Alias

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Darcy’s throat closed a little. She knew her friends had known something was going on with her when they’d seen her dyed hair at the funeral. It hadn’t been the time to talk, but her friend’s concern touched her. “Thanks, Alex. I’ll let you know.” She started to hang up then said, “Oh, wait a sec. This FBI agent, aka our illustrious Dark Angel…is he as handsome as we all imagined him to be?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Darcy grinned. She’d been right. She could almost feel the sparks shooting through the phone. “Talk to you later. Stay cool, Alex.” Darcy could hear Alex chuckle as she hung up.

  She tapped the phone against her thigh for a second, thinking. Three women from Athena had fainted for no reason. One had died because of it. And Betsy Stone? What did she have to do with all this? Being the Academy’s nurse she had access to a lot of personal information, including medical and administrative records and medications. And Darcy would bet she knew when the girls had their cycles. Stone kept the supplies.

  Darcy shook her head, worried about her friends as she went back to Liza and turned an understated beauty into a knockout with rich, red hair.

  Sitting at a wide glass table on the back patio, Maurice Steele propped his feet on a chair, slipped on his sunglasses, then sipped his morning coffee. The water in the pool glistened like diamonds in the bright morning sun. A soft ocean breeze flicked at the wide Panama umbrella overhead and mussed his hair. He smoothed it back, reading the newspaper, making notes and ignoring the incident of the night before. Someone was jerking his chain and he felt foolish for responding.

  And he hated feeling foolish, even if no one saw it.

  A small TV perched on a table a couple feet away reported the news, but Maurice was interested only in the stack of newspapers in front of him and what they said about him and the movie that had premiered the other night. He went straight to the reviews, scanning them quickly and picked out small phrases that pumped his blood pressure. Excellent. Five star, tremendously crafted script. Perfect for the role. Stellar performance.

  I told them. They hadn’t believed him. He could see his bank accounts filling as his prestige and clout grew. Now they’ll come begging.

  He glanced at the screen, seeing Fairchild’s face on the TV, then his. Christ. They pay attention to that drivel when the biggest blockbuster movie of the year just hit theaters? People were hanging out overnight to be the first to see it. “Report on that,” he snapped at the TV anchor who looked too much like a playboy bunny and not enough like a professional. What was her name, Shannon Conner?

  He smiled. She was the reporter who’d done the exposé on Athena Academy and inadvertently given him the means to hunt down his errant wife. He liked her better already.

  I could change your life, he thought, seeing the woman with slightly darker hair, a less revealing suit. And for God’s sake, get rid of those earrings. They look like the Eiffel Tower.

  He’d made thousands over so they were appealing to the world. As he’d done for himself. He’d rewritten his own past, carved away the barrio and replaced it with Bel Air. He’d watched and learned, working two, sometimes three jobs, making himself indispensable to the people who had the power, clawing his way between them. He knew he’d used people, been cruel and conniving. But he’d have done anything not to be trapped in an L.A. gang and walk with a homeboy hump in his step.

  Manny Sanchez was Maurice Steele.

  No one knew.

  He’d paid a fortune to have it erased. He was proud of what he’d accomplished, he thought, sipping his coffee.

  He spun straw into gold now.

  Maurice looked around at his home, the ocean crashing a few hundred yards away while the clear water of the pool rippled. The best of both. In his mind he saw his wife backstroking through the water, her slim body a tanned torpedo as she flipped and swam back. She rested her arms on the edge of the pool, smiled at him.

  Something sharpened in his chest.

  His weakness was her, he supposed, pinching the bridge of his nose. She was the only woman who could make him hurt.

  No longer interested in spending time alone, he left the lanai and marched upstairs to his bedroom. Instantly his gaze fell on the real naked woman in his bed. Her breasts were plump—and, a surprise, real. Blond hair was mussed and long, her face elfin and dainty. Suddenly, he didn’t see the aspiring actress, he saw Darcy, bare and open for him.

  He moved toward the bed, untying his robe.

