Jessica Patch - Concealed Identity

Dread filled her stomach. Sometimes Jeremy liked downtime and took off on his own, but he generally called to check in. “I’m not sure. He’s a loner.”

“He live nearby?”

“Memphis.”

“Cool.”

Holt continued to pepper her with questions. Some she answered; some she dodged. “Okay, enough with the twenty questions.” She wiped her hands on her jeans and surveyed their piles.

“I’m just trying to get to know you, Blair.” Holt threw a dazzling grin her way. In the past, it would have sunk her to her knees. Not anymore. Well, maybe she felt a flutter.

Two hours in, the sun had dipped, but the temperature was still in the lava levels. Blair’s clothing stuck to her skin, stray hairs that had escaped her topknot clung to her cheeks and chin. She headed for an old but working fifties fridge, opened it and handed Holt a bottle of water. She downed hers in record time.

“Not a bad unit.”

No, it wasn’t. She’d overpaid. But sometimes her gut told her it would be worth it—to take the chance. Too bad her gut was always wrong in the romance department.

A turn-of-the-century dresser with intricate piping, a few embroidered decorative pillows and a collection of what appeared to be gorgeous hand-carved wooden ducks—nearly a foot long and several inches wide and deep—still hung in the back of the truck, along with two boxes she hadn’t combed through yet. “I’m wiped out, and I need to check on Gigi. How about we call it a day? I can log these items in the morning.”

“Sounds good. Thanks for letting me help.” He scanned the barn again. She’d noticed him poking around a few times. Was he looking for something in particular or was he simply curious?

They walked toward the house. Holt stopped in his tracks and slowly pivoted toward the barn, head tipped.

“What are you—”

“Shhh.” He placed his index finger on his lips.

Blair’s throat tightened.

The horses in the pasture whinnied.

Bullfrogs croaked from the nearby pond.

A feeling of eeriness seemed to creepy-crawl through the humidity.

Holt’s eyes hardened as he surveyed the yard. Woods flanked her pond, and farther back was Mitch’s pastureland. Anyone could be out there. Fear slicked her bones.

“Stay here,” he whispered before jogging toward the barn.

Blair wrapped her arms around her middle and concentrated on seeing beyond the black of night. Even Holt’s silhouette had disappeared, but his voice boomed, “Hey!”

She heard the sound of feet running through the pasture. Blair’s nerves jittered. Adrenaline raced through her veins. “Holt!”

He’d told her to stay put, but what if he was in trouble? She hurried across the yard as a dark figure jumped the barbed-wire fence and plowed into her.

Her vision obscured by utter darkness and the stranger’s hoodie, she couldn’t make out a face, but his gravelly hiss connected with her ear as he clenched her arm in an iron grasp. “Rats die. Remember that. And don’t expect your boyfriend to save you.” He shoved her and she hit the ground, knocking her head. Again.

* * *

Holt rushed to Blair. Kneeling down, he touched her cheek with his left hand as he still gripped a gun in his right. “Blair, are you hurt?”

She groaned. “No more than I was before.”

Glancing up toward the house, he grinded his teeth, reining in his temper. This guy had gotten away. Again. “Give me your hand.” He helped her to her feet, and ran his hand over her head. “No bumps?”

“No.”

Holt put his arm around her waist and helped her to the back door.

Blair shivered against him. “Did you see his face? What do you think he was doing, prowling in Mitch’s pasture?”

“I think he was hiding out. Waiting on us to leave the barn. Blair, I have to ask. Is there anything in your truck or the barn someone might want?” This was now the second attack since the auction.

“No.”

“I saw him grab you. Did he say anything?”

She opened her mouth, then froze. Something brewed in her eyes and Holt knew it right then. The trust he thought he’d been building in the barn had shattered. She backed up a step.

Something the attacker said had her spooked. And it must have to do with Holt. “What is it? I see he scared you. What did he say?”

Blair looked away. “Nothing. He didn’t say anything.”

Holt let out an exasperated sigh and shoved his gun in his waistband. “Let’s get you inside, then I’m going to take a look around. Make sure whoever it was is long gone, okay?” No point pressing her in this state.

Blair nodded and opened the door, stepping inside.

“Lock the door behind me. I’ll be back as soon as I check it out.” He kept his irritation in check. The longer she held out, the worse off it would be for Jeremy and Agent Livingston. But he couldn’t tell her that, because he couldn’t blow his cover.

Several minutes later, Holt knocked on the kitchen door and Blair jumped like a scared rabbit before she opened it.

“I didn’t see anything but headlights down the road. Could have been the guy. Maybe not. Too far to tell.” He scratched the back of his head. “I should stay. In case he comes back.”

Blair’s eyes turned wary. What had that guy said? “You know I carry a gun, too. I’ll lock up and be careful.”

Grinding his jaw, he surveyed the backyard again. “What if I said please?”

“I’d say I appreciate your politeness but we’ll be okay. You’re just across the street. Besides, I don’t want Gigi to worry. She’s had enough to deal with already. I’ll worry for her.”

And Holt would worry for Blair. Maybe he could charm her into letting him stay. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m quick on the draw.” He smirked. “And I run fast, too.”

Her face relaxed and he had her. He hated the way he had to do it, although charming Blair wasn’t all manipulation. He rather enjoyed it. Liked seeing her smile and getting to know her.

Suddenly, a new resolve formed in her eyes. “You can watch me lock the door again.”

What happened? He blew a resigned breath and pointed to the door. “Get locking.”

He’d have to watch from across the street or take up vigil in her front yard. Not to mention, he needed access to that barn. Something had to be of value inside, and later tonight, he was going to do some sneaking around of his own.

* * *

Holt’s hunt inside Blair’s barn had been a bust last night. She’d padlocked the truck and he hadn’t found anything he considered valuable in the actual storage areas. Of course, she might have put money, drugs or other questionable items in a hiding place before Holt had arrived to help her unload.

Now it was Sunday afternoon and Holt had to pretend to build a fake store under his cover. Blair and Gigi had gone to church this morning, which made it even harder to believe that Blair was directly tied to anything illicit. With each moment, Holt became more convinced she’d been targeted. Possibly from what Jeremy had found out and wanted to divulge to Holt. Possibly over something Hector had done—or not done.

This morning, he’d eaten breakfast at the Magnolia Inn and done a little surveillance, since Agent Livingston had stayed a couple of nights. He’d had lunch at the Black-Eyed Pea, hoping to hear some gossip that might help him somehow. All dead ends. He’d called his handler. No news in Memphis, either. Jeremy’s disappearance was still being looked into and Holt had called his cousin, FBI agent Bryn Hale, to have her pull FBI data. Bryn had put her husband, Eric, an MPD homicide detective, on it locally. Just some unofficial snooping by his friends.

So far, crickets. Where had Jeremy gone? He’d asked Holt to meet him about some information he’d gathered—against Holt’s wishes—but he’d never shown up to the meeting. That was over a week ago.