ripped off her cleaning uniform of khaki pants and solid navy polo shirt, threw them over the back of the couch and put on a tank top and shorts. Damn it, Damien wasn’t here. Couldn’t hurt her. There was no snow. There was only California sunshine and a view of the beautiful Pacific Ocean. He would not steal this from her like he’d stolen so much. She would sit out on the deck and do nothing.
She was successful at that for all of ten minutes.
The knock on the door had her bolting from her lazy sprawl in the hammock, her heart a hammer against her ribs. She looked at the front door, then at the stairs that led from the deck down to the street below. Should she run?
Her backpack was still inside. If she ran, she would have to leave everything behind. Money. Clothes. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.
The knock came again as she fought to decide what to do.
Damien wouldn’t knock. She calmed a little as the words flowed through her. If Damien had found her he would not be knocking politely at the door.
This wasn’t even her house. Chances were it was someone for the owners. Easy to get rid of. She walked inside to the front door, collecting herself.
As soon as she opened the door she knew she’d made a mistake.
Everything about the Asian man and smaller blonde woman, both dressed in carefully cut suits, screamed federal agents. Natalie should’ve chosen to take the stairs at the deck, to get out while she could. Leaving behind everything would’ve been better.
She forced herself to breathe at an even, normal pace. She eased the door more slightly closed, hoping if she needed to slam it and run she’d be able to.
“Can I help you?”
“Natalie?” The woman, four or five inches shorter than Natalie, with hair almost the same color blond, spoke.
“I’m sorry,” Natalie said, avoiding the question. “This isn’t my house. I’m just house-sitting for a friend.”
Oh, crap, Natalie realized she didn’t really know anything about the owners. She had their names written down somewhere on the instructions Olivia had given her, but didn’t remember them offhand.
“But you’re Natalie, right?” the woman asked again softly. The man moved slightly closer to the woman, almost as if he was going to step in front of her to protect her if she needed it. Like Natalie was going to jump out at her kicking and clawing. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.
She had to stay calm. “I think you have me confused with someone else. Like I said, this isn’t my house, but I promise I’m not here illegally.” She inched the door farther closed.
The woman just reached down into her bag and pulled out a photograph, sticking it directly in front of Natalie’s face.
Fear closed around her throat. It was a shot of her and Damien on their wedding day, smiling at one another. Natalie’s hair had been much longer, her cheeks fuller, her smile genuine.
She felt the room begin to spin.
“Whoa, are you okay?” It was the man this time. He pushed the door open and grabbed Natalie’s arm before she could fall. “Just take a breath, all right? We just want to ask some questions.”
Natalie’s knees couldn’t hold her anymore and the guy helped lower her to a sitting position on the floor leaning back against the wall next to the door. Both he and the woman took advantage of Natalie’s moment of weakness to enter the house, closing the door behind them.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Natalie said again. “This isn’t my house.”
The two people looked at each other, the man giving the woman a slight nod. Some sort of secret agent code, for sure. Then they both looked back at her, squatting down so they were closer to her, eye to eye.
“I’m Andrea,” the woman said. “And this is my husband, Brandon.”
No last names. No credentials. Natalie didn’t want to push, but at least they weren’t reading her her Miranda rights.
Of course, the afternoon was still young.
“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well,” Natalie finally responded. “I appreciate your help, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Like I said, this isn’t my house and I had express instructions that I wasn’t to have anyone else here while the owners are away.”
“Just let us help you get over to the couch,” the man, Brandon, said. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”
If that would get them to leave, then great. “Fine.”
She took the hands both of them outstretched and rose. They walked her over to the couch, and she sat back down, feeling the shirt and pants she’d thrown over it rub against her back.
“Thanks. If you guys don’t mind seeing yourselves out, that would be great.” Natalie would be seeing herself out as soon as they were gone.
Out of the entire state.
“It’s obvious you don’t want to talk to us,” Andrea said, taking a seat in the chair across from Natalie, much to her dismay. “We’d just like you to listen for a few minutes.”
What could she do? Natalie nodded slowly.
“We’re trying to find Damien Freihof,” Brandon said, coming to stand next to his wife, still staying within a protective reach.
Natalie fought not to blanch, not to give anything away, when it was all she could do not to bolt. “I’m sorry. I think you have mistaken me for someone else.”
It was just as flimsy the third time, but it was all she had—hanging on to the possibility that they weren’t exactly sure who she was. Although the wedding picture was pretty damning.
But at least if they were looking for Damien, they hadn’t been sent by him.
“Falsifying a death report is illegal,” Brandon continued, but then stopped with just the slightest touch on his arm by Andrea.
Just a single touch. What would it be like to have someone respect you and care for you so much that the touch of fingertips communicated something both ways? Something Brandon obviously respected.
Natalie had never had that in her entire life.
“It’s imperative that we find Damien Freihof,” Andrea said. “Lives are at stake.”
Natalie just stared. She couldn’t help them even if she wanted to. She’d known better than to keep tabs on Damien—the man was near genius with a computer. He would’ve found out.
She shrugged. “I can’t help you.”
“Maybe we can help you,” Andrea continued. “Keep you safe, if that’s part of your concerns.”
Natalie just shrugged again.
“We’re talking about more than just Brandon and me, of
