Mistaken Identity

Mistaken Identity
Merline Lovelace

THE INVESTIGATOR: Special Agent Marsh Henderson.THE SUSPECT: Becky Smith…or was it Lauren?Marsh Henderson's mission was to find the lone witness to a drive-by shooting. He had a description and a name. The description–long-legged, sensuous, beautiful–fit the woman he found. But the name…The woman in front of him claimed to be Lauren–not Becky–Smith. But, Marsh decided, he could still use her as bait. Even though he'd located the wrong sister. Or had he?

Mistaken Identity

Merline Lovelace

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

MERLINE LOVELACE

A retired U.S. Air Force officer, Merline Lovelace served at bases all over the world, including Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with a flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.

Since then, she’s produced more than seventy-five action-packed novels, many of which have made USA TODAY and Waldenbooks bestseller lists. Over ten million copies of her works are in print in thirty-one countries. Named Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and the Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of a Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA

Award.

When she’s not glued to her keyboard, she and her husband enjoy traveling and chasing little white balls around the fairways of Oklahoma. Check out her Web site at www.merlinelovelace.com for news, contests and information about upcoming releases.

To my dad, who reads every one of my books—

thanks for gifting me with your love of adventure and joy in books!

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Epilogue

Chapter 1

After almost thirty-six hours of continuous surveillance, Marsh caught the sound of a car pulling up in front of the house next door.

Every one of his senses jumped to full alert. Moving like a silent shadow through the darkened living room, he flattened himself against the wall and lifted the blinds an inch. When he saw the unmistakable silhouette of a woman climb out of a taxi, his heart picked up speed.

It was her! Rebecca Smith. It had to be. The hair was longer than in the picture on her Arizona driver’s license, but even in the dim glow of the streetlights Marsh couldn’t miss its gleaming auburn tints. Just to make sure, he grabbed the night-vision binoculars he’d appropriated for this stakeout.

“Come on,” he urged, his gaze drilling into the woman’s back. “Turn around. Let me have a look at you.”

Marsh gripped the binoculars and stared unblinking through sandpapery eyes at the image haloed in the greenish glow. He’d hardly slept or eaten since that grim night when Reece had relayed the gut-wrenching news of Ellen’s death that had brought the Hendersons back to the Bar-H once again.

Marsh knew he’d never wipe that gray, drizzly day of the funeral from his mind. He, Reece, Sam and Evan had been pallbearers, while Jake stood stony-eyed and silent. With his mother on one side, and his sisters-in-law on the other, the eldest of the Henderson brothers had watched as his wife was lowered into an earth just browning after the first touches of frost.

They’d stayed with Jake as long as they could, but knew that the loss wouldn’t really hit him until everyone left and he was alone with his memories of Ellen. Their mother was still at the Bar-H, in the house she’d come to as a bride and had left after Big John died. Jessica Henderson intended to remain with her son until they both came to grips with Ellen’s senseless, tragic death.

Except it wasn’t senseless. It was a brutal, if misdirected, murder. And Marsh was going to bring the man behind the shooting to justice.

Long weeks of determined investigation, dogged persistence and ruthless shaking down of every snitch in southern Arizona had finally paid off. Ten days ago, the Phoenix police had busted a smalltime crack dealer. In an attempt to beat the rap, the doper let drop that he’d witnessed the incident that had made all the Phoenix papers.

The dealer also confirmed that the drive-by shooting was no random act. Another car sped through the intersection at the precise moment the shots were fired. The driver of that car was the intended target, the police informed Marsh. Ellen just happened to get in the way.

The doper’s description of the other vehicle led to an ID of the owner—one David Jannisek—a Phoenix hotelier with a weakness for fast redheads and not-so-fast horses. Allegedly, Jannisek owed hundreds of thousands to the mob boss rumored to control the southwest. But before the police could close in on him, he’d disappeared.

The investigators had then set their sights on the flamboyant hotelier’s latest love…the cocktail waitress who, according to all reports, Jannisek had fallen for in a big way, and for whom he had dug himself even deeper into debt. The police figured she might lead them to her missing lover, who in turn could finger the man behind the attempt on his life. When they’d interviewed her, however, Jannisek’s companion had denied all knowledge of either the shooting or her boyfriend’s whereabouts. Just days ago she, like Jannisek, had disappeared.

With all leads played out and nowhere else to look, the overworked homicide detectives had been forced to put the case on the back burner. A grimly determined Marsh had picked up where they’d left off. After informing his boss that he was taking an unpaid leave of absence, he’d jumped onto the next plane leaving El Paso for Phoenix.

The locals had cooperated as much as they could. They’d brought him up to speed on the investigation to date and turned over copies of their case files. They’d even arranged a walk through the missing woman’s rented house. One glance at the disarray inside told Marsh she’d left in a hell of a hurry…and that she’d return sooner or later to reclaim her possessions. Assuming she was still alive.

Al Ramos, the detective in charge of the case, believed both Jannisek and his girlfriend had disappeared for good. Maybe the mob had tried again after the first botched shooting that had taken Ellen’s life. Maybe they’d find the bodies of both the handsome hotelier and his girlfriend in an arroyo one of these days.

Marsh refused to settle for “maybe’s.” None of the sources the police had shaken down could say with any certainty that Jannisek had been taken out. Unless or until he and/or Becky Smith turned up dead, they constituted the only lead to the shadowy figure responsible for Ellen’s death. Grimly determined, Marsh had rented the house next door to Smith, hunkered down, and spent thirty-six long, empty hours waiting for the target to show.

Now it looked as though his wait might just have paid off.

His jaw tight, he adjusted the focus on the high-powered binoculars. He forgot to breathe, forgot everything until the woman finished paying the cabbie, slung her oversized tote bag over her shoulder, and turned. Her face blurred, and then filled the lenses.

“Bingo,” Marsh said, softly.