Bait & Switch
Authors: Darlene Gardner
| Bait Switch |
| Twin Swap [1] |
| Darlene Gardner |
| Love Spell (2002) |
After switching places with his identical twin to catch a criminal, Mitch is the one who's hooked - on his brother's girl!
Grant "Mitch" Mitchell is a cop accustomed to bailing out his charming, irresponsible twin, but his brother's never been mixed up with a criminal before. The plan to get his twin out of trouble is a simple bait and switch.
Mitch will go undercover as his brother to gather enough evidence to put the bad guy in jail. It seems easy enough until a blond knockout shows up on his brother's doorstep. She's not only gorgeous, she's spitting mad. Before Mitch knows it, he's trying to keep his hands to himself while winning back his brother's girl!
Meanwhile, his twin is living it up while attempting to impress a woman who thinks he's Mitch. Which leaves a doozy of a question: Are the women falling for them or their mirror images?
"A fun, laugh-a-minute read."
-- RT Book Reviews (4½-star review), Oct. 2002
"Ms. Gardner has a fresh, romantic voice that will appeal to all readers. If you love engaging characters, funny, laugh out loud humor, and passionate romance, you'll love Bait Switch!"
-- Romance and Friends, Oct. 2002
"Bait Switch is pure rib-tickling entertainment from first page to last."
-- ReaderToReader.com, Oct. 2002
Darlene Gardner has more than 30 books in print, from single-title romantic comedies to emotionally charged family dramas.
Other eBooks by Darlene Gardner
BAIT AND SWITCH
Darlene Gardner
Copyright © 2011 Darlene Gardner
Cover art by Paige Gardner
Publishing History
Paperback edition: Dorchester Love Spell 2002
All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Darlene Gardner.
Grant Mitchell covered his head with a down-filled pillow, desperately trying to silence the high-spirited strains of
La Cucaracha
resounding through his apartment.
Mitch should have known better than to let Mrs. McGillicutty talk him into buying one of the musical doorbells her grandson peddled.
A cop who worked nights didn’t need to wake up to the joyful sounds of an oldie that didn’t come close to being a goodie.
La Cucaracha
kept playing so he flung the useless pillow aside and checked the time on the bedside alarm clock. Two forty-five. He’d been asleep for less than an hour.
Mitch considered ignoring the doorbell, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it. Not when the next youngest tenant in his Atlanta apartment building was a good forty years older than he was and might need his help.
“I’m coming,” he grumbled.
He switched on a light and pulled on the pair of pajama bottoms he kept at the foot of the bed. He’d learned fairly quickly it was best not to embarrass elderly sensibilities by answering the door in plaid boxer shorts.
Expecting white hair and wrinkled skin, he yanked open the door and saw what could have been his own reflection.
Thick, dark hair springing back from a high forehead. Blue eyes. A sloped nose that went a tad bit wayward somewhere in the middle. A square jaw with clefted chin. A wide mouth. All atop a six-foot frame.
“Lord, we’re a good-looking pair,” his visitor said.
“Cary.” Mitch’s lips curled upward in the same grin reflected on his identical twin brother’s face. In a space of a heartbeat, he enfolded Cary in a hearty bear hug, complete with appropriate male back slapping.
Cary drew back first. “I’ve missed you, big brother.”
He was referring to the fact that Mitch was older by a whopping three minutes. Their mother often joked that, from birth, Cary had never done anything until he was good and ready.
“I’ve missed you, too,” Mitch said. Nearly six months had gone by since he’d seen his brother, far too long in Mitch’s opinion. “But what are you doing ringing my doorbell at almost three in the morning?”
The corner of Cary’s mouth lifted in the crooked grin that Mitch also possessed. Except on Cary, it appeared effortless and infinitely more charming. “Visiting?” he answered, but it sounded like a question.
“You’re here for a visit, at this hour of the morning, when I’ve been asking you to come see me for months?”
“Then you won’t mind if I stay a while.” Cary dragged an oversized suitcase into the apartment and shut the door behind him before flashing a smile that seemed forced.
Mitch stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on. The face he saw was his, but, at the same time, not his. They’d looked so much alike as children that relatives couldn’t tell them apart until they figured out they were mirror-image twins. Mitch, the right-hander, had hair that swirled to the east and a tiny mole atop his right cheek. Cary, the left-hander, had west-swirling hair and a mole on his opposite cheek.
In adulthood, Mitch thought the differences more pronounced. Cary’s usual expression was more carefree than his own, probably because his brother wasn’t preoccupied with the details of everyday life, such as keeping a job for more than six months. But now Mitch spotted tiny, unfamiliar worry lines fanning out from his brother’s eyes and mouth.
“You’re in trouble,” Mitch said with sudden conviction. “That’s why you’re here.”
“You know me pretty well, don’t you, bro? Is that an advantage to having an identical twin or a disadvantage, do you think?”
Cary didn’t wait for an answer. He strolled around the small apartment, whistling long and low as he looked around.
The furniture in the room, though sturdy, was as old-fashioned as the frilly moss-green curtains covering the windows. From one of the lamps hung a fringed shade. The saying “Policemen are your friends” was stitched in needlepoint inside an ornate frame hanging above a quilt-covered plaid sofa.
“With this for a bachelor pad, no wonder you don’t have a girl,” Cary said. “What do you call this decorating style? Senior-citizen chic?”
