by Jodie Bailey
Drawn out of hiding...
and marked for death
When someone attacks her at her shop, Jenna Clark knows her secret identity has been compromised. The killer she’s been hiding from has found her...or has he? Police officer Wyatt Stephens vows to protect her, but he doesn’t trust that she’s telling him the whole truth. Is the killer after Jenna, or has he mistaken her for her dead twin?
“Someone thinks I’m my twin...except...she’s dead.”
She handed Wyatt a battered sheet of newspaper. “I got this in the mail two years ago.”
“One Dead in Hit-and-Run.” The woman in the photo was a mirror of Jenna.
Why did someone think she was alive? And why did they want her dead now?
If he was in charge, he’d have already moved Jenna to a safe house and let the Feds sort it out. Instead, they expected her to meet a killer in a prearranged location.
Jenna sighed. “Yesterday I was probably the safest I’ve ever been. I had friends, a job I love, a place that feels like home. Now I’ve never been in more danger.”
His phone buzzed, and he knew the time had come. “You don’t have to go. Say the word and we can hide you.”
“I want this finished now.” Without hesitation she stepped out the door and out of his line of sight. The sound of the closing door reverberated.
Along with a gunshot.
Jodie Bailey writes novels about freedom and the heroes who fight for it. Her novel Crossfire won a 2015 RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Book Award. She is convinced a camping trip to the beach with her family, a good cup of coffee and a great book can cure all ills. Jodie lives in North Carolina with her husband, her daughter and two dogs.
Books by Jodie Bailey
Love Inspired Suspense
Freefall
Crossfire
Smokescreen
Compromised Identity
Breach of Trust
Dead Run
Calculated Vendetta
Fatal Response
Mistaken Twin
Texas Ranger Holidays
Christmas Double Cross
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Mistaken Twin
Jodie Bailey
Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and one of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.
—Matthew 10:29–31
To Christina...
More than my accountability partner, you’re my truth speaker, my encourager, my sounding board, my shoulder...my sister.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
DEAR READER
EXCERPT FROM EXPLOSIVE REUNION BY KAREN KIRST
ONE
Jenna Clark untied her bright blue paint-spattered apron, dragged it over her head and tossed it onto the heavy wood counter. The shop was finally quiet after a full day of parents and children and other would-be artists selecting their canvases and colors in order to paint their own take-home art after their visits to the tiny town of Mountain Springs.
Normally, the hustle and bustle of the day energized her, made her feel like she was infusing a love of art in her customers, but not today.
Today, she was simply worn-out, keyed up, a little bit on edge. It could be from all of the additional tourists in town for the bluegrass festival. More eyes meant the need for more vigilance. In her life, strangers truly meant danger.
“Jenna?” Liza Carpenter, the sole employee at The Color Café, leaned against a bright purple wooden chair in front of a teal blue table across the room. “I asked if you were okay. You’ve been spacey all day. Flu season’s kicking in to high gear. You’re not about to fall out on me, are you?”
“Girl, I hope not.” Maybe the flu was it, though. Her brain could be wonky because she was running a fever, not because she was on high alert, praying no one from El Paso would wander into town and recognize her.
Because someone recognizing her would mean she had to turn her back on everything. Again.
She’d worked too hard to make sure being found never happened. After three years under the radar, this tiny North Carolina town was beginning to feel like home. If she had to flee Mountain Springs, it would rip her heart into pieces.
Jenna ran a hand along the polished wood bar, soaking in the peace born from a sense of belonging. When she’d moved to town, this building had been an abandoned eyesore, an old bar named Ridgerunners that had served as the local watering hole for close to a hundred years before shutting its doors nearly a decade earlier. Jenna had attacked cobwebs and cheap wood paneling with all of the fear and pain she’d brought to town with her. By the time she’d finished painting the walls with bright colors and had furnished the space with funky painted tables and chairs to express the artistic inspiration she couldn’t keep from flourishing inside her, she’d come to terms with the life she’d left behind. Having a new friend tell her about Christ in the process made the remodel even more symbolic of a whole new way of living.
She hadn’t been able to part with the bar, though. A live-edged slice from one of the huge oak trees that grew in the mountains above the town, it had spoken to her and drawn her in. She used it to separate the main area, where Liza helped customers paint, from the employee area, where they served coffee. The antique wood connected her to the history of the area, even if she was the newest of newcomers to the tiny little up-and-coming craft community.
“Might want to start planning.” Liza shoved the chair under the table then crushed her apron into a ball and walked over to hand it across the counter to Jenna. “Even if you’re not sick, one of us could fall out anytime. Wouldn’t hurt to have temporary help waiting in the wings.”
