the screeching protest of car horns and disappeared into the night. Right. Nothing suspicious about that.

“Robin.” Jake’s chest heaved in and out as he muttered her name, unsure whether he was voicing a hope or cursing himself for what he was about to do.

“Robin!” He dashed past the empty car in the parking lot and banged on the steel exit door. But one knock and the door bounced against his fist.

Unlocked.

Not a good sign. Every cell in his body screamed that something was wrong here. Every instinct told him Robin was in trouble.

Reaching down, he pulled the hunting knife from his boot. Then he took a silent, steadying breath, fisted his hand around the door handle and swung it open.

He slid inside to the glow of security lights and flattened his back against the brick wall beside the door, allowing himself a few seconds to acclimate to the eerie shadows. The only hint that anyone was still here was the sliver of light peeking out beneath the closed door of Robin’s office at the end of the hall.

Jake’s blood simmered in his veins. Working late with the back door wide open? A scan through the workrooms revealed the back of the shop was empty and that nothing seemed out of place. Maybe she wasn’t working at all. Maybe her attacker had come back to finish what he’d started. Maybe that Houseman guy outside the Shamrock was here to finish that conversation that had upset her so. Maybe the threat in the phone call she’d tried to tell him about had become a reality and she was lying in that office injured, unconscious again, or worse. How many times did this woman have to be hurt before she wised up and put her safety before her job? How many times did he have to come bail her out?

If stealth wasn’t vital to securing the place, Jake would be cursing up a blue streak. He was as ticked off about Robin putting herself in a position to get hurt as he was the fact that it made him sick to think she might have gotten hurt. Preparing for the worst-case scenario, Jake pressed his back against the hallway wall and crept through the darkness toward that light. He could just bet, too, that she was here alone, that she hadn’t told anyone she was working late. Maybe she was counting on Bow-tie guy to walk her to her car. She’d put her trust in some traitorous schlub who wasn’t coming back....

That’s when he heard the muffled shouts. Punctuated by a thumping that vibrated through the wall at his back, he pinpointed the source of the muted cries for help. They weren’t coming from her office. They were close by. Was there another locked room in here? A closet?

He flipped around to the opposite wall to use his eyes to search.

“Stay away from her.” Thump. Thump. Thump.

Robin? He zeroed in on the source of the sound and found the seams of a door, camouflaged to match the wallpaper around it.

And then he saw the steel pin wedged into the door handle. A walk-in refrigerator, like the one at the bar. The chain that hung from the pin rattled with every thump. She’d been locked inside.

He removed the pin and yanked the door open. “Rob—”

“Stay the hell away from my baby!”

Jake dodged a blast of pepper spray, catching Robin by the wrist and knocking the canister from her grip. But not before the stinging chemical splashed his neck.

“Jake? I’m sorry. I thought...” She froze for a second, her wrist pinned to the wall beneath his hand, her eyes glued to the knife he still held, her face blanched with shock and confusion.

“Ah, hell.” He tucked the blade into his belt and released her. “Don’t you have any sense, lady? You know what I thought?”

Instead of answering, she shoved him back a step. “Emma!”

She charged down the hall and Jake ran after. “I haven’t secured that end of the building yet.” He grabbed her by the arm, but she twisted away and shot through her office door. “Damn it!”

He caught the door before it slammed back in his face and followed her into the room. “I just disarmed you. How are you going to defend yourself now? You’re running blind into an unknown situation. Your outside door is swinging wide open. Nobody else is here. There’s nothing good about this scenario. You want to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Completely ignoring every stern warning, she hurried across the room to Emma’s bassinet.

“Robin—”

“Shh.” Seriously? She pressed a finger to her lips before leaning over the white basket. Then she reached inside and whispered a prayer.

Ignoring the burning skin at his collar and his fuming frustration, Jake toned it down a notch as she pulled up the cover. He sure as hell didn’t want to be responsible for scaring Emma again. “Is the kid okay?”

“Sleeping.” She smiled as tears spilled over her cheeks. “Like a baby.”

And then she crossed the room and walked into him. No, she burrowed into Jake’s chest. She pressed her cheek against his pounding heart and wrapped her arms around his waist, clinging to him the way a drowning woman clung to a life preserver. “Thank you.” She hiccuped a sound and squeezed him a little tighter. “Thank you.”

The emotions that had raged through Jake’s system—concern, anger, suspicion—short-circuited.

“Ah, hell. Robin?” Forgetting that this was all kinds of dangerous, Jake wound an arm behind her waist and palmed the back of her head, holding on just as tight. She quivered against him before settling impossibly closer, nestling her head beneath his chin, imprinting his body with the memory of small, sweet breasts, long thighs and firm hips. Was she crying? Shaking with anger? He’d been chasing a suspicious employee and a mystery player with a lot of money and a collection of photographs. What had she been dealing with in here? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. You scared the tar out of me with that giant knife. And I was already...” She fisted her hand and pressed it against his shoulder, a friendly reprimand rather than a punch. Good. He was glad she still had the gumption to call him on his crude lack of manners. Made him feel a little less like the bad guy here. But then her fist opened up and her fingers dug into his shirt in one of those clutching grasps that made him crazy, and the skin and muscle underneath danced in response to the needy contact. She was burrowing in again and Jake couldn’t seem to remember why this was a bad idea.

“Already what?” He tunneled his fingers beneath her hair to find chilled skin at her nape. Oh, man. How long had she been locked up in there? His shoulders seemed to shift of their own volition, folding around her to surround her in warmth. He’d rethink this whole embrace thing tomorrow. Right now he felt like he needed to hold on to her, too. Like touching her was the only way he could convince those worrisome instincts of his that she was all right. Just like she’d needed to see and touch her baby to know that Emma was safe. Only, Robin wasn’t all right. She was shivering. “Honey, you’ve got to talk to me. I can’t keep coming over here to watch you every damn night and keep tabs on all the idiots who work for you—”

“You’ve been watching...? Did you just call me
honey?
”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“I was kind of hoping you did mean it.” With a heavy sigh that moved against him like a caress, Robin released her death grip and took a step back. “You sure you want to call me that, though? You keep showing up to save me and I bring the police into your life—which clearly makes you uncomfortable—and then I...hurt you.” She gently touched the irritation mark the pepper spray had left on his skin. The faint sheen of tears that sparkled in her eyes at the damage she’d done to him was more apology than he needed.

He pulled her hand away and clasped it between them. “It’s not like I haven’t been hurt before. And by a lot bigger and meaner than you, I’m guessin.’”

“You guess?” She reached up and cupped the side of his jaw, gently tracing the scar there with the pad of her thumb. “You don’t know who did this to you? Oh, Jake.” Lifting her other hand, she brushed her fingers across the rigid scar that bisected his temple. “That bastard should be drawn and quartered for hurting you like this. I can’t imagine how much pain you must have suffered. Is that why you don’t like Detective Montgomery? Because the police didn’t find your attacker?”