Dead Ringer

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but Eli held up a hand. “I know you don’t like people interfering. But I grew up with two sisters and I had, like, a ninety percent success rate with predicting when a guy was bad news.” Her expression hardened, and he knew he was fighting a losing battle. “Please, Lucy, I am just asking you to trust me. I can’t explain why, but please just trust me.”

She studied him for a moment. “You barely know me. I don’t understand why you would even care.”

“It’s in my cop DNA. Though, my partner says I have an overdeveloped need to protect people.”

“Your partner might be right.” The resolve he saw in her eyes was unwavering.

He let go of her arm. “I had a good time this afternoon helping you. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” It was the truest thing he could say to her.

SHARON DUNN

has always loved writing but didn’t decide to write for publication until she was expecting her first baby. Pregnancy makes you do crazy things. Three kids, many articles and two mystery series later, she still hasn’t found her sanity. Her books have won awards including a Book of the Year award from American Christian Fiction Writers, and she was a finalist for an RT Book Reviews’ Inspirational Book of the Year award.

Sharon has performed in theater and church productions, gotten degrees in film production and history and worked for many years as a college tutor and instructor. Despite the fact that her résumé looks like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to be when she grew up, all the education and experience has played a part in helping her write good stories.

When she isn’t writing or taking her kids to activities, she reads, plays board games and contemplates organizing her closet. In addition to her three kids, Sharon lives with her husband of twenty-two years, three cats and lots of dust bunnies. You can reach Sharon through her Web site at www.sharondunnbooks.com.

Dead Ringer

Sharon Dunn

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

—Isaiah 41:10

For the Ladies’ Aid Society and my July brainstorming buddies. Thanks for making me laugh until my sides hurt, supporting me in all matters personal and professional and for praying.

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

EPILOGUE

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Someone was in the house.

Lucy Kimbol pushed her chair back from her work-table. The noise had come from downstairs.

Tuning in the sounds around her, she held her breath. Outside, the rain tapped the roof in a muffled whisper. The view through the window was black. A fan whirred about four feet from her. She leaned forward in her chair. Downstairs, it was silent.

Yet her skin tingled. Her stomach clenched. The same physical responses she had when she was camping and a wild animal was close. Even if she couldn’t see or hear the animal, she could sense it. And now she sensed…something in her house. She released a slow stream of air and remained as still as possible.

A sudden thud from downstairs caused her to jump up from her chair and dart to the edge of her loft. She gripped the wooden railing, scanning the living room and kitchen below. No sign of movement. She had definitely heard something this time, though. Her heart rate accelerated as adrenaline shot through her muscles.

Her house was not that big; most of it was visible from the loft. That meant something or someone had to be downstairs in her bedroom.

Lucy tiptoed down the spiral staircase and crept toward the bedroom door. Another sound, like the brush of a broom or gust of wind came from within the bedroom. She froze. Her hands curled into fists. She locked her knees.

Maybe she should just call the police. No, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone on the Mountain Springs police force. Past experience told her that the police did more harm than good. She could handle this herself.

She took a step forward; her bare feet brushed across polished wood. Her hand grazed the bedroom door. No light penetrated the slit between door and frame.

This could be nothing. A raccoon had probably snuck in through the open window again.

After a deep breath, she pushed hard on the door, burst into the room and flipped on the light in one smooth movement. Something was crawling out of the window, but it wasn’t a wild animal.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Her words came out in a staccato burst, like gunfire.

The man in a hoodie slipped through the window and disappeared. Lucy raced to the window. Sheets of rain made the glowing circle of a flashlight murky as it bobbed across the field. He was headed toward the forest and beyond that the road. A quick survey of the room revealed open drawers and boxes pulled out of the closet. Lucy put a palm on her hammering heart. The man had been holding something as he’d escaped. She’d been robbed!

Outrage fueled by adrenaline caused her to dash out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She yanked open the back door, covering the length of the porch in two huge steps. Focused on the light, her bare feet pounded across hard dirt and rocks. Rain soaked through her shirt and yoga pants before the pain in her feet registered.

She stopped, gasping for air. What had she been thinking? Even if she caught the thief, she couldn’t subdue him. Anger over the theft had pushed her off the porch, but rationality made her quit the pursuit.

Along the edge of the forest, the bobbing light became a distant pinhole before winking out altogether.

Lucy bent over, resting her palms on her knees. Rain slashed against her skin and dripped from her long hair.

Now she was going to have to call the police whether she liked it or not. Her hand was shaking when she picked up the phone. Would this time be different from every other time she had gone to the police for help? As she changed out of her wet clothing, a sense of dread filled her. She doubted that the police would be able to find the thief, if they would even make the effort.

Detective Eli Hawkins saw only a partial view of the woman who had called in a robbery, but he liked what he saw—mainly long dark hair and a slender build. She had opened the door but left the chain lock on. Even with such a narrow view of her, heat flashed across his face. Very attractive.

“Ma’am, did you report a robbery? I’m Officer Eli Hawkins.”

She lifted her chin. “I know all the cops on the force. You don’t look familiar.”

