The Stolen Identity (The Sydney Harbour Hospital Series Book 7)

by Chris Taylor

  “Of course, Uncle. It sounds wonderful. You’ve gone to so much trouble. You shouldn’t have. My birthday was more than two weeks ago.”

  Leslie waved away her protests. “Don’t be silly, honey. I’ve only just found out I have a niece. There are so many birthdays I’ve missed out on! I’m entitled to indulge her every now and then, don’t you think?”

  Morgan smiled at him and pulled out a seat at the breakfast nook. “Should we eat in here?”

  “No, let’s eat at the dining table. It’s so much more pleasant, don’t you think? And after all, this is a special occasion. It deserves all the fanfare I can muster. I’ve already set the table. I even bought some fresh flowers. It’s all waiting for you.”

  “Thank you, Uncle. You’ve been very thoughtful. Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “No, but thanks for offering. Why don’t the two of you go back into the dining room and make yourself comfortable.”

  Morgan nodded her agreement and turned to go back the way they’d come.

  “I’ll bring some glasses,” Colt said, noticing the bottle of wine still in her hand.

  “Of course. They’re in the cupboard above the sink, nearest the pantry,” Morgan replied.

  She headed out the door toward the open concept living and dining room and Colt made his way over to the sink. Leslie fussed over the grilled chicken breasts which were arranged on a large plate. A jug of hollandaise sauce stood on the counter.

  “Would you like a glass of wine, Leslie?” Colt asked.

  “No thanks. I don’t drink white.”

  Colt reached up to open the cupboard that stood to one side above the stove. A fine sheen of dark droplets stained the door. It started at the bottom and reached up halfway across the door. If Colt didn’t know any better, he’d have thought it was blood.

  Opening the cupboard door, he retrieved two wine glasses and held them in one hand. His gaze drifted lower and he spied another spray of dark droplets, this one lower down. It was toward the bottom of the pantry door, but looked just as suspect. Perhaps it was just because he was on edge about the discovery of Rex’s pickup that the stains looked suspicious.

  And then his gaze caught on a chip of wood that was missing from the side of the cupboard. The exposed wood was pale and sharp, like the damage had occurred recently. He frowned. His cop instincts hummed. He wished he could set aside his suspicions, like a normal person, and just enjoy the night. Did he have to see suspect activity every time he looked around? It was ridiculous, and yet the wary feeling in his gut increased.

  Moving away, he offered to carry the salad bowl into the dining room and collected it from Leslie with his other hand. Then, determined to enjoy the night, he headed off to locate Morgan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Nerves rolled through Leslie’s gut and he swiped sweat out of his eyes. He watched the detective depart through the kitchen door and breathed a sigh of relief. He wished like hell the man hadn’t been invited over for dinner, but what was he supposed to do? Morgan had come in after her phone call, beaming from ear to ear. He could tell they’d reconciled and she was eager to be with him. The last thing Leslie needed was her disappearing back to Sydney before he could get the job done.

  Having her in the same house was an opportunity he couldn’t let pass by, so he’d forced a smile and had told her it was perfectly fine to have the detective share their meal. After all, there was plenty to go round.

  The decision to kill them both made him nervous, but he’d thought it all out. His plan was sound and there was no reason it would fail. All he had to do was keep his wits about him and stay relaxed and calm and pretend there was nothing wrong.

  With that thought in mind, he stacked a tray with the chicken, the sauce and the platter of corn. He’d return for the bread and butter and then the game would begin.

  * * *

  Colt bit into a piece of chicken breast and almost groaned with delight. For all of Leslie’s failings, the man sure knew how to cook. The meat was tender and juicy, the sauce was just right. Colt enjoyed another bite.

  “This tastes delicious, Uncle,” Morgan said, swallowing a mouthful. Colt echoed the sentiment.

  Leslie merely nodded and filled his mouth again. A moment later, he pushed back from his seat and murmured something about the cake. Colt stared at the man’s retreating back and frowned. They’d barely started their main meal. What was the rush?