  She stirred and rolled over, dazed with confusion till the memory of last night played across her face. He’d taken her home from the premiere.

  “Hi,” she said softly, smiling and reaching for him.

  “Ah, my love.” He lay over her, pushing her legs apart, and in an instant he thrust into her, whispering another woman’s name.

  Darcy tapped the keys, searching through archives of old newspapers in Arizona and Nevada. Athena Academy was near Phoenix, so anything in the outlying areas could be a source. It would take a while, she thought and glanced at the clock. She had five minutes before her next client arrived. This was her fifth search in two days for anything suspicious. She’d read through everything from penny savers to tourist magazines, looking for something that could be construed as an ad for a surrogate. She had five possible ads but she needed to narrow the search. She considered placing her own ad, offering a reward for information. Money always drew the real nutcases, but she’d know what to ask to make certain she was on the right track.

  Her five minutes up, she stood, glancing at her notes from her L.A. trip and feeling torn between devoting her time to searching for the surrogate and following up on the details from her trip. She still had to research the names of the chemicals she’d seen on the barrels in the warehouse and dig out the freezer bags to see what else she could learn. Plus she was waiting for Porche’s assistant, Marianna Vasquez, to call her back. She’d made another call to the woman, wishing she’d had the time in L.A. to meet with her face-to-face.

  She headed back into the salon, stopping by the extra room to check on Charlie. He was still napping and she bent to kiss his cool cheek. He wiggled deeper into the covers. He’d be in preschool soon, then first grade. She had to get her life back to normal before then. She couldn’t register him for school under an alias. And well, Charlie Daniels drew a lot of attention. Darcy hadn’t thought of that when she chose her alias. Charlie had been a baby at the time. She smiled. Stupid but funny, she thought. Now she was stuck with it.

  She moved into the main salon, glad it was on the edge of town, far enough from street traffic but close enough to do a good walk-in business. There was a shop on either side of hers, and the facades were all designed to look like Old Western storefronts. She had a clear view of the street traffic from all sides and the backyard was big enough for Charlie to have some fun. Her own house was just two lots back, a one-story small bungalow style just big enough for her and Charlie. Megan lived at the other end of town, which didn’t say much, since she was only a couple miles away.

  Darcy gathered up towels and grabbed a trash can to empty. One of her stylists, Nicki, flashed her a thank-you smile. She was young and pretty, her belly ring showing above low-riding capri slacks and shoes stacked so high Darcy waited for the nose bleed to start. Lana had the next chair, and was fresh out of cosmetology school, but Darcy had spotted talent. The eighteen-year-old was apprenticing under Darcy, yet the girl could cut hair in half the time of the rest and therefore made more money. Shianne and Zoe worked side by side, the best of pals. Shianne was tiny and blonde, and Zoe was tall with hair the color of bing cherries. The manicurist and masseur showed up when they had appointments and weren’t in today. Although the salon was filled with customers, no one was waiting for someone’s time. The mood was soft and quiet, and Darcy slipped in a Nora Jones CD and let the sexy jazz move through the place like smoke.

  Darcy emptied the trash, started a load of towels, then swept the floors, checking her watch for her next client.

/>   The noise level lowered suddenly and Nicki called to her. “I think your next client is here.”

  Darcy set the broom aside, coming around the bend that hid the shampoo bowls from public view, then stopping dead in her tracks.

  Oh be still my wicked heart, she thought, and for a second she just appreciated the good-looking man.

  He had one arm braced on the windshield of the appointment desk, talking with Megan. Who, Darcy noticed, was practically melting into a puddle in the bucket car seat that served as a chair. Whatever he was saying was making Meg blush. She glanced at the other stylists. The girls and her customers had stopped to stare. Darcy waved at them to get back to work and not embarrass themselves. Nicki shifted a couple steps closer.

  “Is he just too yummy or what? He looks like something out of an L.L. Bean catalogue.”

  “Yeah,” Darcy said. “He does have that handsome outdoorsy look, huh?”