“I’m new.” He’d only been in town for six hours. Now he wondered why all the other officers had been so eager to send him out on a call right away. None of the Mountain Springs officers had said anything directly, but the implication was that no one wanted to handle a call from Lucy Kimbol. Maybe she was one of those people who constantly called the police.

She rubbed her shirt collar. “Can I see your badge?”

Her voice had a soft melodic quality that quickened his heartbeat. He pulled his ID from his back pocket and held it up so she could look at it.

Her blue eyes narrowed. “Spokane police?”

“I’m a transfer.” She didn’t need to know that he was a temporary transfer for a special investigation, which had to remain under the radar. Four years ago, he had put a serial killer behind bars in Spokane. The conviction had made him the serial killer expert in the Northwest. And Mountain Springs needed that expertise.

She undid the chain lock and opened the door. “I tried to catch him myself, but he got away.”

That explained her wet hair. The jeans and white shirt were dry. She must have changed after she’d called in the robbery. The lack of makeup made her pale skin seem almost translucent and her blue eyes even more noticeable. A pile of crime-scene photos flashed through his head. Lucy had the same features, dark hair and blue eyes, as the five known victims of the serial killer. Could she be a potential target for the killer? Would keeping tabs on her lead him to the murderer?

“You should leave catching thieves to the police.” Part of keeping the investigation under wraps involved him playing the small-town cop. Answering this robbery call might win points with the local police department, too, and go a long way toward them learning to work as team.

“Calling the police is always a last resort for me.”

He picked up on just a tinge of bitterness in her voice. Something must have transpired between Lucy and the Mountain Springs police. “Why is that?”

The question seemed to stun her. Emotion flashed across her features before she regained composure. Was it fear or pain?

“Let’s just say that it has been my experience that most cops don’t always do their job,” Lucy said.

He had a feeling there was way more to the story, but now was not the time to dredge it up. He’d just have to tread lightly and go by the book. Whatever her beef was, maybe being professional would be enough to convince her that all cops were not the same.

“If I’d had shoes on, I might have been able to catch him.” She raised a scratched, bare foot.

“Pretty impressive.” That blew his first theory of why no officer wanted to come out here. Any woman who would run after an intruder was not the type to be calling the police all the time.

“Actually, I had a moment of lucidity and realized I wouldn’t know what to do once I caught the guy.” She forced a laugh.

He detected the strain of fear beneath the laughter. “Why don’t you tell me what happened? You think it was a man?”

“He had a man’s build. I couldn’t see his face.” She spoke in a firm, even tone. Only the trembling of her hands as she brushed her forehead gave away that the break-in had rattled her. “I…I was upstairs tying flies.” She tilted her head toward a loft. “I teach fly fishing. I’m a river guide.”

Eli knew enough not to interrupt. People usually had to back up and talk about safe things before they were able to deal with the actual crime.

Her lips pressed together. She stared at the ceiling.

He glanced around the living room, which consisted of rough pine furniture and a leather couch and matching chair. “Would you like to sit down, Mrs. Kimbol?”

“Miss, it’s Miss Kimbol.” She looked directly at him. “And no, thank you, I can stand.”

Her voice held a little jab of aggression toward him. Her demeanor communicated that she did not trust him. It wasn’t personal. He’d seen it before with people who had had a bad experience with the police. Best to back the conversation up. “I hear fly fishing is big in this part of Wyoming.”

“It brings in a lot of tourists.” The stiffness faded from her posture. “I know I love it.”

He spoke gently. “Can you tell me what was stolen?”

She stared at him for moment as though she didn’t comprehend the question. “I didn’t think to look.” She shook her head. “My dresser drawers were all open. He went through my closet.” Her speech became rapid and clipped. “He was holding something…like a bag or pillowcase.” Her hand fluttered to her mouth as her eyes rimmed with tears.

That she had managed to hold it together as long as she had impressed him. She was a strong woman. The sense of violation from a robbery usually rose to the surface slowly, not like with an assault or violent crime, when the victim acted immediately. All the same, a home invasion was still enough to upset anyone.

She collapsed into a chair and let out a heavy sigh. “I guess I do need to sit.” She stared at the floor, shaking her head.

He had to do something. “How about a drink of water?” As he skirted around the back of the chair, he reached a hand out to touch her shoulder but pulled back. He desperately wanted to comfort her, but he wasn’t about to feed into her ill feelings toward police. She might misinterpret his motives.

Water would have to do. Eli walked into the kitchen, found a glass and flipped on the faucet. When he glanced at her through the pass-through, she was slumped over, resting her elbows on her knees, her hair falling over her face.

Eli walked back into the living room and sat on the couch opposite her. He placed the glass of water on the coffee table between them. No need to push her. She’d start talking when she was ready.

Lucy took a sip of water and nodded a thank-you. He noticed the coffee table when she set the glass back down. Underneath the glass was a three-dimensional wooden underwater scene. Trout swam through the wooden stream complete with carved plant life.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She touched the Plexiglas. “My brother made it. He used to fish quite a bit. He was going to help me with the guide business.” A twinge of pain threaded through her words. She crossed her arms over her body and leaned forward. “I’m not sure what was stolen. I suppose I should check the bedroom.”

