The Unknown Twin

Grinning, he took the painting. She was downright charming.

“Who’s this little guy?” he asked, squatting to scratch one kitten’s head. Both sidled against his legs, making him smile.

“Butterscotch. The other’s Caramel.”

He chuckled at the names.

When the coffee finished dripping, they sat together on the couch, sinking deep into the overstuffed cushions. Over the rim of his mug, also one of her works of art, he watched her drink. She’d made herself tea—Dana preferred it over coffee, too—and she inhaled the scent first, then sipped. She closed her eyes when she swallowed. Smiled. When she finally licked her lips, he felt his body respond. He had to look away.

“I hope you like hazelnut.”

“Hazelnut?”

“The coffee’s flavored.”

“Um, sure. I do.” He had no idea what he was drinking.

He searched the room for something to focus on instead of her mouth. A picture sat on the odd-shaped end table next to the couch. It was an eight-by-ten close-up of two older people and Lauren. He slid over so he could see it better. The couple was attractive; both had vibrant blue eyes, thick gray hair and they were smiling. In the photo, Lauren was laughing, too, her brown eyes sparkling. He stared at it for a minute, then glanced at her.

“Your parents?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You were adopted.” It wasn’t a question.

“What?” She grinned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t. I know I don’t look like them, but I wasn’t adopted.”

This was odd. “Lauren, you had to be adopted. Two blue-eyed parents can’t have a brown-eyed child.”

“That’s what they say. I studied eye-color genes in biology class. When I asked Mom and Dad about it, they said I must be some kind of mutation because she saw me come out of her body and Dad cut the umbilical cord. Actually, I saw it on the home video they took.”

Alex shook his head. “This goes against everything I know. I studied genetics—my mother’s a geneticist—before I decided to follow in Dad’s footsteps. From what I learned in my courses, this is a scientific impossibility.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m a rare breed.”

He scanned her place again. He didn’t doubt that. But something wasn’t adding up. And it bothered him. What about her similarity to Dana? What were the chances of someone looking almost exactly like his friend? Slim. What were the chances of a genetic abnormality—impossibility, really—with that same person? Nonexistent, in his mind. But he said only, “Well, I’ll ask Mom about it to be sure.”

Her look was indulgent. “Don’t bother. I know who I am.”

Suddenly he hoped—for her sake—that was true.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIREHOUSE WAS a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and textures. As Lauren stepped through the open door into one of four bays and onto the cold concrete floor, she ran her free hand over the rough wall. And sniffed. Gasoline. Oil. The faint acrid smell. The bays were full. Huge red trucks towered over her; they were different sizes and shapes and, she assumed, performed different tasks, as one had ladders, the other hoses. Another was the medical truck she’d ridden in. Walking up to it, she ran her hand over the cold steel surface, sensing the strength emanating from it. Everything here was so big and powerful. Intimidating. Still, she had a delivery to make. She crossed to the station house and entered the building proper. She found the kitchen by scent. It was noontime, and somebody was making lunch. The aroma of cooking beef, French fries and coffee made her stomach growl.

The kitchen area was mammoth. A hulk of a guy bent over the stove against the far wall; he was humming off-key as he mixed food in a huge frying pan. Another man prepared salad at the counter. He was also big. Two more men and a woman were seated by the window at the long oak table, which Lauren knew would be smooth and cool to the touch. It overlooked the rec area, where, from her own office window, she’d watched the firefighters play basketball and sometimes grill outside. Today, they were dressed in the dark blue uniform of Courage Bay firefighters, complete with badges on their chest pockets, a Maltese cross patch on their short sleeves, and name tags.

“Hello,” she said softly.

They peered over at her. “Dana?” the woman asked. She was more diminutive than the rest, but well-defined muscles stood out beneath her short sleeves. Briefly Lauren wondered what it would be like to be brave enough, strong enough to do what this woman did.

A woman like Dee.

“No. I’m Lauren Conway. I was at the newspaper’s offices when they caught fire last week.”

“Hey.” The man at the table stood. “I’m Mick Ramirez. Now I recognize you.”

“They said you were a carbon copy of Dana, but wow.” This from the woman again. “It’s hard to believe you could look so much alike and not be related. You sure you’re not?”

Lauren shook her head. “I’m sure.” She held up a huge shopping bag. “I brought you all something by way of thank you.”

“Something to eat?” the chef asked. “I’m Nick LaSpino, by the way.”

Everybody else gave names Lauren knew she’d never remember.

“Cookies. I made them myself.” She glanced around. “I particularly wanted to thank Alex Shields. He, um, carried me out.”

The men exchanged knowing looks.

“Alex is out back playing a pickup basketball game.”

“Oh.” It was just as well. She’d thought entirely too much about the sexy captain in the few days since the fire. Since she’d last seen him. “I won’t disturb him. I’ll be on my way to the Courier.”

“You aren’t back in the offices yet, are you?” LaSpino asked.

“No, we’re still in the temporary space set up in the vacant building next door.”

Ramirez pointed outside. “Go out through the back. You can get to the newspaper that way and catch Alex before you leave.”

“Showing off, as usual,” the woman noted in a patronizing tone.

Lauren hesitated. “All right.” She said her goodbyes and made her way to the door. One of the guys got up and opened it for her. He towered over her. Jeez, were they all giants?

Just because you’re a shrinking violet around manly men.

Damn, she thought. Go away, Dee. She didn’t need her imaginary friend nagging at her any more than she had all week. Call him, stop by the fire house, act, you sissy.

She smiled at the man who’s name tag read Begay as he opened the door for her. “Alex’d kill us if we let you go without talking to him.” His voice sounded teasing. “They’re playing over there.”

“Thanks.” Once outside, she walked the few feet to the blacktop court, which sparkled in the May noonday sun. She stood behind a barbecue pit so she could observe.

And was mesmerized by the sights and sounds.

Grunts.

Heavy breathing.

A word of direction.