  Nicki gave her a nudge. “He’s your appointment, you lucky girl.”

  Darcy moved nearer, thinking that tall, blond and handsome looked like he could climb a rock face or trek through Nepal with ease. His buff-colored Adirondack-style jacket with pockets and pull cords looked right on him, and he had it pushed back with his fist braced on his hip. Long legs in jeans ended in Timberline boots.

  “Hello,” she said, and when he turned his attention, the most beautiful pair of blue eyes locked on her.

  “Please tell me you’re Piper.”

  He’s English, she realized, his accent educated, soft. James-Bond sexy. “I am.”

  He excused himself from Meg, then moved toward Darcy. “I’m Kel Adams.”

  His gaze moved over her from head to toe, making her conscious of everything from her exposed tummy to how her breasts sat in her bra.

  “Thank you for the last-minute appointment.”

  “No problem.” Her gaze moved to his hair. “Looks like you need it.”

  “Yes, a good shearing more likely.” He ruffled his long, shaggy blond hair. “I’ve been in the Australian outback for a couple months and didn’t have time before my—” He stopped, then let out a long-suffering sigh. “Forgive me, making excuses again.”

  “Something you and your therapist are working on?”

  He cast her a devilish look that made her insides light up and shimmer.

  “No. I chatter a bit much on useless things, though. Has a tendency to irritate some people. Rather like listening to an excited five-year-old, I’m told.”

  “Then you’ll fit in here.” She inclined her head toward the back. “Let’s shampoo first.”

  Kel nodded, following her. Snapping on the cap and wetting his hair, Darcy could smell his aftershave. There was something about having an attractive man staring directly at your breasts that wasn’t the least bit businesslike.

  He closed his eyes, and as she shampooed and rinsed, he moaned softly.

  “Sorry. Could have gone to sleep right then.”

  “I get that a lot.”

  He chuckled, sitting up, and she rubbed the towel over his hair, then ignored the puppy-dog way he looked up at her. “Wonderful view.”

  Her face reddened and she escorted him to her chair, thinking that he was at least making a boring day better. She turned him toward the mirror.

  “How would you like it trimmed?”

  “Been hacking at it myself lately, so you be the judge.”

  “Ah, a trusting nature,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows and opening and closing her scissors viciously.

  “You’re the professional.”

  Darcy stared at his reflection, judging facial structure, length, then started. Kel was a photographer, she learned, in town to get some Old-West-style shots of houses and old buildings.

  Kel was easygoing, less inclined to get into a heavy discussion and more into teasing them all. “Men should come in here just for the view.”

  “As long as they pay, we don’t care, do we, ladies?”

  The air was peppered with agreements and long looks at the handsome Brit.

  “Stop moving or I’ll make a noticeable hole in your hair.”

  He shrugged. “It will grow back.”

  He flirted like a teenager, with innuendoes and sly infectious smiles. When she was finished, she decided he looked even better than before. He paid, left her too big a tip and said “Cheers” as he walked out. Half her staff leaned out to watch him go.

  Darcy couldn’t help joining them as he swung onto a motorcycle and drove off. A couple minutes later, though, he was right back, jumping off and rushing inside.

  “Forget something, Kel?”

  He walked straight toward her, stopping just two feet away. “Go out with me, Piper.”

  Darcy stilled, staring blankly. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why? You don’t like the accent? Charms the ladies all the time.” He winked at Nicki. “Though my mother would say I’ve the poorest diction in all of Christendom.”

  “Mothers like to needle. And I don’t date customers.”

  “You don’t date at all,” Nicki said and Darcy sent her a “butt out” look.

  His gaze raked her slim body. “Pity. How about dinner?”

  “I’m not interested in a relationship.” She thought of Jack. Though theirs was a strange friendship, it was close enough to a relationship that she didn’t want more of one till her life was in order.

  Kel’s expression went soft. “It’s just dinner, love.” He inched closer, his gaze locked with hers.

