Mistaken Identity

by Shirlee McCoy

  “Do you often worry about doing that? Or about being found?”

  “I worry about finding people, Mason. That’s my job. Believe it or not, I’m not some dim-witted urbanite who got herself into trouble in the Maine wilderness.”

  “I don’t think I accused you of either of those things.”

  “And I don’t think you need to worry about anyone knowing I’m here. Only my family and Bryn know where I’m staying.”

  “Shh-hhh,” he whispered. “The headlights went out. Engine should go off next. We’ll wait and see who gets out of the car.”

  Seconds later the driver cut the engine.

  Trinity held her breath while she waited for the driver to get out, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. She felt sick and cold and tired, and still more afraid than she’d ever been in her life.

  She’d walked into something.

  She had to find a way out of it.

  The passenger door opened and a tall, broad man got out. The darkness hid his features, but there was something about the way he moved that made Trinity tense.

  “What is it?” Mason whispered in her ear, his breath warm against her frigid skin.

  She shook her head, not quite sure what she was seeing or remembering. Until the driver’s door opened and another man stepped out. Just as tall but leaner. Short hair and straight posture.

  Her pulse jumped. She knew who he was before he took a step, before he gestured for the other man to follow him up the stairs.

  “Chance!” she called, racing around the side of the building and straight into her oldest brother’s arms.

  * * *

  Seeing as how Trinity had called her brother’s name and thrown herself into the arms of one of the men, Mason figured she was safe enough.

  He also figured he should go and introduce himself.

  He wasn’t exactly in the mood for it.

  But, then, he never was.

  A hermit. That’s what people in Whisper called him. That’s what he’d been called in a few human interest stories that had featured his work.

  He wasn’t one.

  Not really.

  Or, maybe, not much.

  He stepped from the shadows and wasn’t surprised when Chance Miller’s passenger pulled out a gun and pointed it at his chest. “How about you drop the weapon, buddy?” he growled.

  “It’s a barbecue fork,” Trinity offered.

  Mason smiled. She was funny. He’d give her that.

  She’d also be dead if she didn’t start being a little more careful. The thought was sobering and he dropped the fork, keeping his hands where they could be seen. He didn’t think the guy was going to pull the trigger, but things happened when firearms and adrenaline were around.

  “Are you planning to call your bodyguard off?” Mason asked, his gaze on Trinity and her brother.

  “Depends on who you are,” Chance responded.

  “Mason Gains. He makes—” Trinity began.

  “I know what he makes, sis,” Chance said. “I saw the research in your apartment.”

  “What were you doing there?” She swung around, her hands on her hips.

  “Getting you a few things I thought you might want.” He pulled a phone from his pocket. “The spare you bought last year.”

  “I forgot about that.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “How’d you know I’d need it?”

  “Jackson got a call from a friend of his.”

  Mason guessed. “Agent Michaels?”

  Chance nodded. “That’s right. He called a few hours ago. A friend of mine has a private jet and he flew us out here.”

  “Even with a private jet, you made quick time,” Mason said, a little surprised by Chance and annoyed about that. He usually read people well, but he’d have never pegged Chance Miller for someone who ran an organization like the one Agent Michaels had described. Based on that, Mason had expected Trinity’s brothers to look tough, scarred, hardened. Chance wasn’t any of those things. He looked like he’d stepped out of a boardroom—suit, dress shirt, tie, polished shoes that weren’t so polished anymore.

  “My friend owes me, so he made it happen.” He didn’t offer any more details.

  That was fine. Mason was more concerned about getting the guy with the gun to put it away. “You think you can tell your buddy to put away his weapon?”

  “My buddy is Cyrus Mitchell.”

  “And his buddy doesn’t feel like putting away his weapon,” Cyrus added. Unlike Chance, he looked like a guy who’d faced down some serious adversaries. Lean. Hard. A little edgy.

  And then, there was the gun he still had pointed straight at Mason. Glock. Standard issue. Nothing fancy but it would do the job and kill a man with very little skill needed from the shooter.

  At this distance, Cyrus wouldn’t need skill.

  One shot and it would be over.

  “You should probably do it, anyway,” Chance suggested. “Before law enforcement shows up. We don’t want to start off on the wrong side of things.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Cyrus grumbled, but he tucked the gun into its holster and eyed Mason dispassionately. “It’s not cool coming out of the shadows with a weapon in your hand.”

  “It’s not cool pulling a gun on someone who’s done nothing wrong.”

  “It’s dark. It’s raining. You’re moving toward us with a deadly—”

  “Barbecue fork,” Trinity interjected, and Chance laughed.

  “Leave it to you to try and lighten the mood, sis,” he said, pulling her in for another hug. “How about we move this inside?” He glanced at the house. “This is where you planned to stay, right?”

  “I did tell you that before I left.”

  “You also told me you were up here to see the foliage and pick some apples and do some sightseeing. Obviously that was a lie.” He glanced at Mason and frowned. “And, obviously, that lie almost got you killed.”

  “Whatever story you were told was grossly exaggerated by whoever told it.”

