Jessica R. Patch - Concealed Identity

Sophia, Riella’s housekeeper, made a mean enchilada dish, but Blair didn’t feel right about taking something for nothing, especially when nobody was dying. “No need for all the fuss. We’ll grab a bite at the Black-Eyed Pea if G feels up to it.”

“Ah. Well, I just came to bring my man something to eat. He missed lunch. You sure you don’t want anything? I have plenty.”

Blair inhaled the tangy scent of Italian food. She must have stopped in at Mangiare. Another reason Blair adored this town—the wide variety of ethnic groups represented here. And the variety of food choices because of it. It really was a wonderful life.

Until today.

“No, really. I’m fine and Gigi will need to get home soon anyway. She’ll probably want to lie down.”

Riella glanced outside. “You met the man who leased the store next to yours yet?”

Holt Renard. “I did. He gave us a lift, but I don’t really know much about him.” Not nearly enough to feel comfortable. And with the way he’d sent her pulse skittering at the auction, she couldn’t get to know him. “He’s opening an outdoorsman store.”

Riella’s eyebrow lifted. “Speaking of...”

Holt made an entrance and handed Blair her tea.

Riella introduced herself and chitchatted with Holt while Blair sipped her chamomile tea and fretted. She hoped he wouldn’t blab to Riella about the circumstances surrounding the wreck. But Blair couldn’t tell him not to, either. She’d instructed Gigi to keep mum before she saw Doc. She’d have to do some explaining when she got her alone. She’d never wanted Gigi to know how stupid and naive she’d been to fall in with Mateo and his crowd. No way around it now.

“Well, on behalf of Hope, welcome. I’ll have Sophia whip you up a welcome meal.”

Riella didn’t mind offering meals to everyone and anyone. She never had to cook them.

Doc Drummond led Gigi into the waiting area. “No concussion, but watch her anyway. She can take Motrin for the pain. Wake her up every thirty minutes to an hour just in case, and she’ll be right as rain.” He flashed a grin at his wife. “I smell a meatball sub.”

Riella raised a red-and-green bag. “You’re welcome.” She kissed his cheek. Blair hooked her arm around Gigi’s. “Thanks, Doc. We appreciate your help.”

“Be more careful next time, Blair. That beast of a truck is a lot to handle.” Doc Drummond winked. “Nice meeting you, Holt. I’ll have to swing by and check out the store when it’s up and running.”

“Sounds good.”

Doc escorted his wife to the offices. Holt held the door while Blair and Gigi stepped outside underneath the white-and-yellow awning. Even with the shade, it felt like they were charging toward a fire-breathing dragon. Blair looked at Holt. “Can I have a couple of minutes alone with my sister?”

“Sure.” Holt paused, then meandered down the sidewalk out of earshot.

Blair turned to Gigi. “I guess you kept quiet about what really happened.”

“You told me not to say a word, so I listened. I’m not sure what did happen. Are you?”

“Let’s talk about it later. Are you hungry?” Blair studied Gigi. Her color had come back, but her eyes looked tired. And scared.

“I feel like talking about it now. Why do you carry a gun that I don’t know about, and who on this green earth would try to kill us, and why do I have to keep my mouth shut?”

As far as Gigi knew, Mateo Salvador died in South America, gunned down by guerillas. Which wasn’t far from the truth. He had been gunned down. But she wasn’t exactly sure by whom, other than a rival drug cartel aiming to take down Hector.

Blair glanced around. Out here where anyone could listen wasn’t the best place. “We will talk. At home. And I carry a gun for protection like a lot of people.”

“You’re hiding something.”

For Gigi’s own good. To protect her.

“We should call the police, Blair.” Gigi gnawed her bottom lip. “I’m freaking out.”

Maybe she should call them. Chief Deputy Beckett Marsh might be able to help. But then she’d have to reveal her past. Somehow it would leak and the town wouldn’t see her as Blair Sullivan, business owner and honorable neighbor. She’d become Blair Sullivan, former wife of a drug lord who could potentially put friends and family in jeopardy.

Blair rubbed her hands together. “You don’t need to be afraid. Trust me.”

“Who was in that SUV?”

“I honestly don’t know.” But she had a terrifying feeling they would be back.

Gigi grabbed Blair’s shoulders. “You think this involves Jeremy? Are you scared of getting him in hot water with the cops?”

Blair’s knees buckled. She hadn’t once thought it might concern her brother. But that might be the reason he wasn’t answering calls and texts, or hadn’t been by to see them in a few days.

Gigi led her to one of the many benches that lined the sidewalks. Blair collapsed on one, averting her eyes from the colorful wooden box of impatiens that sat directly under the black lamppost.

“Maybe we should call Dad,” Gigi said.

No. Drug cartels were ruthless. Until she knew what she was dealing with, the fewer people involved, the better. “And ruin his Caribbean cruise when we don’t really know anything? Let’s not worry Dad until we have to.”

Gigi stood and crossed her arms across her chest. “Okay, but I expect the full truth before the night is over. It’s not fair to keep me in the dark, Blair.”

No, it wasn’t. Not at this point.

A blue pickup pulled over to the curb and Ronnie Lawson clambered out.

Blair stood next to Gigi. “Oh, great,” she muttered, then bristled as he strode toward her with determination in his eyes.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the little fox that stole from my vineyard.” He shoved a wad of chewing tobacco in his cheek and pocketed the canister.

“I didn’t steal anything. You should have been at the auction today.” Blair backed away as he shuffled forward, turned his head and spat a spray of tobacco juice.

“Truck broke down on the interstate. I heard it was gonna be a sweet one today.” He glanced at her head and massaged his neck muscles. “What happened to you? Get into a major bidding war?”

“I wrecked on Farley Pass coming home.” She gave Gigi a sidelong glance and prayed she’d keep her trap shut.

“At least you’re not dead.”

Yet. Her nerves hammered.

Ronnie made another step into Blair’s personal space. “You know what I’m gonna ask.”

* * *

Holt had given Blair and Gigi space, but he itched to know what they were discussing. Might be about whether or not to go to the police. Now, out of the corner of his eye, he studied a man with beady eyes and a receding hairline moving in on Blair. He towered over her and she inched back, then scowled. Didn’t appear to be a pleasant conversation. Holt strode toward them. If this guy was messing with her, it’d be for the last time.

“Blair, everything all right?” Holt asked as he ambled up beside her, glaring at the big guy wearing a worn camouflage shirt and jeans.

Blair tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. This is Ronnie Lawson—”

“Own the sporting goods store outside town. You are?” Ronnie sniffed and spat a gob of tobacco onto the road.

“Holt Renard. Just moved here from Memphis.”

Ronnie nodded once. “What brings you to Hope?”

“Opening a used outdoorsman store.” And he continued to build on the tower of lies. “Chasin’ the dream, man. Chasin’ the dream.” Once it hadn’t been too far of a stretch, before his world flipped upside down. Once he’d wanted to major in forestry and settle down in a town much like this one. With Trina.