“Of course, it’s legal. And don’t worry. I know how to use it, too.” As if to demonstrate, Tay checked the clip, then slammed it home, just the way Penelope had seen people do it in the movies. Her expertise was a little frightening, as was her smile. “Let’s go have a look.”
They left Tay’s apartment and headed back down the breezeway to Penelope’s door. Once inside, they checked every room, looked in all the closets, under the bed, and even peered behind the shower curtain in the bathroom. All the doors and windows were locked, too. There was no way anyone could have gotten in without a key, and the one person Penelope had given a spare to was Ariadne because she happened to be the only member of the family who Penelope trusted not to invade her privacy.
Penelope would bet her entire life savings that her little sister hadn’t been inside her apartment. So who had? And how had they gotten in?
“Okay,” Tay said as she and Penelope walked back into the living room. “Everything’s locked up tight. I don’t see how anyone could have gotten in.”
Penelope ran a hand through her hair. “Maybe it was my imagination. We had a break-in at the museum last night. One of the guards was knocked unconscious, so I suppose my nerves could be getting to me.”
Tay shuddered. “No offense, but why would anyone break into that museum? All those masks and artifacts may be valuable, but they give me the creeps.”
“That’s the strange part,” Penelope said. “He didn’t take anything. The police think the guard scared him away.”
“Him?”
Penelope shrugged. “Whoever it was. But you’re probably right about my apartment. No one’s been in here. I’m letting my imagination get the better of me.”
Tay gave her a sympathetic smile. “Well, you have been under a lot of stress lately.”
You don’t know the half of it.
Tay peered at her closely. Too many people were doing that lately. “Just look at you,” she chided. “You’ve even got dark circles under your eyes. What you need is a good night’s sleep.”
“I am pretty beat,” Penelope admitted.
Tay took Penelope’s chin and turned her face to the light. “Have you been using the elixir I gave you? Your skin looks a little dull.”
Penelope pulled away. “I’ve been meaning to,” she said defensively, “but I haven’t had a chance.”
Tay clicked her tongue in annoyance. “That stuff won’t do you any good sitting inside your medicine cabinet. You need to give it a try. My whole family swears by it, including my eighty-year-old grandmother.” She headed for the door. “And she still doesn’t have a single wrinkle on her face.”
Penelope started to say that she didn’t think there was anything wrong with having wrinkles. She thought a few lines gave a face character, and besides, she’d always hated the obsession with youth and perfection, especially in her own family. Why not grow old gracefully?
But then, she’d probably change her mind in another few years, and at any rate, she wasn’t about to argue with results. Tay’s skin was absolutely beautiful, and it hit Penelope suddenly that she had no idea how old her friend was.
Or anything else about Tay Domingo, for that matter.
PENELOPE AWAKENED with the terrifying certainty that someone was in her apartment.
Her first impulse was to slip out of bed and find a hiding place, but her survival instinct kept her silent and still, pretending to sleep, as she listened to the darkness.
She didn’t hear anything that gave away the intruder’s position. No creaking floorboards. No muted footsteps.
After a few minutes, she dared to open her eyes. There was enough light from the street to allow her to see, but she was lying on her side so she only had a partial view of the room. The first thing she noticed was that one of the French doors was ajar.
Icy shivers ran up and down her spine at the sight of the open door. The intruder had come in from the balcony. He might even still be in her bedroom—
And then out of the corner of her eye she saw him. He stood at the foot of her bed staring down at her. Just…staring down at her.
Penelope stifled the scream that rose in her throat, but she must have made some involuntary sound because he was beside the bed in a flash. One hand clamped tightly over her mouth as the other pinned her to the mattress.
“Don’t make a sound, okay? I’m not going to hurt you.”
He tightened his hand over her muffled screams, and Penelope bit him as she struggled to get free.
He swore. “Damn it, Penny. Stop that! You know I’m not going to hurt you!”
Chapter Fourteen
His voice penetrated her terror, and Penelope went completely still. She saw his face then and gave a muffled cry. Those eyes…those lips…she’d know them anywhere.
He released her and she bit back a sob as she flung herself into his arms. “Oh, my God, it is you. You’re here. You’re okay…” She drew back. “How long—”
He silenced her with a fingertip to her lips. “Shush. I’ll tell you everything, but first, I have to find out something from you.”
She nodded eagerly. “Anything.”
He took her arms and held her away from him. “The suitcase you brought back from Mexico…where is it?”
Penelope blinked in confusion. “What?”
“Your suitcase, Penny. Where is it?”
“I don’t understand.” Something in his eyes made those shivers go up and down her spine again. He looked very different from the Simon she remembered.
Maybe he wasn’t Simon, she thought suddenly. Maybe this man really was a double.
She slid away from him and drew the covers up around her, as if the blanket could somehow protect her from what she was about to learn. “Why do you want to know about my suitcase?” she asked in a tremulous voice.
