Identity Unknown (A Parker & Coe, Love and Bullets Thriller Book 1) (12 page)

We turned and saw an elderly but rugged looking guy approaching from the far end of the truck. He tugged off a pair of work gloves, revealing tattoos on his knuckles.

"We're waiting for a friend," I blurted out, unable to come up with a better explanation.

"Well, do it somewhere else. People here don't like strangers hovering around their rigs."

As the trucker reached up and opened his door, Parker glanced around and said, "Are you about to head out?"

"Yes, I am. What's it to you?"

"Just wondering if you're headed into Houston. Because, if you are, we sure could use a ride."

The trucker frowned. "I thought you were waiting for a friend?"

Parker nodded. "I'm hoping we found him."

At first I thought the old guy was going to tell us both to go to hell, but he must have seen the distress in my eyes.

"What kind of trouble you folks in?"

Parker nodded to me. "The kind that could get my friend Kelsey hurt, if we don't get out of here fast."

"Meaning what?"

I told him the truth. "The Ukrainian mob is after me, and they're here, right now, searching the grounds."

He started to smile, as if I'd just told him a mildly amusing joke. "The Ukrainian mob?"

"I know how it sounds, but it's a long story and I'll be happy to tell it to you if you'll get us out of here. That's all we ask."

The smile disappeared and he studied me, searching my eyes.
 

Then he said, "How old are you, Kelsey?"

"Almost twenty-five."

"And what's your boyfriend's name?"

"I'm Zach," Parker said, and held out a hand to shake. He kept peering over the trucker's shoulder as if expecting to see one of our pursuers appear.

The trucker shook the hand. "People call me Nash, which is short for Nashville—but that's a long story, too."
 

Parker nodded. "Are you gonna help us?"

Nash looked at me again. "You're lucky you remind me of my daughter when she was your age." He gestured to the open door. "Go ahead and climb on in."

Several hours later, Nash dropped us off outside a diner in Houston, the long ride allowing both Parker and me a chance to get more sleep.
 

While Parker had dozed in the passenger seat, Nash had suggested I crawl in back to his sleeper, which looked like a bunk in one of those old submarine movies my dad used to watch. It was a cramped but comfortable space with dogeared motorcycle magazines piled in a corner, and photographs taped to the walls.

Several of the photos showed Nash at a younger age, standing bare chested next to a sleek black Harley Davidson, tattoos covering his chest and arms. Some included friends and what I assumed was family—including his daughter—and it was clear to me that he was once a member of an outlaw biker gang. And still could have been, for all I knew. Which would've explained his willingness to help us without asking for any of the details I had promised him.

Or maybe he figured the less he knew, the better off he'd be.

I slept for a good three hours before the rig came to a stop and Parker's hand touched my shoulder, shaking me awake.

"Welcome to H-Town," he said.

We climbed out and thanked Nash and he warned us to watch our backs, then put the big truck in gear and pulled away. We went inside the diner, found a table, and ordered coffee and sandwiches, hoping to figure out our next move.

"We need to get you somewhere safe while this goes down," Parker said, after a sip of his coffee. "I've got an apartment in town, but Taggart knows about it, so—"

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere. That's why I'm here. We do this together."

He shook his head. "Just because you managed to dodge a few bullets doesn't make you super woman. It's too dangerous."

He had a point, but I've got a stubborn streak as long as Nash's semi trailer and hate being told no. And this was important to me. Emily had purposely set me up and, dangerous or not, I wanted an active part in bringing her down.
 

I've never claimed to be smart.

Or sane.

I said, "I'm no super woman, but I'm no wimp, either. Not after what I've been through."

"And I won't risk you getting hurt."

"So what am I supposed to do, sit here and drink coffee while you're out there having all the fun?"

"You can stay at my mom's place."

"What?"

"I'll call her and make up some excuse. She's spends most of her time at the hospital with Haley anyway, so I'm sure she'll be fine with it."

I leveled my gaze at him. "Zach, I want you to listen to me. Are you listening?"

"Yeah."

"I know I owe you my life, and I'll be forever grateful, but I'm not your prisoner anymore. I'll make my own decisions."

"I'm starting to think Taggart did some real damage when he hit you."

"Make all the jokes you want, but I won't change my mind. You're not going to that condo without me."

Parker sighed and stared out the window and didn't speak for several seconds. Then he said, "Just so you know, I'm doing this under protest."

"You've made that abundantly clear."

He reached across the table and took my hand, and I won't lie—just the heat and strength of his fingers grasping mine summoned up images and feelings I wouldn't soon forget. And I knew in that moment that the sudden courage I was displaying had more to do with Parker than my desire to play amateur detective.
 

I didn't want to be away from him.
 

Not even for a second.

"I meant what I told you last night," he said. "And if you get hurt, I'll never forgive myself."

"How do you think I'll feel if I let you go there alone and something bad happens? We're in this together now."

Our gazes met and he smiled and shook his head. "I've been on a lot of first dates, but this has gotta be the craziest one yet."

PART FOUR

Love and Bullets

The high-rise that held Natalie Tevis's condo was located near Hermann Park in South Central Houston. It was one of those sleek glass towers that reeks of money and privilege and had me considering a change of majors.

Apparently a career as a duplicitous and deadly hit woman had its advantages.

Parker instructed the cab driver to drop us across the street, near the entrance to
Buddy Boy's Lounge
. The place looked about as reputable as it sounds and served as a sharp and depressing counterpoint to the high-rise that dwarfed it. The smell of stale urine and vomit rose from an adjacent alleyway, and the open front door revealed a dank, dark space that seemed more like some pervert's basement than a bar.

We looked toward the lobby of the high-rise, which had both a doorman and two security guards stationed inside.

"Looks like members only," Parker said. "This may be tough."