  “I got the story from Jackson who got it from Liam Michaels. I doubt a federal agent has any reason to exaggerate.” He cupped Trinity’s elbow and led her to the steps.

  She looked even smaller standing next to her brother, her hair plastered to her head and neck, her body encased in an oversize coat and too big sweats. She’d cleaned up at the hospital. Mason had noticed that. No more blood streaked across her face or hands or caked in her hair. He’d also noticed the deep blue of her eyes, the natural highlights in her hair, the dimples in her cheeks when she smiled. She looked like a kid, and she had the sweet, easy disposition of someone who’d never faced hardship. He could understand why her brother was so protective, why he’d drop everything, call in favors and make record time to help her out of trouble.

  But Mason wasn’t sure she needed it as much as her brother thought. She’d managed to escape a would-be kidnapper, had been able to run away from the guys who’d been in his house and hide for long enough to have a fighting chance at survival. Maybe, like her brother, Trinity’s looks were deceiving. And maybe she’d come to Maine, approached Mason, asked for help for her friend, because she’d wanted to prove she was more than what her brothers thought.

  He frowned, not much liking that thought.

  If she was here to prove something to her family or to her brothers, that could be a problem. She might make rash decisions, make poor choices, put herself in danger for the sake of proving something she didn’t really need to prove.

  Not his business.

  None of this was his business.

  His business was to figure out who’d sent the guys who’d broken into his place. His job was to make sure no one got their hands on his computer system. Not that it would be easy to hack into. He had plenty of firewalls in place and more than enough safety net
s.

  If he was dealing with the average everyday criminal.

  He was worried that he wasn’t.

  Tate Whitman could bring a very high-ranking military official down and, more than likely, get several others tossed into military prison. Mason might enjoy his solitude, but he kept up to date on the news. He knew how big the case was and what the implications were of being the only witness to something that had cost dozens of servicemen and women their lives.

  Tate had been fortunate to survive, and if he was the reason for this, if silencing him was the goal of the people who’d broken into Mason’s house, Mason was going to make very sure they weren’t successful.

  He followed Trinity and her brother to the front door, wasn’t surprised when it opened before they reached it.

  Annie Matlow stood in the doorway, her short, black hair framing a face that had made every bachelor in Whisper Lake knock on her door. Even Judah had given it a try. He’d told Mason the story and laughed when he’d said that Annie had sent him packing but offered a plate of cookies as a consolation prize.

  “Check-in times ended an hour ago,” Annie said bluntly. “And all the noise you’re making out here is disturbing my other guests.”

  “You have a full house?” Chance asked, his hand still on his sister’s elbow.

  “I have rooms. But not for people who are going to cause trouble.” Her gaze jumped from Chance to Trinity. “You’re Trinity Miller.”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Ran into a little trouble. I heard. News travels fast around here. I heard you come in a few minutes ago. Would have come down then, but I was helping Mrs. Earl with a painting project.”

  “It’s kind of late for painting, isn’t it?” Cyrus asked, and Annie scanned the group, her stunning face set in a scowl that did nothing to detract from her beauty.

  “It’s kind of late to arrive on someone’s doorstep, too, but here you are.”

  “Extenuating circumstance,” Chance offered.

  “So I hear. I suppose you all want to come in, so let’s get it over with.” She turned on her heel and walked back inside.

  She wasn’t the type that appealed to Mason. Too Felicia-like for his taste—gorgeous and haughty, with just a hint of disdain in everything she said, but there was another side to her that Judah seemed to appreciate. A side that handed out cookies and helped with painting projects late at night.

  “She’s pleasant,” Trinity whispered as she stepped across the threshold.

  “She can be whatever she wants as long as she’s willing to give me a place to sleep for a couple of hours,” Cyrus responded. “I just got home yesterday.”

  “I know,” Trinity said. “I booked your fight in and out of Madrid, remember? And I told Chance you’d need the next couple of weeks off. Apparently he didn’t listen.”

  “Sure he did. I’m not going on mission until the end of the month.”

  “And yet, you’re here,” she pointed out.

  “This isn’t work, Trinity,” Cyrus responded. “It’s family.”

  She kept silent, whatever she was thinking hidden behind her pale, scratched face and her bright blue eyes.

  Maybe because she wasn’t sure how to respond.

  Maybe because Annie had stopped in the dining room and was pointing at the large table. “Everyone sit. I’ve got some scones left over from breakfast. I’ll make some tea and you can have some refreshments. Then we’ll decide what I’m going to do about all the unexpected guests.”

  “No need to worry about me, Annie,” Mason said. “I’m going to head back to the house as soon as everyone gets settled here.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Trinity volunteered.

  Her brother frowned. “I don’t think so.”

  “Mason and I have some unfinished business.”

  “No. We don’t,” he responded, looking straight into her gorgeous blue eyes.

  She didn’t look convinced. She looked...hopeful? Desperate?

  “You do know that your house is a crime scene, right?” Annie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And you know the state crime lab van is there?”

  “I figured it would be.” He also figured it wouldn’t take long to process the scene.

  “Then you also know your chances of having a bed to sleep in tonight are slim to none. I’ll plan a room for you while I get the scones.”