  Taking another sip from his glass, Colt forced the dark thoughts from his mind and smiled at Morgan.

  “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he murmured.

  “Yes, but I’m happy to hear it again. You look pretty nice, too,” she replied. “In fact, you remind me of a dashing movie star – maybe Hugh Jackman or one of those Hemsworth brothers, except for the color of your hair. Those guys are hot. So are you.”

  If she was shocked by the frankness of her words, she didn’t show it. Colt’s blood heated and his body hardened at the promise in her eyes. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for the meal to be over so he could whisk her back home, into his bed, where she belonged.

  “Here we are! The birthday cake, baked especially for my beautiful niece.”

  Leslie set a high, chocolate layer cake down on the table and then swiped the back of his hand across his brow. His gaze darted between Morgan and the table. Did he really care that much what his niece thought about his efforts? Colt couldn’t help but wonder.

  The cake had been iced with thick chocolate frosting and Leslie had even added candles. Colt was impressed by the man’s thoughtfulness. Leslie O’Brien might have been raised without love, but he certainly had good manners.

  “Wow, Uncle! This is amazing!” Morgan said, laughing. Her face was flushed with pleasure.

  Colt’s heart flooded with tenderness and he vowed silently to do all he could to keep that expression on her face. Leslie produced a cigarette lighter and Colt’s gut momentarily tightened, but once again, he thrust the thoughts aside and sang Happy Birthday to Morgan.

  “Make a wish!” her uncle cried and she closed her eyes for a second. Opening them again, she took a big breath and blew out the candles.

  “Hurray!” Leslie cheered and began to remove the candles. Once he was done, he turned and headed toward the kitchen.

  “I’ll go and get some fresh plates,” he called out over his shoulder before disappearing into the other room.

  Colt reached out and took Morgan’s hand. It was soft and warm and felt perfect in his. He squeezed it and then brought it to his lips. He pressed a kiss against her palm, surprising himself.

  He’d never been much of a romantic. In fact, he’d thought romance and all that other mushy kind of stuff was the thing of soppy romance novels and corny movies. But with Morgan, it seemed natural. He wanted to touch her as he sat there with her. And not just in a sexual way – although his body was counting down the hours – but in a loving, connected way – just wanting to feel close.

  He didn’t know what to make of it and he sure as hell didn’t know if it was love. It was as thrilling and heady as those handful of weeks he’d spent with her a decade ago, but somehow even better. Had he been in love with her all those years earlier? Looking back, he couldn’t help but wonder.

  Leslie returned to the dining room, this time brandishing small plates. Setting one down in front of each of them, he returned to his place.

  “How about you do the honors, Morgan and cut us each a piece?” he suggested, giving her an encouraging smile.

  Morgan nodded and picked up the knife that Leslie had brought in with the cake. “How much would you like, Uncle? A big piece or small?”

  “Just the tiniest piece for me, thank you, Morgan. I’m afraid I already ate too much.”

  “Would you like to wait for a bit?” she asked. “We could always have it later, with a cup of tea.”

  “No, no, let’s have some now,” Colt said hurriedly, keen to see the night come to an end. He didn’t want to linger ov
er tea and cake. The sooner he got Morgan alone, the sooner he could love her with his lips and tongue and other parts of his body that were crying out for release.

  Morgan cut the cake and handed the plates around. Colt took a small bite. The cake was moist and rich, with a distinctive, tangy bite to it. It was like nothing he’d ever tasted. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it.

  “Mm, this is really good, Uncle,” Morgan said around a mouthful. “Where did you learn to cook?”

  Leslie grimaced and once again, wiped the sweat from his brow. “For all her faults and failings, my mother was a good cook. She forced me to spend hours in the kitchen, watching and learning. She always wanted a daughter, remember? I was meant to cook and clean and sew. She had very strict views on what was expected.”

  “Well, she did you a favor,” Morgan assured him. “This cake is delicious. It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted. Sweet and rich and chocolaty, but with a bit of a bite. Is it chili powder? Is that your secret?” She laughed.