“True.” Jenna took the apron and shoved aside her negative thoughts. Enough time had passed that surely she was safe now. “I’ll call Rena and Caleb, see if they want to be on call for some possible extra hours.” She aimed her index finger at Liza. “But don’t you go wishing ill on us. I’d rather you didn’t talk about the flu at all.”
Liza saluted. “Want me to clean the bathroom?”
There wasn’t much left to do. They’d straightened the shop as they went during the evening, working around the few tourists who’d come in to paint. The bluegrass festival was drawing crowds to the old courthouse, which the town had converted into the Fine Arts Center, so their typical Friday crowd had been thin. “Go ahead. I can handle it. I’m wound so tight it will do me good to get moving, get some cleaning done. Might make me tired enough to get some real sleep tonight.” A full night’s rest didn’t happen often. Since she’d fled El Paso, sleep had been more like an estranged relative than a trusted friend. It sure didn’t like to come around to visit her house.
Liza glanced at the door and eased closer to it. “If you’re sure...”
Her thinly disguised eagerness dragged a much-needed laugh from
Jenna. “I’m sure. Go to the concert. It doesn’t start for another half an hour, and I’ll guarantee Tim is staring at the door waiting for you to walk through it.” Liza had been dating Tim Stewart since their senior year of high school, five years earlier. Sooner rather than later, the firefighter would ask the artist to marry him. Likely sooner.
“Don’t have to tell me twice... Well, three times.” Liza blushed and grabbed her thick coat off the rack by the door. “I’ll see you in the morning? If the weather forecast is right and it’s going to rain, we’re probably going to be slammed from the minute we open.”
Jenna waved her out the door, then followed to twist the dead bolt behind her. They followed the weather with the same intensity as the hikers up the slopes and the ski-resort owners farther to the west. Rain, snow and cold drove customers to them, searching for a warm place and an outlet for the creative energy they’d built visiting all of the craft stores and artisans’ shops in and around town.
Mountain Springs might not have the draw of places like Asheville or Boone, but it was doing very well on its own. On the sidewalk, tourists and townsfolk alike were bundled against the cold as they hurried toward the Fine Arts Center.
A Mountain Springs Police SUV glided past. Probably Wyatt Stephens. He typically started the night shift about now.
Things outside were going on exactly as they always did. Even with the increased foot traffic, nothing looked out of place.
The best thing she could do to settle herself was to get moving, then go home to hot coffee, a warm fireplace and whatever cheesy movie looked good on Netflix.
Better yet, she could call Christa Naylor and see if the older woman would let her come up to her little mountain retreat for the rest of the evening. Christa’s tiny pottery studio might be just the thing to soothe Jenna’s spirit. It had worked many times before, as had some long talks over Christa’s valley-famous tea.
That’s exactly what she’d do as soon as she finished prepping for the next day. With the weather turning, she’d stock the paint trays and refill the bottles tonight so she wouldn’t be rushed in the morning. It was likely a crowd would be waiting outside the door for her to open like the last time the rain and cold had blown in together. They’d had a rough day then. The shop had been behind from the time the door opened all the way until they locked the doors for the night. The chaos of a day of unpredictable, bad weather wasn’t something she wanted to repeat.
At the counter, Jenna tugged out large paint jugs and began to refill the smaller ones they kept on display. It didn’t take long for the work to chase away the creepy crawlies. There was something about the swirls of color, the order of the paints across the spectrum from dark to light in shelves along the side wall... Color filled her heart, reminding her of the rainbow God had sent to Noah.
As she reached for the next jug, her phone vibrated in her hip pocket. Erin Taylor. The closest thing she had to a best friend. Cradling the phone between her ear and shoulder, Jenna reached for a jug of blue. “Hey, girl.”
“Are you coming to the concert tonight? I’m just walking in the door. It’s filling up fast and I’ll need to save you a seat.”
Jenna unscrewed the cap on Mediterranean Seashore and grabbed a smaller bottle to refill. “Probably not. I’ve been off my game all afternoon, so I’m going home to get some rest.”
“You are zero fun.”
“Is Jason with you?” The answer was almost definitely a yes. An instructor at the army’s nearby Camp McGee, Erin’s fiancé was rarely far away from her side when he wasn’t on duty.
“Yes.”
“I’m definitely not crashing date night.”
Erin’s sigh was loud. “Give me a break. We’d love for you to hang out. Besides, one of the bands you said you like will be here.”
“I don’t know.” Jenna drummed her fingers on the counter. Crowds had never been her thing, even less so since she’d fled Logan’s wrath. Aside from the crowd, Erin didn’t need her there. She had Jason. “The weather tonight makes it a good night to find something on—”
A creak from the back of the building made Jenna jerk her hand and slosh blue paint into a streak across the metal counter beneath the bar. She stared at the entrance to the hallway running from the customer area to the rear of the building, where her small office, a bathroom and the alley door were.