  She walked away, shoulders stiff beneath a soft blue sweater, steps quick and impatient.

  “Well, that’s settled, then.” Trinity spoke into the silence, her voice cheerful and light, her face and lips colorless. “We’ll all spend the night in this beautiful bed-and-breakfast, and in the morning, we’ll sort everything out.”

  That wasn’t going to happen.

  Mason was heading home. He didn’t say as much. No sense sparking off a debate or giving Trinity a heads-up. He wanted her to stay right where she was, safe in her brother’s protection. He’d stick around until he made sure that was going to happen and then he’d head back to the house. It might be a fight to gain entrance with the state forensic team there, but Judah had a way of getting what he wanted, and Mason hoped he wanted to help. Mason needed to get into his office and assure himself the restricted data was secure. Once he did that, he might be able to rest.

  Or, maybe, he’d figure out where Tate was and take a road trip to make sure he knew he had some people gunning for him. People who seemed willing to do just about anything to take him down.

  SEVEN

  A half hour after they’d arrived at Whisper Inn, Trinity had managed to choke down a scone and answer every question her brother had asked all while avoiding Mason’s dark eyes.

  He’d taken a seat at the end of the long, dining room table and hadn’t said a word during the interrogation. Scratch that. Not an interrogation. An interview. That’s what Chance would call it. Trinity wanted to call it a pain in the neck. She had nothing to offer beyond what her brother had learned from the sheriff and Agent Michaels. He’d apparently been on the phone with them several times during the course of his travels.

  She wasn’t surprised by that. She was tired. Cold. Ready for the night to be over and the sun to rise.

  “You look beat, Trinity,” Mason suddenly said, and she made the mistake of meeting his eyes.

  There was something in their depths, something dark and a little lonely, that made her want to ask questions and get answers and learn all the reasons why a guy who had so much to offer chose to offer it to a limited few.

  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Driving six hundred miles will make any day long,” Cyrus said, snagging another scone from the tray Annie had left.

  “Yes,” she agreed, but that wasn’t the reason it had been long. She’d been excited when she’d left home, happy to be going on an adventure by herself, eager to meet Mason. Ready to find some new direction, new focus, something besides her tired dreams of doing something more than sitting in an office all day waiting for her jerk of a boyfriend to propose.

  “I had Stella pack you an extra bag. Just in case,” Chance said. “It’s in the rental. I’ll grab it and then you can go up to your room and get some sleep.”

  While the rest of us finish discussing things and make plans.

  She could almost hear the unspoken words and had to try really hard not to resent them. Her brothers had their reasons for trying to protect her, but she had a life to live outside of the tragedy that had occurred when she was a kid.

  The fact that she had just a few memories of her sister probably made it easier to move on and let go. Or it would, if her parents and brothers weren’t constantly trying to micromanage her life to keep her safe.

  “You know what?” she said, pushing away from the table and standing. “I’m going up to my room now.”

  “Did Annie tell you
which one it is?” Mason asked. He wasn’t looking at her the way her brother and Cyrus were—like she was a delicate bud that could be easily bruised.

  “No, but I’ll track her down and find out.”

  “You’re upset,” Chance said, grabbing her hand as she walked past.

  “I’m just clearing the way for you to do what you always do, Chance,” she said, knowing she sounded as weary and frustrated as she felt.

  “What’s that?” He quirked a brow and looked like he had no idea what she was talking about.

  He probably didn’t.

  She’d never told him that he was smothering her. She’d never asked him for more than a chance to prove herself as a member of the team.

  “Take control of things,” she said without heat because she couldn’t be angry at her brother for doing what he did best.

  She was just angry with herself for not figuring out her own path a little sooner. Everyone had gifts, right? Each person was handpicked for a divine purpose. She’d always believed that.

  Lately, though, she couldn’t quite figure out what hers was supposed to be. Not getting married and having kids. That was for sure. Not going overseas and helping to free hostages, either.

  “Trin—” Chance began.

  “Don’t worry about it, okay? Cyrus was right. It was a long drive. I need to get some sleep.” She kissed his cheek, tugged her hand from his and pasted on the brightest smile she could manage. Then she straightened her shoulders and walked from the room. She might feel useless, aimless and unsure, but she wasn’t going to let anyone know that.

  Annie wasn’t in the sitting room or in the entrance room. She didn’t respond when Trinity called her name, either. As a matter of fact, the entire place felt empty. Trinity walked through the downstairs of the immense house, her footsteps echoing hollowly in a few of the sparsely furnished rooms. It was a beautiful place, but there were signs of neglect—wallpaper peeling in spots, floor scuffed from over a century of feet moving across them. The threadbare carpet runner in the long hallway that led from the east to the west side of the house had faded years ago.

  A person could disappear in a house like this one. There were dozens of places to hide—heavy velvet drapes covering floor-to-ceiling windows, dark, empty recesses that might have once contained statues. She stepped into a room that might have been a ballroom an eon ago but now served as a library, the walls lined with shelves and books. French doors led from there to the patio, the upper panels intricate stained glass. She moved closer, touching the figure of an angel.