  Leslie merely smiled. “A good cook never tells. My secrets will go with me to the grave.”

  Morgan giggled and took another bite of cake. Colt pushed his to one side. He didn’t mean to be impolite, but the cake wasn’t to his taste.

  Leslie stared at him, a curious expression on his face. “Not eating, Detective?”

  “I’m afraid I’m like you,” Colt replied, patting his stomach. “Too much dinner.”

  Reaching over, Colt picked up his wine glass and finished the contents. He wondered how long he had to wait before thanking his host for dinner and getting the hell out of there – taking Morgan with him.

  Seemingly oblivious to his impatience to get her on her own, Morgan finished the last of her cake and leaned back with a sigh.

  “That was the yummiest cake I’ve ever eaten, Uncle, and one of the nicest things anyone’s ever done. You made me a birthday cake and my birthday’s already been and gone. I want you to know, that means a great deal to me.”

  She smiled across at him and continued. “When I first arrived and found you here, I admit, I was taken aback. I had no idea you existed and Dad wasn’t here to fill in the gaps. I was confused and a little upset that he hadn’t hung around and I think I was even a little resentful of you, believing that you were the reason he’d left.

  “But you’ve been nothing but kind and generous and I couldn’t ask for a better uncle. I can’t wait until Dad—”

  She broke off suddenly and gasped. Her face contorted with pain. Colt sat forward in concern.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She shook her head back and forth and tears sprang to her eyes. “No. I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. My stomach… It’s burning. I think… I think I’m going to be sick.”

  With a cry of distress, she pushed away from the table. Holding her belly, she made a run for the bathroom.

  “Oh, dear. Poor Morgan. I wonder what’s wrong,” Leslie murmured. “It can’t be something she ate. We all ate the same thing. I feel fine. How about you?”

  Colt forced his attention back to the table and looked at Leslie. “I-I’m fine, too. I’m not sure what’s disagreed with her. I’ll go and check, make sure she’s okay.”

  Colt pushed away from the table and strode off in the direction Morgan had taken. Even from halfway down the hall, he could hear her retching. He glanced to the left and passed by a bedroom. The door was open. He caught a glimpse of a double bed and then pulled up short.

  A .22 rifle lay across the bed. Ordinarily, the sight of a gun might not seem so unusual. Rex O’Brien held a gun license, after all, and Morgan had told Colt her father owned a .22, the same caliber gun that had ended Rusty’s life.

  But there had been a lot about the goings on at this Butler Street address that was far from ordinary and seeing the rifle lying there in the open when it should have been locked away gave him pause. A sense of foreboding flooded through him, almost cementing his feet to the spot. He heard Morgan cry out in agony and his gut somersaulted with fear. He took off at a run.

  * * *

  Morgan had never been in so much pain in all her life. Her stomach burned like it was on fire and cramps twisted her insides into knots. She gasped and heaved, desperately trying to breathe through the pain. She didn’t know what was going on, but she needed urgent medical treatment.

  A fresh surge of hot vomit filled her mouth and erupted into the toilet bowl. Once again, she retched uncontrollably, her throat now raw. Tears streamed from her eyes. Sobs tore through her chest.

  “Colt!” she cried. “Help me! Please… I need help!”

  To her immense relief, he appeared in the doorway and immediately raced to her side. “Morgan! What’s happening? What can I do to help?”

  “Ambulance,” she croaked. “Something’s wrong.”

  Colt tugged out his phone. His lips were fixed into a grim line. Concern and something else flooded his face. “Something’s wrong, all right,” he muttered, “and it’s more than your extreme reaction to the food.”

  She stared at him. Fire continued to burn through her stomach, but dread settled like concrete in her veins.

  “Wh-what do you mean?” she stammered. Her heart hammered with fear. All of a sudden, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  Colt’s gaze remained on hers, his expression hard. “Think about it, Morgan. Your father’s long-lost brother has appeared out of the ether, a man no one knew existed. He has a criminal record. Soon after, your father disappears. I didn’t want to tell you tonight, but we found your father’s vehicle abandoned outside of town. It had been driven into a stock dam. Furthermore, I just went by the main bedroom. There’s a gun lying on the bed.”