She’d locked the back door, right?
“You okay?” Erin’s voice rose with concern. It had been only a few months since someone had stalked and tried to murder Erin. Her radar still pinged on high.
“I thought I heard something. Let me make sure I locked the door. It will only take me a second.” Before Erin could protest, Jenna laid the phone on the counter next to the paint.
She wiped her hands on her jeans, grabbed a pair of scissors from the jar by the sink and crept toward the hall, makeshift weapon at the ready. If anyone happened to peek into the front window, they’d probably call the police...or the mental ward at the hospital.
Surely she was safe. God was watching over her. Still, His presence didn’t mean she didn’t have to take care of herself.
Inching into the hallway, she looked straight through to the rear of the building. The alley door appeared to be firmly shut. The monitor above the door, which connected to a camera outside, revealed no one on the back stairs.
Lowering the scissors to her side, Jenna chuckled, even though paranoia wasn’t exactly funny. She glanced at the bathroom door. She’d check there, but only to prove to her brain that all was well and it could stop playing tricks on her.
The door was closed.
Her brow furrowed. Funny. She didn’t remember closing it, tried to keep it open so customers would know when it was free to use. Maybe the last customer had shut it, but...
Her hand drew away from the knob.
With a crash that seemed to rock the building, the door flew open, knocking Jenna’s arm away and driving her backward against the wall. The scissors flew from her hand and clattered to the floor. Air squeezed from her chest. She staggered, the world spinning, her pulse a solid, pounding thump in her ears.
A powerful arm caught her beneath the chin and dragged her upright, pinning her against the wall, her neck bent backward, pressure against her throat gagging her. Rational thought fled in the driving need for survival. Jenna struggled, twisted and scratched, to no avail.
A body, heavy and solid, leaned against hers, pinning her arms into uselessness. A mouth pressed to her ear. “Thought you could hide forever, huh?”
Jenna whimpered, pain and fear flashing hot and melting her joints. Tears stung her eyes. This was not Logan, but he’d found her. Somehow, he’d found her.
The man jerked her chin higher with his forearm. Something solid and horrifyingly familiar gouged into her ribs.
The barrel of a pistol.
His voice hissed hot against her ear. “I know someone who’s going to be very, very happy to see you, Ms. Brady.”
Her real name. Jenna’s eyes drifted shut, and she whimpered despite the forearm crushing her throat. There was no doubt he knew who she was, and no doubt Logan had put a price on her head for leaving him.
Officer Wyatt Stephens turned onto Valley Street and cranked the heat. The air in his patrol SUV was taking forever to warm, the damp chill of a January evening proving to be one of the toughest enemies in Mountain Springs.
His gut sank. Not as tough as the real enemy seeking to encroach on the town he’d grown up in and loved. The box truck they’d located on the old Gaskins property on Overton Road a few months earlier had reeked of body odor and long-term living. It was clear several people had been forced to call the cramped space home for quite a while, but the truck had been empty by the time a couple of deer hunters had stumbled upon it.
Someone had tried to move people through town like cargo.
The FBI and the Departm
ent of Homeland Security had completed their investigation last month, concluding the traffickers had broken down while passing through, but Wyatt wasn’t so certain. Lord, please don’t let them be looking to use Mountain Springs as a depot.
It was his biggest fear. He would lie awake at night considering the horrors of someone using the tiny town as a stop on the trafficking pipeline that ran from the country’s northern border to its southern border. For months, he’d eyed every stranger in town with suspicion. He had even taken a closer look at some of the families of the old-timers who’d once run moonshine along these ridges. The very idea someone would treat a human being like a commodity made him nauseous.
The idea someone so vile and heartless might be a person he actually knew—
The ringing of his cell phone jerked him out of a dark reverie. Erin. His cousin was always good for a smile.
She’d been living at his house since she’d left her father’s house in the fall, and was preparing to marry her fiancé, who also happened to be his closest friend.
She probably had another wedding assignment for him. As the best man, his to-do list grew every day. He punched the answer button on his Bluetooth. “I’m on duty, E. I can’t be running your wedding errands right now.”
“Where are you?”
The frantic tone of her voice had his foot easing to the brake pedal, and he cast his eyes to the rearview to see how quickly he could make a U-turn and get to the house. No, to downtown. She was supposed to be at the Fine Arts Center with Jason. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Jenna.”
Wyatt’s mouth tightened into a grim line and he hung the U-turn, headed toward downtown and the strip of historic buildings along the main street. Jenna Clark wasn’t high on his list of likable personalities, but she was Erin’s best friend. “Talk to me.”
“I think someone’s broken in to the store and she’s there. She set the phone on the counter to walk to the back and check on a noise, then I heard a crash, her scream and a man’s voice. I—I can’t tell what they’re saying.”
