success. She’d called and left messages at Mallory’s condo and on her cell. She was feeling desperate. She had to find her twin and warn her of the danger.
The hour was close to midnight, so there weren’t many people out and about, but that didn’t stop her from casting a worried glance over her shoulder. She’d taken a bus from a park-and-ride close to the motel and walked the rest of the way. Using her key, she opened the door and quickly crossed the threshold, locking the door behind her.
The interior was dark so if Mallory was there, she must be sleeping. She pulled a small penlight out of her pocket, unwilling to risk the overhead lights that would effectively broadcast her presence to anyone who might be watching.
Holding the light low at her side, she walked through the kitchen into the living room. She caught an unexpected flash of glitter, and relief washed over her as she realized Mallory’s hair clip was on the table beside the sofa.
“Mallory,” she whispered loudly as she headed down the hall toward her bedroom. “Wake up. You can’t stay here! I’m in danger. I’m being followed and believe it or not, a cop actually tried to kill me!”
There was no response, and when she pushed open the door to her bedroom, her burst of hope faded when she saw the bed was empty. She took two steps into the room before she noticed the dark puddle staining the floor. She stared at it, slowly realizing it was blood.
Too much blood.
Dread sucked the oxygen from her lungs and she stumbled backward, hitting the door frame hard in her effort to get away. What had happened here? Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to run, but she forced herself to stay long enough to sweep her light over the room, half-afraid she’d find Mallory’s body. She even went as far as to check the closet and under the bed. Nothing. The only item out of place was a bright yellow blouse, lying crumpled in the far corner, darkly stained with blood.
The hair clip and yellow blouse proved Mallory had been here recently. Alyssa swayed. Nausea threatened to erupt from her stomach in a violent heave. As a nurse, she knew there was too much blood to believe Mallory had escaped unscathed. She stared at the yellow blouse, a sinking realization making her knees weak.
The blouse wasn’t Mallory’s. It was the blouse she’d bought for herself last week. Her blouse. Her town house. Both full of blood.
She sagged against the door for support as her mind whirled with possibilities. The night before, Councilman Schaefer had gripped her hand and whispered that he’d been stabbed by a hired thug working for Hugh Jefferson. Stunned, she’d gone straight to the authorities, but Officer Crane had brushed aside her concern.
She thought his response was odd, but one minute they were preparing Schaefer for surgery, the next he was dead. Later that night, after her shift at the hospital, a dark blue van tried to run her car off the road and she’d caught a glimpse of Officer Crane’s ruddy face before she managed to avoid the crash.
Fearing for her life, she hadn’t gone home. She’d checked into a run-down motel and spent the next twelve hours changing her appearance so she looked like Mallory, buying tight clothing and a gaudy purse. She went to the DMV for a new ID and obtained a fake tattoo above her collarbone to match her twin’s.
Now she realized her efforts were in vain. She couldn’t tear her gaze from the yellow blouse, feeling sick as she realized what must have transpired. Mallory probably had another fight with her ex and had come here to find Alyssa for support. Only, Crane or Jefferson must have been watching her town house and killed Mallory by mistake.
Alyssa was the one who knew how Jefferson had killed Schaefer. She was the one Crane had tried to run off the road. She was the one they wanted to silence.
Not Mallory.
Her fault. Her stomach twisted and she shoved a fist in her mouth to silence the scream building in her chest. This was all her fault. Mallory was the only family she had left in the world. And now her twin was gone. Likely dead. Brutally murdered.
Bands of self-reproach tightened around her throat, squeezing tight. Sheer desperation had forced her to break her cardinal rule by borrowing Mallory’s identity. But she shouldn’t have rested until she found a way to warn Mallory.
Now it was too late.
Dear Lord, forgive me. Please forgive me!
A shrill whine of police sirens split the night air. Guilt surrendered to fear. She didn’t know who had called the police, possibly a neighbor. Had they heard Mallory’s scream? She didn’t want to think about how her twin must have struggled, fighting for her life. With an effort, she focused on the present. She had to get out of there. Now. She couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not the police.
Run! Run! One last glance over her shoulder at the blood-stained blouse ripped her heart in two. She didn’t want to leave. But nothing good would come of staying here. She imagined if Mallory was here, her sister would be shouting at her to run. Don’t let them find you, Alyssa. Go! Run!
Tears streamed down her face, blurring her vision. Galvanized by self-preservation, Alyssa clicked off the penlight and ran down the hall, through the open kitchen and living area, pausing only long enough to snatch the glittery hair clip from the table, stuffing it in her purse as she headed to the front door. Her hand clutched the doorknob. She paused, her heart thundering in her chest. The sirens grew louder. Closer. Too close. The back door?
Spinning on her heel, she retraced her steps, crossing the room toward the kitchen door. She stumbled against the table, unable to see. She swiped at her tears, finally finding the door. Sirens continued to echo outside. Did the police know she was here? Was Officer Crane right now trying to find her?
She left the town house, sprinting into the darkness. The windows in her neighbor’s houses were dark—no one was up this late. So who’d called the police? Frantic, she stopped between buildings, trying to think. Indecision held her captive. Finally she ran to the right, through the darkness of her neighbor’s backyard.
She ran as fast as she dared. Her heart thundered in her ears. Panic swelled, choking her. The need to move quietly battled a savage desperation to put as much distance between her and the bloody town house as possible.
Don’t stop. Don’t let them find you. Run!
Where should she go? What should she do? Whom should she trust?
Gage. She needed to find Gage. Her ex-fiancé hadn’t believed her when she’d claimed Hugh Jefferson was dangerous. She didn’t know why Jefferson had killed Schaefer, but she was convinced everything was related to the hotly contested condos Gage had been hired to build. After Schaefer’s claims, she’d called Gage, warned him to stay away from Hugh Jefferson but he’d waved off her concerns. Surely Gage would believe her now. Besides, whom else could she trust?
No one. Only Gage.
She’d broken off their engagement because of Gage’s lackluster faith and his overprotective ways. But right now, she longed for his protection, to feel the strength of his arms around her. To bury her face in the safe haven of his chest.
Her breath scissored from her lungs as she ran through alley after alley, backyard after backyard. Shadows in the normally innocuous Milwaukee suburb loomed ominously. She ducked beneath a low-hanging tree branch, its green leaves rustling in the summer night. The sirens went abruptly and eerily silent. Had they arrived at her town house? Did they discover they’d killed the wrong twin? Identical