Mitch felt the corners of his mouth head south. “The old folks are always showing me how much they like having a cop in the building. I couldn’t hurt Mrs. McGillicutty’s feelings when she offered to help me fix it up.”
Cary kicked off his Italian loafers, tugged the crease of his slacks up slightly at the knees and settled onto a sofa that was a sea of plaid. “I hate to break this to you, bro, but you should have.”
Mitch sank into a matching armchair across from the sofa, rubbed his bleary eyes and waited. He had little doubt Cary would soon confess his problem and ask for help in solving it, because that’s what he always did. He didn’t usually take so long in coming to the point.
Cary put his hands behind his neck and leaned back against the sofa, a relaxed pose that struck Mitch as more forced than natural. “I would have checked into a hotel and come to see you in the morning but I’m short on cash.”
Mitch bit the inside of his lip to stop himself from asking what else was new. “Why didn’t you wait until morning to leave Charleston? It’s a six-hour drive. You must’ve known you’d get here after I was asleep.”
“I thought it’d be best if I left under the cover of darkness.”
Mitch’s stomach tightened. “Why do I have a premonition I won’t like what you came here to tell me?”
“Because you won’t?” Cary quipped.
“Just tell me what you did this time.” Mitch shut his eyes as his mind whirred with possibilities. Before his brother could answer, he voiced one of them. “You didn’t sleep with your boss’s wife again, did you?”
“Of course not.” Cary sounded indignant. “And that’s not fair. How was I supposed to know Mimi was married to the owner of the spa? She wasn’t even half his age.”
“Why’d you get fired then?”
“I didn’t get fired.” Cary absently rubbed the elbow of his pitching arm, which had been damaged in a car crash that changed his future. Instead of starring in the major leagues, Cary was coordinating Charleston’s city-run sports leagues and teaching clinics. “They seem to like me, not that it means much. A trained monkey could do my job.”
“I’m not playing twenty questions, Cary. Just spit it out.”
“I got on the wrong side of this guy,” Cary said, still rubbing his elbow. “Flash Gordon’s his name.”
“What is he? A superhero?”
“An anti-hero is more like it,” Cary said. “Flash Gordon’s a criminal.”
Mitch sat up ruler-straight. Cary could have predicted the mention of crime would wipe away the last vestiges of his brother’s fatigue.
“What kind of criminal?” Mitch asked.
“A loan shark,” Cary said. “And I’m pretty sure he’s laundering money through his bar and God knows where else. He’s probably pimping and doing whatever else can make him some easy money, too.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “And you’re involved with this guy how?”
“I owe him money.”
“Why’s that?”
Cary kneaded his forehead while a trickle of guilt dribbled through him. No matter how he broke the news, Mitch would go ballistic. Especially after the foolish promise he’d made to his brother the last time he got himself into a jam. “I placed a bet that didn’t pan out.”
“Darnit, Cary.” Mitch slapped the arm of his chair. Hard. Even though he was a cop, he was too much of a Boy Scout to swear. About the worst thing he ever did was swig milk straight from the carton. “Don’t you learn? The last time I gave you money, you said you’d stop gambling!”
“I tried, really I did,” Cary said as the trickle of guilt widened to a stream. Hell. How did Mitch do that to him? Nobody else could manage it. “But there was a line on this pro basketball game that seemed like a no-brainer, and—”
“How much?” Mitch interrupted. His mouth had thinned, and his eyes were hard. “One thousand? Two? Five?”
Cary raised his hand, palm up, over his head. “Try twenty.”
“Twenty grand!” Mitch sprang to his feet. “I don’t have that kind of money!”
Cary’s shoulders sagged. It was too much to hope that his brother had come into serious money since the last time Cary hit him up for a loan. “I’m not asking for twenty grand.”
“How much are you asking for?”
From the grim expression on his brother’s face, Cary figured he better go for the minimum. “One grand.”
“Just one?” Mitch paced from one end of the undersized living room to the other and back again. “Where you going to get the other nineteen?”
“I’m not.”
“What do you mean, you’re not? This Flash guy won’t forget you owe him big. He’ll hurt you if you don’t pay.”
“Honestly, bro,” Cary said, “sometimes I think you don’t pay attention. Why do you think I left town under the cover of darkness?”
“You’re skipping out on the debt?” Mitch’s voice was incredulous.
“It’s either that or get my kneecaps busted.” Cary crossed one leg over the other. He thought it best not to tell his brother that Flash Gordon wanted him to break the legs of some of the other poor souls who were slow in paying. Especially since he’d skipped town before his first assignment. He patted his left knee. “I am rather fond of them. Especially when I’m walking.”
Mitch stopped pacing and tapped his chin with his fist. Cary relaxed slightly. He could see the wheels in his brother’s brain turning as he calculated how much he could afford to lend him. Finally, Mitch let out a long sigh.
“You have to go to the Charleston authorities.”
Cary’s mouth dropped open. Mitch wasn’t supposed to say that. He was supposed to say he’d get his checkbook. “No way. No how. That’s the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”
“You said Flash Gordon’s a criminal. Turn him in and your problems are over.”
“He
is
a criminal, but I can’t prove that. Besides, if I go back, I could be the one who ends up getting prosecuted.”
Mitch peered at him with the all-seeing eyes of the cop he was.
“Just because we’re twins doesn’t mean I have to tell you everything,” Cary said.