"How do we even know she's home?"

Parker took his new cell phone from his pocket and dialed. "There's one way to find out."

"Who are you calling?"

"The number your friend Cody gave me. Tevis's landline." He put the phone to his ear and I could hear the faint, filtered sound of the line ringing. After several rings with no answer, he hung up. "Either she's indisposed or she isn't home."

"Well, she has to show her face sooner or later—coming or going. We just wait her out."

Parker shook his head and gestured to a ramp at the side of the building. "Underground parking. If she's driving, we may miss her. And if she
is
home and leaves by car, we won't be able to follow on foot. I need to get inside."

"I?"

"If I go into that lobby and start flashing my badge, having you along won't do a whole lot to convince them I'm legit. As soon as I get in, I'll call you and let you in through the fire exit."

"And what am I supposed to do in the meantime? Stand here and pretend I'm a hooker?"

"I think you can do a little better than that." Parker gestured to the bar. "You could have a drink. Wait for my call."

"In there? I don't think so."

"It could take me awhile to get in. These security guards are paid to be protective of their tenants. They won't bend over just because I've got a badge."

"Fine," I sighed. "I'll wait inside."

He grinned. "Just order a beer and make sure it's in a bottle."

Then he turned and crossed the street.

Five minutes later, I was sitting at the counter near the bar's open door, nursing an IPA and wondering what had possessed me to step foot inside this place.
 

In a far corner, an overweight woman in a short blue dress, that accentuated every fold of fat and ripple of cellulite in her body, had draped herself over a man in a Megadeth T-shirt with enough grease in his hair to lube his ex-wife's motorcycle. She dunked her fingers in a martini glass, snatched up an olive and popped it in her mouth. Then she leaned forward and passed the olive to him with her tongue.

Yuck.

Far be it from me to judge, but the urge to hurl was once again upon me. Fortunately, I glanced outside and saw Parker crossing the street toward the bar.

He came through the doorway looking glum, and climbed onto the stool next to mine. The barkeep—a grizzled old man whom I assumed was Buddy Boy—started over, but Parker waved him away.
 

"That was a total disaster."

"Why?" I asked. "What happened?"

"I showed them my badge and told them I was there as part of an investigation that involved one of Tevis's co-workers and they called up to see if she was available."

"Was she?"

"She didn't answer, but that's not the problem."

"I don't understand."

Parker sighed. "While the first guard was calling, the second one took a closer look at the badge and my creds and immediately got suspicious."

"Why? I thought they were real?"

"They are, but it turns out his brother is a deputy and happened to mention that the Service changed the design of their ID cards last year. The one I showed him is outdated and that raised a red flag. I made an excuse and got out of there, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're checking up on me."

"Wonderful," I said. "So what do we do now?"

"Nothing's changed. We need to get inside that apartment and be waiting for Tevis—give her a welcome home surprise."

I smirked. "At least you'll have it right this time. But how are we supposed to do that if we can't even get into the building?"

"Don't give up so easily. There's always you."

"Me? What am
I
supposed to do?"

"This whole disaster started when Tevis decided she needed a fall guy. I wouldn't be surprised if she ran her own facial scan, searching for potential lookalikes, and you turned out to be the ideal choice. Now all we have to do is beat her at her own game."

It took me a second to realize what he was suggesting. "You want me to pretend to be her?"

He smiled. "Think of it as poetic justice."

My insistence that I be included in this hunt was starting to feel like a bad idea.

Who was I kidding?

Parker had been right. I was no super woman, and my acting skills were pretty much non-existent.

But we needed to find Emily, so what other choice did I have?

With no assurances that what I was about to do wouldn't get me arrested or killed, I made my way toward the lobby doors of the high-rise, feeling as if my knees were about to buckle and send me sprawling across the sidewalk.

So when one of the doors swung open and the uniformed doorman touched the brim of his hat with his forefinger and said, "Afternoon, Ms. Tevis," it was all I could do to hold back a fist pump.

I was wearing the baseball cap and sunglasses and kept the cell phone Parker had given me planted to my ear, pretending to listen to someone on the line. I gave the doorman a smile and a nod, and even though I thought I knew Emily's voice well enough to imitate it, I remained quiet as I swept past him and went inside.

One down, two to go.
 

I suppose I should have been relieved, but I hadn't yet made it past the two guards, who both wore crisp gray uniforms and were stationed at a marble counter near the elevators. One of them was on the phone, and I only heard snippets of his conversation as I approached, but I thought he might be describing Parker to the person on the line. If so, Parker had been right about them checking up on him.
 

Would their inquiry somehow filter down to Taggart?

And if it did, what then?

The second guard showed me a set of even white teeth and said something I didn't catch. Again, I responded nonverbally, just pointed to my phone and gave him the A-OK sign—something I'd seen Emily do a hundred times—then continued toward the bank of elevators. But before I could pass, he spoke again and flagged me down with a wave of a hand.
 

Shit.

I told my imaginary caller to "hold on," then did my best to match the tone and tenor of Emily's voice. "Yes?"

"Surprised to see you in here. You didn't take your car today?"

"It's in the shop," I said, pulling this explanation out of my butt. "I just dropped it off."

"Well I'm glad you came in this way. We wanted to give you the heads up."

"About what?"

"We had a guy in here claiming to be a Deputy U.S. Marshal looking to talk to you. Something to do with one of your co-workers. We're checking to see if he's legit right now, but I wanted to warn you, he may be back."

I had no idea how Emily would respond to this information, especially in the guise of Natalie Tevis, but I figured my best option was to be brief and get the hell away from this man before he realized he was talking to an impostor. Chances were good that his interaction with the real Natalie was limited at best, but for all I knew, they could've been in the midst of a torrid affair.