His attention was still on her, familiar and yet not so familiar. “I’ll tell you everything you want to know, but first I have to find out where that suitcase is. Is it safe?”
Penelope clutched the covers around her. Who are you? she wanted to scream.
He couldn’t be Simon. Simon wouldn’t look at her that way. Simon wouldn’t have that dangerous glint in his eyes, that impatient edge to his voice. Simon was kind and gentle….
She swallowed past the fear that clogged her throat. “Who are you?”
“Stop it, Penelope. You know who I am.”
“You’re not Simon.” Her voice rose almost defiantly. “You can’t be. Simon’s in a coma. He’s been in a coma for weeks.”
He rubbed one finger along his eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“You’re not Simon,” she insisted.
He picked up her left hand. “I gave you this ring. We chose it together at the Galleria. Then we had dinner at that South American restaurant on Westheimer that you love so much. And later we came back here…” His voice trailed off on what almost sounded like a dare.
Penelope caught her breath. He was Simon.
A dozen different emotions flooded over her. She wanted to be happy that he was here and well, but there were too many unanswered questions. And that look in his eyes. He was Simon, but he wasn’t her Simon.
“How long?” she whispered.
“How long have I been out of the coma? We’ll get to that. But first the suitcase. Where is it?”
His calm persistence disturbed her more than anything. It was as if nothing else mattered to him at that moment, certainly not all those weeks she’d spent worrying herself sick over him. She felt her face go hot with anger. “I’m not telling you anything! Not until you give me some answers. How long, Simon? I saw you just yesterday—” She broke off on a gasp. “Oh, my God, you were faking it, weren’t you?” When his eyes darted away, she gave a little cry. “Why?”
“It was necessary.”
“Necessary!” She stared at him in horror. “It was necessary to let me go on thinking that you could die. That every time I came to see you might be my last. How could you do th
at, Simon? How could you do that to me?”
He tried to take her hand, but she shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!”
His expression went even darker then, and his voice hardened with resolve. “I did what I had to do. There’s more at stake here than just you and me. People are dying.”
“Dying?” Her own voice went hoarse with shock. “What are you talking about?”
He got up and paced for a moment, as if not quite certain how to proceed. Then he came back and sat on the edge of the bed. He tried to take her hand again, but she moved away from him. “Look at me, Penelope.” When she glanced up, he said earnestly, “I’m not the man you think I am.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “No kidding.”
“I am and I’m not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“My name is Simon Decker, and I grew up next door to you in River Oaks. But I’m not an accountant, successful or otherwise. In fact, I have about five thousand dollars in my savings account. I don’t own a town house in Dallas or a condo in Aspen. I don’t even know how to ski.”
She shook her head in confusion. “Then why did you say that you did?”
He shrugged. “Because I needed you to believe that I still belonged in your world.”
“Why? I don’t even belong in my world. If it’s money you’re after—”
“I’m not after money. That’s the last thing I want.” As if too restless to remain still, he got up again and walked over to the window to glance out. “I work for the government, Penelope. I’m with a specialized unit in the Department of Homeland Security. Our job is to find weaknesses in the border. Covert routes used by drug traffickers, gun runners, you name it. We find the holes and plug them as best we can.”
A federal agent? Simon?
Penelope tightened her arms around her legs. Why should that revelation surprise her? After everything she’d learned tonight, nothing should shock her anymore.
The Simon she knew—her fiancé—had obviously never existed. The Simon who shared her passion for pre-Columbian artifacts, who enjoyed the same movies and books, who liked the same restaurants…that man had been an imposter. A con man. That man had made a fool out of her.
She rested her chin on her knees as something inside her curled up and died. “What does any of this have to do with me?”
He was still focused on something outside her window. “I’ll get to that. But right now, you have to tell me where that suitcase is.”
Why was he so interested in her suitcase? She hadn’t seen it since she’d checked it at the airport in Manzanillo.
At that thought, her eyes shot to Simon. “You were there, weren’t you? In Mexico, I mean. I didn’t imagine seeing you that night. You were on a yacht with Tonio Vargas. The two of you were arguing. And then he turned up dead—” She broke off on a shudder. “Oh, my God, did you—”
Simon turned from the window. “I didn’t kill him. You know me better than that.”
“I don’t know you at all,” she cried. “The Simon I knew would never have put me through this. He wouldn’t have let me pour my heart and soul out time and again and not find a way to comfort me.” Angrily, she wiped away the tears that were suddenly streaming down her face. “Every time I had to leave you, I died a little inside. And you knew it. You knew it because I told you. I told you everything…” Anger and humiliation washed over her at the thought of all the intimacies she’d shared with him.
The Simon she knew would never have hurt her like this, no matter how noble his intent. He would never have shamed her like this. The Simon she knew was considerate to a fault. This man was a stranger.
Penelope pressed a fist to her mouth. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
He came back over and took her by the shoulders. “No, you’re not going to be sick, do you hear me? You’re going to pull yourself together and tell me where that suitcase is.”
