brown eyes and finally accepted she was as clueless as he was. With the realization came a giant wave of relief. Sabrina hadn’t morphed into a delusional head case and he hadn’t fantasized that her very essence had changed.
The relief was short-lived as the woman standing inches away narrowed her eyes. But when she spoke, her voice was soft. “Don’t you think it’s time you explained what’s going on?”
“I wish I could,” he said.
Oblivious to the hustle and bustle of the lobby around her, Sophie perched on the edge of an off-white chair and studied the man who had accosted her.
There was no denying he was better-looking than about 98 percent of the men currently walking on planet Earth, but if there was one thing she’d learned the hard way it was this: looks mattered exactly zero. What good were broad shoulders, a lean, fit body and very blue eyes if the person sporting these attributes turned out to be a lunatic or a manipulator...or both?
“I can’t believe you’re not Sabrina,” he said. “The likeness is incredible.”
“First things first,” she said. “Just who are you?”
“My name is Jack Travers. I’m a private investigator from California.”
“For real?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Why does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. I guess you don’t look like one.”
“What does one look like?” he asked.
“Humphrey Bogart,” she answered without hesitation.
“Isn’t he a little dated for you?”
“My mother watches a ton of cable TV. I grew up watching The Maltese Falcon.”
“That’s a hard act to follow. Now, who are you?”
“Sophia Sparrow. Sophie. When you say this woman and I look alike, you’re talking in general terms?”
“Like eye color and height?” he asked and shook his head. “No. I mean identical, like clones, like twins. In fact, that’s the only explanation for your startling similarities and why I was so sure you were her.”
“Except that I don’t even have a sister let alone a twin,” she said. “In fact, I’m an only child.”
“So is Sabrina.”
“You said she’s your friend’s wife?”
“Yes.”
“You also said she felt threatened. What’s wrong? Is she in trouble?”
“I think so, yes,” he said, “but she talked to me in confidence so I won’t go into details.”
“You also mentioned a falling boulder.”
“Did I?”
Sophie wished he would stop staring at her. She tilted her head but no hair fell forward. Why had she chosen today of all days to cut it? She studied her hands to escape his gaze but looked back up because she wanted to know what he was thinking and so far she wasn’t sure. She only knew it was important to figure it out. Something strange was going on in many ways at the same time, leaving her confused and worried.
She’d driven to the coast for one reason—to think. And yet in the back of her mind she admitted that thinking about this mix-up was easier than thinking about herself.
With what sounded like an aha, Jack took his phone out of his pocket and fooled around with it for a second, then turned it so she could see the screen. “This is a photo I took at Sabrina’s wedding. The groom is my friend Daniel Cromwell. He’s currently in Antarctica. Take a look at the bride’s face.”
Sophie glanced from Jack’s intense gaze to the picture, and in that instant, her world flipped on its axis—again. From the bride’s small cowlick near her hairline to her heavily lashed dark eyes, from the shape of her face to her eyebrows to the bump on her nose, everything Sophie could see looked familiar.
Was this a trick? Had an old picture of Sophie somehow been Photoshopped into this format? So many things were different—hairstyle, hair color, makeup, jewelry, dress and, oh yeah, what little she could see of a dark-haired guy whose face was smashed up against hers. This was not a photo of Sophie and yet it looked as though it was.
“She’s prettier than me,” Sophie said.
“She’s a duplicate of you,” Jack murmured, his glance darting from the telephone to Sophie. “And you’re a duplicate of her.”
“She doesn’t have a mole on her cheek like I do,” Sophie continued, unable to stop staring at the woman on the screen. “Does she color her hair?”
“I don’t know. Except that she doesn’t have a purple streak.”
“Neither did I until this morning. You said her name is Sabrina?”
“Yeah. Sabrina Cromwell. Her maiden name was Long. Sabrina Long. She grew up in Astoria, Oregon, about sixty minutes north of here. How about you?”
Sophie had been digging in her shoulder bag as he spoke and now produced her wallet. She handed him her driver’s license. “Born and raised in Portland, Oregon. How old is Sabrina?”
“Eight years younger than Buzz, so around twenty-six or so. Wait, I remember Buzz saying she’s a July baby.” He scanned her driver’s license. “Looks like you were born in July, too.”
“Lots of people are born in July,” she said as she continued staring at Sabrina’s face.
He dug in his pocket and produced his own wallet. “You don’t have to take me on face value either,” he said, handing her his driver’s and private investigator’s licenses. She looked them over before returning them. “Are you adopted?” he asked.
“No. Is she?”
“Not that I know of.”
“I want to meet her.”
“I think she’ll want to meet you, too, but I’m pretty sure she turned her phone off when she decided to take a nap. I’ll try calling her room.”
Sophie popped to her feet. “She’s here, in this hotel, right now?”
“Yes.”
She blinked several times. Was she up to more shocks and surprises? Did she have a choice? She followed Jack to the desk, where he placed the call but ended up leaving a message. “I’m going upstairs to check on her,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
“May I come with you?” Sophie squeaked, then stiffened her resolve. “I need to see her with my own eyes. This is all so...weird.”