  Darcy felt pressured, though she did want to go out, just for fun. And she was so tired of her own company. Before she made the decision, Charlie wandered out. She excused herself, gathering her son in her arms. He was still groggy from his nap, and she kissed his cheek, then set him in her chair.

  “Hi,” he said to Kel, knuckling his eyes.

  “Hi yourself, lad.”

  “I’m Charlie. You talk funny.”

  “That’s because I’m English, you know, the mother tongue.”

  Charlie made a face and Darcy nudged Kel. “Wit is lost on a three-year-old.”

  “Apparently.”

  “What are you doing with my mom’s tongue?” Charlie asked, and barely muffled snickers filled the salon.

  “Nothing…yet.”

  “Kel.”

  Laughing to himself, he said, “Ah, he’s an adorable child, Piper.”

  “Thanks, and he remembers everything, so be careful what you say.”

  “I’ve noticed. So, Charles, have you been to that park, the one near the stockyards?”

  Charlie was suddenly wide-awake and shifting to his knees. “The one with the really big Ferris wheel?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Nope.” He sank into the chair. “Mom says I’m too small.”

  “You look the right size to me.”

  Charlie glanced at his mother accusingly. “Mom says, soon.”

  Kel twisted to look back at Darcy. “How about the park, Piper, with Charlie, tomorrow night? Popcorn, cotton candy, greasy American hot dogs?”

  “Well, that was very manipulative of you.”

  He just kept grinning. “And they say the English are stodgy.”

  “Don’t you have to work?”

  “Can’t shoot film in the dark. Lost half my lighting equipment between here and Sydney.” His expression went sour for a second. “Some bloke is wondering what he’s got, but knows it’s worth a fortune. Good thing it was insured.” Just as quickly, he flashed her a grin and faced her. “Come on, take pity on the poor foreigner.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. “Charlie and I do so want to ride a Ferris wheel.”

  Darcy hedged for a moment, glancing between him and Charlie. They looked like two puppies begging for a treat.

  “I’m rather well off, and I love spending my money on beautiful women. Will that help sway you?”

  “It would me,” Meg said from the desk.

  Oh for pity’s sake. She knew when she was co
rnered, but misgivings haunted her. Kel was a fleeting kind of man, the kind who waltzed in and after some casual fun, waltzed right out. Nothing like Jack. That made her say, “If you promise to keep it light.”

  His smile couldn’t have been more pleased. “Light as you like. Now, I’m off to get a car.”

  “A car?”

  At the door, he looked back over his shoulder and said, “As much as I’d like that lovely body pressed up against me while on a motorcycle, I wouldn’t want to endanger the boy.”

  “I have a car, Kel.”

  He reared back, looking offended. “Well that’s just not-a-tall proper. See you later. Bye, Charles.”

  Smiling, he left the shop and hopped on the bike. Every woman in the salon let out a sigh as he drove away.

  “My heavens, he’s like a whirlwind,” someone said, and Darcy thought it was Zoe. She couldn’t be sure, her heart was pounding too hard to think clearly.

  Oh, man. Oh, man, oh, man. What was she thinking?

  Men asked questions, men wanted personal information, and she was letting a stranger near Charlie?

  She’d have to be extra careful.

  Kel seemed like a nice guy, but then so had Maurice at one time.

  Chapter 8

  T he amusement park was wild with noise and the scent of hot dogs, popcorn and fried falafel. Music blasted over speakers, showering down on the people crowding the old stockyards. Teenagers walked hand in hand, parents corralled kids, and bells went off when someone won a prize.

  Charlie was fascinated, and from his perch on Kel’s shoulders, he had a bird’s-eye view of everything. Darcy glanced up at her son. He was in kiddie heaven, his face smeared with cotton candy, his hands in Kel’s hair. Kel didn’t seem to mind and had a hold of Charlie’s sneakered feet for balance.

  She was grateful. Her son was heavy, and trying to keep a hold of his hand in the crush of people had been murder on her nerves.

  “When I was a boy we had a county fair,” Kel was saying. “Nothing like this.”