Elane Osborn - Which Twin?

Logan glanced at Rose. And what about this claim that she’d appeared on the Benedict veranda in response to some dream? The story sounded preposterous—like one of Anna’s more outrageous fantasies. But…Dennis had just unequivocally stated that her fingerprints didn’t match the ones he’d lifted from Anna’s glass. They were close, Dennis said. An impossible suspicion grew in his mind. Maybe this test of Dennis’s would confirm it. In the meantime, he needed to keep the Benedict family as normal as possible.

Aware that nothing would get Dennis to tip his hand before he was ready, he asked, “How long before you have the results?”

Dennis shrugged. “Tomorrow, probably.”

“I thought DNA testing took weeks.”

“It can, especially in a murder investigation when you must compare several samples and run multiple tests for accuracy. But if my guess is right in this case, I should only have to run the most basic screen. Also, I don’t have any pressing cases going right now to hold me up.”

It was clear that the man had no intention of giving out any more information. “All right, Dennis,” he said with a sigh. “Keep your little secret for the time being. But call me as soon as you finish running your test.”

“Of course,” the man responded with a nod. “And then you’ll explain what is going on?”

“As soon as I know the whole story.”

And know it’s politically safe to reveal, Logan thought as he ushered Rose out the door. As they walked to the car, he found himself recalling the speculative glint in his friend’s eyes. Upon reaching the car, Logan held the passenger door open for Rose, then walked around to the driver’s side, deep in thought. It was his job to see that the family name remained above reproach, he reminded himself. It was even more important now, with Robert running against an opponent known for gleefully slinging any mud he happened upon—or dug up.

Robert’s track record in state government was above reproach, but news that his daughter might be unstable could kick up a media frenzy that would drain attention from the proposals the man wanted to communicate to the electorate. Logan drew a deep breath. So he had landed in the last place he wanted to be—a political campaign.

Schmoozing and charming was Chas’s department. However, damage control was Logan’s. It was up to him to straighten out this situation, and quietly.

A not-too-polite honk broke Logan out of his thoughts. Realizing that he’d put on his seat belt and placed the key in the ignition only to sit and stare out the window, he switched the engine on. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noted with a grim smile that the car behind him slid into his spot even as he moved forward, just as he’d done over an hour earlier.

An hour in which he hadn’t learned much more than the fact that the woman next to him was definitely not Anna.

“Now what?” she said, echoing his own thoughts.

Logan glanced at her as he stopped for the next light. “Good question. How about some food? It’s after noon, and the last meal I recall was something in a plastic dish served on the airplane an hour before I landed. I don’t think all too well on an empty stomach.”

Rose frowned. “What’s to think about? Your friend confirmed that I’m not this Anna person. End of story. The hotel I’m staying at is around here somewhere, I think. Just drop me off, then you can—”

“Which hotel?” Logan asked as the light turned green.

“The Herbert, on Powell and O’Farrell.”

Logan nodded. He needed a plan, and to give himself time to come up with one, he made small talk.

“I know where that is. Small place. Rather old.”

“Yes. And all I can afford.”

Rose turned to stare out the window, her jaw stiff with chagrin at the ever-so-slightly defensive note she’d heard beneath her words.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the reduced state of her finances. She didn’t regret for one moment the money spent on battling her mother’s illness, nor her choice to cut back her performing and teaching schedule to spend as much time as possible with Kathleen rather than taking on new students.

She was a bit embarrassed by the way she’d set off on this trip without considering the cost—driven by a need to escape Queen Anne Hill, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the well-to-do customers who patronized her mother’s gift shop, to escape the sudden emptiness that filled the rooms above that had once rang with loving laughter.

“I can help you with that.”

Logan’s quiet words captured Rose’s attention. She turned to him with a lift of her eyebrows. Before she could ask what he meant, he gave her a smile. It was a wide, warm smile. But this time she noticed right away that it didn’t reach his eyes. Immediately she stiffened suspiciously.

“You can help me with what?”

“Money?”

“And why would you do that?”

“As payment.”

“Payment? For what?”

The smile widened as the car slid to a stop. “For services rendered. And hopefully for services to be rendered.”

Rose frowned. “What are you talking—”

“Park your car, Mr. Maguire?”

A thin brown face appeared at the driver’s side window. Anticipation glittered in the teenager’s dark eyes as Logan replied, “We’ll see. Give us a moment, okay?”

When the boy stepped back, Logan turned to Rose. “I have a proposition for you. It’s of a rather sensitive nature, and given that I’m rather well known in the city, it’s not something I’d feel comfortable discussing in a crowded restaurant. I live in the building across the street. There’s a conservatory on the top floor, an area that’s both public and private at the same time, so you needn’t worry that I’m luring you to my lair. We can stop at the deli to pick up some sandwiches. What do you say?”

Rose wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced around, disoriented.

Apparently, while she’d mulled over the question of her finances and the pain of her recent loss, she’d failed to notice that Logan Maguire hadn’t been driving toward her hotel, as she had assumed. Instead of finding herself in the heart of downtown San Francisco, she discovered that they’d come to a stop on a street running along the southern edge of the bay.

The silver-toned Oakland Bridge soared off to her right. On her left, the building Logan had referred to stretched down the street in both directions, a peachy stucco several stories high with iron balconies and windows framed by brightly colored shutters. High-priced condos, she decided, set up to look like something in a quaint Mediterranean fishing village.

Quaint and expensive.

Tension crept into her shoulders. Once upon a time quaint and expensive had called to her like honey called a fly. And had caught her, just as surely. But, she reminded herself, she’d escaped. Now, forewarned was forearmed. She could walk into quaint and expensive with no fear of becoming entangled in its silky web. She could satisfy her still-unquenched curiosity about this Anna person, then walk away and return to her own pared-down and simple life.

Freed, hopefully, from the dreams that had so haunted her.

“All right,” she replied.

“Leon.” Logan turned to the boy. “Do you know how important my car is?”

The kid nodded solemnly. “You restored every piece of her yourself, and you will hurt anyone who so much as scratches her bumper.”

“Right,” Logan said as he got out. “I’ll call the garage when I’m ready for you to bring her back, in an hour or so.”

Rose watched the boy’s face light up as Logan handed him the keys. By the time Logan reached her side of the car, Leon was behind the wheel, obviously ready to take off as soon as Rose got out. And sure enough, the moment her door closed the kid gunned the motor to a loud roar. He then let it ease to a purr before shooting a grin toward Logan and pulling sedately away from the curb.