She jerked away from him. “I’m not telling you anything. Not until I understand why you did what you did.”
His mouth thinned cruelly, and for a moment, the notion crossed Penelope’s mind that he might actually be capable of violence. But then he released her and dropped down on the edge of the bed. Running a hand through his hair, he said wearily, “What more do you want to know?”
“If you didn’t kill Tonio, who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“You must have some idea!”
“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know who killed him.”
Penelope wished she could believe him, but she had a feeling there was so much more that he hadn’t told her. “Tonio warned me that I was in danger before he died. He said that I had no idea what I’d ended up in the middle of. And then I saw you in the square. I followed you into a courtyard. You kissed me.” She blinked back more tears. “You drugged me, didn’t you, Simon? That’s why I couldn’t remember anything the next morning.”
“I couldn’t have you running all over Mexico claiming that you’d seen me,” he said. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t even supposed to be on that yacht. But Vargas was so spooked by then, it was the only place that he would agree to meet with me. And then there you were. It happened in a flash, but I knew you’d seen me. I knew you must have recognized me. It was one of those odd coincidences. Ironic, considering…” He trailed off, as if not wanting to finish the thought. “When I found out you’d placed calls to Fairhaven and to my father, I knew I had to do some serious damage control. The only thing I could do was convince you that you were seeing things.”
“And what about last night at Fairhaven? Did you drug me then, too? I remember hiding from the guards in the physical-therapy unit, and then the next thing I knew, I woke up in my own apartment, in this very bed. Did you bring me here?”
“It was for your own protection. You were starting to poke around in things you couldn’t begin to understand. I didn’t have the authority to bring you into the loop, so I did what I could to keep you out of it.”
“Keep me out of what?” she cried in frustration. “I still don’t understand any of this.”
He sighed. “I know you don’t. And, unfortunately, there’s only so much I can tell you.”
“How convenient,” she said sarcastically. “What about leaving me at the altar? Can you tell me about that?” Before he could respond, she answered her own question. “You never intended to marry me, did you?”
“If it was necessary.”
“If it was necessary—” A fresh wave of humiliation washed over her. “Why me?”
“Maybe I should start at the beginning,” he muttered.
“Yes, the beginning!” she demanded angrily.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “The day I came to the museum…that wasn’t a coincidence. I knew you worked there. I knew what your hours were, when you took your lunch break, even the book you would read while eating your turkey sandwich in the park. I knew everything about you before I ever walked through the door.”
Penelope should have been beyond hurt at that point, but each revelation brought its own pain and humiliation. “How could you possibly have known all that about me?”
“I hired a local private detective firm to investigate you,” Simon said. “Their specialty is designing coincidental meetings between two people, one of them being their client.”
Penelope shook her head helplessly. “I don’t understand. They design coincidences? How does that work?”
“They followed you. They talked to your friends and family. They poked around in your trash. They found out everything they could about you. Intimate things…. And then, when I was armed with the right information to pique your interest, they arranged for us to meet.”
The muscles in Penelope’s chest tightened so painfully she could hardly breathe. “Why?”
“Because I needed to connect with you as quickly as I could.”
“But we had a connection,” she said desperately. “We grew up together.”
He shrugge
d. “I couldn’t count on that. I didn’t even know if you’d remember me. And I needed more than a connection. I needed you to trust me.” He paused. “I needed you to fall in love with me.”
Penelope squeezed her eyes closed as more tears formed behind her lashes. “Why me?” she repeated fiercely.
“Because of where you work and who you know.”
She felt overwhelmed by her helplessness. Her incomprehension.
At this point, he acted as if they’d gotten past the hard part and were now heading for the home stretch. His weariness evaporated, and he seemed to gather strength and conviction as he talked. “We received a tip months ago that the Morehart Museum was being used to smuggle illegal substances across the border.”
“That’s impossible. I would have known.” Then her hand flew to her mouth. “Wait a minute. You thought I was involved in something like that?”
“Not directly, no, but we think your boss, Avery Bennett, is in it up to his neck. Bennett, however, is inconsequential in the whole scheme of things. We want his boss. The person behind this operation probably has dozens of points of entry all up and down the border.”
“For what purpose?”
“Have you ever heard of a toxin called Nicin?”
Penelope frowned. “I think so. It’s derived from a plant that grows in the rain forest. I remember my father and my sister, Cassandra, having a pretty heated discussion about it once when she came back from Central America. It was being touted as the new and improved Botox, and for a while, the plant was harvested to the point of extinction. But it had too many side effects and the Food and Drug Administration never gave it approval.”
He nodded. “That’s right. But what if I were to tell you that Nicin is once again being used in cosmetic procedures all over the world, even here in the United States? It’s becoming a booming black-market business.”
“You think someone is using the Morehart to smuggle Nicin into the country?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes. That’s exactly what we think.”
“That’s why you had to make a connection with me? Because you thought I knew something?”
Intimate Knowledge Page 12
