Alice Sharpe - My Sister, Myself

Tess looked up at detective Ryan Hill, who regarded her with such empathy that it crumbled what little control she had left and she swayed on her feet again. Only this time, he caught her elbows in his strong hands and held her steady.

“Is she…going to be okay?” she murmured, wiping away the tears.

“The doctor said he thinks there’s a good chance she’ll pull through.”

“Has the driver come forward? Have you found him yet?”

“There are a thousand white vans in New Harbor, Miss Mays. Without a license plate…” Detective Hill’s voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his black, glossy hair. “There’s a whole lot you need to know.”

Tess looked away from his gaze, staring at the bank of monitors, then at the face that was at once familiar and foreign—her twin sister. Her twin. All those years of loneliness and she’d had a twin the whole time….

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This book is dedicated to my sister, Mary Shumate.

Not a twin, but just as close to my heart.

I would like to thank Arnold Sharpe, Joseph Sharpe and

Jennifer Jones for their patience, support and expertise.

I love you all.

Alice Sharpe met her husband-to-be on a cold, foggy beach in Northern California. One year later they were married. Their union has survived the rearing of two children, a handful of earthquakes registering over 6.5, numerous cats and a few special dogs, the latest of which is a yellow Lab named Annie Rose. Alice and her husband now live in a small rural town in Oregon, where she devotes the majority of her time to pursuing her second love, writing.

Alice loves to hear from readers. You can write her at P.O. Box 755, Brownsville, OR 97327. SASE for reply is appreciated.

Tess Mays—A fateful phone call disrupts her safe existence. Will she take up her long-lost twin sister’s struggle to prove her dead father innocent?

Ryan Hill—A detective with the New Harbor police department, Ryan is committed to protecting both of his late partner’s daughters. Trouble is, one is in a coma and the other is turning into a wonder woman right before his eyes.

Katie Fields—Tess’s twin. What did she uncover before being struck down by a hit-and-run driver?

Matt Fields—His suspicious death in a house fire provides the catalyst that brings his long-separated daughters back together.

Caroline Mays—Tess and Katie’s mother. But why did she keep her children apart and where is she now?

Nelson Lingford—What’s the acute businessman’s role in the fire that destroyed his stepmother’s home?

Madeline Lingford—Would this crippled widow commit murder to protect her stepson?

Irene Woodall—The art dealer has obviously become Katie’s confidant within the Lingford household. How can Tess circumnavigate her to get at the truth?

Vince Desota—His greed has all but destroyed his life, and he’ll stop at nothing to get back at the man he blames for his failures.

Clint Doyle—A burly bodyguard who takes his job seriously. The question is: how seriously?

Jim Kinsey—A former Lingford employee, will he stop at nothing to get what he wants?

Georges—Irene’s assistant. Why is he lying so low?

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Juggling an unwieldy umbrella and a cell phone, Katie Fields punched in the phone number, excitement turning to frustration as she reached Ryan’s voice mail. She clicked off without leaving a message. Never mind. She’d catch up with him later and he’d be forced to eat crow as she provided proof that would clear her father’s name.

Or would it?

The niggling voice in the back of her head, the voice she’d been trying her best to ignore, reminded her there was still the contents of that troubling suitcase to be explained.

She stared at the phone. She could make another call….

No. Not yet. That was the future, this was now.

Pocketing the phone, she hurried along the slick sidewalk, struggling against the northwest wind and the wintry rain. Her car was just up ahead. She was so wrapped up in her battle with the elements that she didn’t see or hear danger coming. It was only some sort of sixth sense that caused her to lower the umbrella at the last moment and face destruction head-on.

She screamed as she hit the wet sidewalk and then she knew nothing, nothing at all.

Tess took the taxi directly from the airport to the hospital, traveling the dark, rainy, unfamiliar streets in a state of numb distraction.

All she could hear in her head was the impersonal voice on the telephone telling her a fantastic story she still didn’t believe. Well, she’d be at the hospital soon and then she’d know. Her stomach, which had been in a knot for hours now, clenched even tighter.

“This is it, lady,” the cabbie said, rolling to a stop outside a huge, well-lit building. Gathering her duffel bag, Tess paid her fare before stepping outside into a puddle the size of a wading pool. Her San Francisco blood was too thin for this coastal Oregon chill, she thought, as she hugged her coat close and fought her way through the pelting rain into the hospital lobby.

She knew she needed to go up to the third floor. Once there, she found the ICU waiting room and activated the intercom. “I’m looking for Katie Fields,” she said, saying the name aloud for the first time in her life. “I was told she’s here.”

“And you are?” the voice came back.

“Tess Mays. Theresa Mays. I believe I’m…expected.”

Within a few moments she was standing outside the curtained cubicle and because she’d been hurrying ever since the startling call came hours before, she pushed aside the soft-blue drapes without pause, stopping only as they swished behind her.

There was one bed in the dimly lit room. One slight figure, still as death itself, occupied the bed. Lights blinked on the monitors. If there were accompanying sounds, Tess didn’t hear them; blood rushing through her head obliterated everything but the wild thumping of her own heart.

She wasn’t aware when she dropped her duffel bag to the floor or when her shoulder bag followed. Pushing damp hair behind her ears, she slowly moved toward the bed, nerves like fire ants skittering up and down her spine.

Tubes led from the patient’s arm to an IV bag, her fingernails were torn and dozens of bloody scrapes crisscrossed her arms. As Tess’s gaze made it to the woman’s face, she paused, resting one hand on the guardrail as she peered down at the bruised and swollen features.

Familiar features.

It was true. Somehow, someway, she, a twenty-seven-year-old only child raised by a single mother eight hundred miles south of here, had acquired an unconscious identical twin sister.