Jessica Patch - Concealed Identity

If something happened to him, how would he look Blair in the eye and explain?

“So, what did you need?” Blair tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“My store needs equipment. I’m working on building my inventory, but it’s sparse. I guess I could set up a few undecorated Christmas trees and call it a forest.”

Blair laughed.

“Gigi said she’d help me. I’m gonna take her up on it.” If his intuition was right and Blair was as protective as he thought, she wouldn’t want Gigi alone with him. She might be laughing and sharing a bit about her business, but being polite was a far cry from trusting someone. She wouldn’t even let him in the house for the night when an intruder had been prowling, which meant Holt didn’t have her solid trust. Yet.

Besides, he didn’t want Gigi helping him. He wanted Blair. Which unsettled him.

Blair scurried behind the counter. “Gigi can’t,” she said, worrying her lip. I’ve—I’ve got her doing a lot of inventory and prepping for the launch of our online store. But...but I can. I’ll do it.” Obviously, she didn’t want to, but would say anything to get Gigi off the hook. He wasn’t proud of manipulating her, but she might be able to help Holt find Jeremy. And it kept him close in case whoever tried to kill her made another attempt. Regardless of why someone had come after her, he wasn’t going to sit idly by and let her be harmed.

“Great. Where do we start?”

“Naming the store for one.”

“I’m all imagined out.”

Waving him off, she rounded the counter. “My store is It’s a Wonderful Life. Because, one, I love the movie. It’s the last thing I watched with my mother before she died. We watched it Christmas night. The next morning she went out shopping and died in a car accident.”

That explained Christmas all year round. Blair was keeping her mother alive through the store. An ache throbbed in his chest.

Blair looked lovingly at her merchandise. “I never want to forget the memories of Christmas with her. How I felt. And it’s also perfect for my store. The little girl who snatches up a princess doll knows in her heart that life got a little better. A hunter finds the blade he’s been searching everywhere for and his Saturday mornings have turned—”

“Wonderful. Not just wonderful but wonder-full.”

Blair squinted at him, nodding. “See? Use your perception and imagination. You’ll have a name before you know it.”

Holt grunted. What was the point of using so much imagination for a store that wasn’t going to ever open.

Blair straightened a stack of old books. “I need to make a trip to Memphis in the morning. There’s a little shop about thirty miles away. A huge junk store. We can use my truck if you want and see if we can’t find some goods there.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, do you think you could help me unload that dresser from yesterday’s auction? I’m not in a big hurry, but we’ll need it cleared out before we leave tomorrow.” Blair waved to a woman and young daughter as they entered the store, the mother threatening the child with no ice cream if she touched a single thing. Why bring little kids to places they couldn’t explore? Never made sense to Holt.

“You got it.” Holt had seen into Blair’s heart a little today, and he couldn’t find a single way that, with her sweet spirit and sentimentality, she could be knee-deep in criminal activity.

So why spend all that money on that one storage shed last Saturday? Ronnie Lawson said his truck had broken down. Holt wondered if that had been sabotage or coincidental. No way. Blair Sullivan wasn’t a saboteur. She wasn’t directly involved in drug trafficking.

At least not willingly.

Holt’s gut twisted. He had to know the truth. Just what had Blair gotten herself into?

THREE

Blair had tossed and turned all night. Every creak and pop had her bolting upright in bed and checking in on Gigi, who snored lightly, as if they both hadn’t almost taken a dirt nap. The gun under her pillow had brought some comfort.

She’d learned to shoot with Mateo at the gun range.

Querida, it is important to be able to take care of yourself. It will make me feel better when I am away so long.

Yeah. Right. Little did Blair know she was learning to defend herself from drug lords. But when he called her sweetheart in Spanish... She was so over sweet talk and charm. Blair wanted real honesty. She’d take gruff and unpolished over silvery prose any day.

“I put the dresser in the back room. Did you want me to haul the other stuff out? Some pillows and bric-a-brac.” Holt stood in the store area, hair still damp from his shower and the scent of his soap wafting through the air. She had to ride with that all day? She must be a glutton for punishment.

Blair had planned on going to Jeremy’s apartment today to find answers. Now she had to do it with Holt along. Maybe he wouldn’t ask too many questions. But until she was 100 percent sure he wasn’t dangerous, she’d make sure Gigi didn’t go near him. Which meant Blair had to help him supply his store with merchandise—while keeping an eye on him. Everything felt too coincidental. Or the paranoia was getting the best of her again.

“No. It’s not taking up much room. I’ll get it later. You ready?” Was she? Last night, in between contemplating fatal scenarios, she’d thought about the way he’d slipped into her pretend game so easily. Behind those billion-dollar looks and the killer smile, Holt had some tender spots. Or maybe he was using all that for some hidden agenda.

I’m being ridiculous. Would a coldhearted killer talk about a boy playing chess and losing a grandpa? Confusion gnawed at her gut. She couldn’t trust her judgment. She’d been dangerously wrong before, but that didn’t stop the way she was drawn to him as he used his vivid imagination. The way he’d arrested her heart with the lovely yet tragic story. Holt had shifted something inside of her. But she’d make sure to remedy the feelings. Remain cautious. Stay guarded.

“So, where’s Gigi today?” Holt asked as he hopped in the passenger side of her truck.

“She’s helping out at the senior home.” Which was why Blair chose today to check on Jeremy. She couldn’t shake her suspicion that he was in trouble, and her sister had enough to worry about without being dragged into Blair’s search for answers. “She’s overseeing the weekly activities there.”

Holt nodded. “How long have you wanted to own your own business?”

Blair eased by Farley Pass, the ruts in the grass still there from the other day. Her chest constricted. She glanced in her rearview mirror.

“Since I was sixteen. Before that I wanted to be a race car driver.” She laughed. “How about you?”

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