  Colt stared at her. Morgan stared back at him, her mind flooding with shock. She wanted to put her hands up over her ears and beg him to stop talking. At the same time, she was desperate to hear what he had to say.

  After all that had happened, now her father’s pickup had been found outside of Armidale when he was supposed to be traveling in it way up north…

  She shook her head back and forth, her gaze fixed on Colt’s. “What… What are you talking about?” she gasped. “How could Dad’s vehicle be here? He’s up near Darwin. What’s he driving? I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sorry, Morgan, but I think your uncle’s up to something,” Colt said, speaking her troubled thoughts.

  A fresh wave of pain ripped through her body at the thought. “Uncle Leslie…?”

  “Is right here.”

  Like puppets who’d had their strings jerked, both Colt and Morgan swung around to face the door. Leslie stood there looking menacing, the .22 rifle in his hand.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Morgan gasped in shock and alarm. Her hand came up to her mouth. Her heart pounded and despite the pain in her belly, her stomach clenched with fear. Her uncle stood in the doorway with a gun, a hard look on his face. Nothing about that image was good.

  “Uncle Leslie? What’s…going on?” she managed, relieved her fear hadn’t made it to her voice.

  “I’m sorry it’s come to this, honey, but you leave me with no choice.”

  He came further into the room and she saw Colt’s jaw clench, along with his fists. He moved closer to where Morgan was still hunched over the toilet. She borrowed courage from his presence.

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

  Her uncle’s eyes narrowed. “Everything was going well. I had it all planned out. Your father didn’t have a clue. He played right into my hands. Then you came along and everything went awry. It’s your fault it’s come to this. Make no mistake, you’re responsible for what happens next, including what happens to him.”

  Leslie pointed the gun in Colt’s direction and Morgan cried out in fright. Surely, her uncle couldn’t intend to kill them? The very thought was ridiculous, like something out of a B-grade movie. People didn’t go around doing that kind of thing in real life. Any moment sh
e expected someone to call “cut.”

  And yet, the gun in her uncle’s hand was real. It was her father’s gun. He normally kept it locked in a cabinet in the shed. She’d never seen it inside the house. Spying it in her uncle’s hands was just as surreal as the situation they found themselves in.

  “Where’s Rex?”

  Colt’s quiet question held deadly force. Morgan’s breath halted in her chest. She stared at her uncle and noticed the sudden tightening around his mouth. A pulse was visible in his neck and a strange look came into his eyes.

  “Rex is in Darwin, like he said.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Morgan’s hand flew to her mouth. She gasped in horror at the certainty in Colt’s tone. Fear for her father, and for them, congealed in a cold, hard mass in her belly.

  Undeterred by the gun in her uncle’s hand, Colt took a step forward, determination in every taut line of his body.

  “Where is Rex O’Brien?” he said again, biting out each word.

  “Stop where you are or I’ll shoot!”

  Her uncle’s cheeks were flushed and his chest rose and fell in a rapid staccato. Morgan’s fear escalated to terror. She believed with every fiber of her being that her uncle would carry out his threat.

  “Colt! Don’t do anything!” she pleaded. Another agonizing pain gripped her stomach. She bent over the toilet and heaved.

  “Please, Uncle. Please, Colt. I need help! Please, call me an ambulance.”

  “What did you give her?” Colt shouted and once again focused on his phone.

  “Put the phone down! Now!” Leslie screamed and brandished the gun at Colt.

  Colt ignored him and pressed numbers on his screen before holding the phone up to his ear.

  “I need an ambulance. We’re at 29 Butler Street. Yes. I think she’s been poisoned. Hurry! And send the police.”

  The sound of the gun being cocked was the most terrifying thing Morgan had ever heard. She swung around from the toilet bowl and stared right into the barrel. Her uncle had taken a few steps forward and now stood mere feet away, the gun pointed in her direction.