A department as small as Mountain Springs probably didn’t have a forensics unit. He could call in for instructions, but he suspected there was a processing kit in the car, and that he would be the one doing the processing. “I need to go over the crime scene first.”

The glazing over her eyes cleared. “But it must be one o’clock in the morning.”

“Your house is a duplex. Is there someone next door you could stay with?”

“It’s for rent. I’ve been running an ad, but so far, no response.” She lifted her head, regaining her composure.

On his drive here, he had noticed that the houses were pretty far apart. The subdivision was on the outskirts of town. He had seen signs that indicated directions to a lake and hiking trails. Given the state she was in, it wouldn’t be good for her to be alone tonight. “Is there a friend you can call?”

“Nobody I want to wake up at one in the morning.” Her gaze rested on him for a moment, long enough to make him wiggle in his chair. “I appreciate your concern about me, but I can take care of myself.”

Lucy Kimbol had an independent streak a mile long. “Suit yourself. I do need to process the scene.” It wouldn’t take any time at all to gather evidence from the crime scene, but he could stretch it out. Even though she would never admit it, he saw that she was on edge emotionally. Since he couldn’t talk her into calling a friend, he’d feel better leaving her alone once she’d stabilized. “I’ll get my kit out of the car.” He stood up and looked at Lucy again. A chill ran down his spine. Lucy looked so much like the other victims. He had more than one reason for stretching out his time. “If you don’t mind, I’ll check the perimeter of your house while I’m out there. Sometimes thieves come back or maybe he dropped something.”

Illumination from the porch light spilled over Lucy’s backyard as Detective Hawkins circled around her house. Lucy stood at the kitchen window, gripping the glass of water he had gotten for her. She shook her head. He wasn’t going to catch anyone. He was doing this to make her feel safer. The gesture touched her.

She had breathed a sigh of relief when she’d seen this stranger at her door. It had been an answer to prayer that he was compassionate and not part of the Mountain Springs Police Department she knew. Maybe he would actually catch the thief.

Her emotional meltdown had surprised her. She did not think of herself as someone who needed a fainting couch. She took a sip of the water and set the glass on the counter.

Outside, Detective Hawkins stepped away from the house and out of the light, where all she could discern was his silhouette. He wasn’t a muscular man—more lean and tall. Probably the kind of officer who used persuasion and intelligence instead of brawn. He ambled back into the light and she caught a flash of his brown hair and a focused look on his face, a handsome face at that.

Even though he’d said he needed to process the scene first, she wanted to know what had been taken. She shrank back from the window and headed toward the bedroom. The door creaked when she pushed it open. She scanned the room. Why was her heart racing? The thief was gone. All she had to do was figure out what had been stolen. This shouldn’t be that hard.

She knew enough about police work to not touch anything. She could go through the drawers and closet later to see if anything was missing. A glance at two empty hooks on the wall caused a jab to her heart. Her favorite and most expensive fly fishing rod, broken down and stored in a case, had been taken.

Lucy suddenly felt light-headed. She planted her feet. She’d pulled people out of raging rivers and hiked out of the hills with a sprained ankle. She could handle this. Her stomach tightened. She gripped the door frame.

A stranger had been in here, rifling through her things, her private things. Then she saw the redwood bowl where she kept her jewelry. Her legs turned to cooked noodles as she made her way across the floor. A lump swelled in her throat. Her jewelry was gone.

Eli’s voice came from far away. “It’s me and I’m just coming into the house.”

Lucy’s hand hovered over the empty bowl. Her grandmother’s wedding ring and pearl necklace and the earrings her brother had given her had been stolen.

“Miss Kimbol? Lucy?”

Footsteps pounded on the wood floor. Eli stood in the doorway.

The warm tenor of his voice calmed her. She exhaled. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath.

He turned slightly sideways, indicating the outside door. “I knocked, but I was afraid that—”

She opened her mouth to speak, preparing to be all business, to let him know what was missing. Instead she bent forward, crumpling.

He rushed toward her before her knees buckled. His grip on her forearms was light but steadying. He must have seen something in her body language and facial expression, something she wasn’t even aware of. No matter how hard she tried, she could not pull herself together by sheer force of will.

The heat of his touch on her forearm permeated her skin. She saw no judgment in his expression and his wide brown eyes communicated safety. “I’m…I’m so sorry. I’m not normally like this.”

“Reaction to a home invasion takes a lot of people by surprise.” Still anchoring her arm, he set a box with a handle on the floor.

She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders, but her stomach was still doing somersaults. “There was a bamboo fly fishing rod in a case and…my jewelry. The rod was worth thousands. It was custom-made. The jewelry wasn’t worth much.” But it had been priceless to her. The earrings had been a precious gift from her brother. She shuddered.

“You really need to let me process the scene first. I’ll dust the area where you kept the jewelry and the windowsill and then take some photos.” Leaning close, he whispered, “You might want to go in the next room.”

“No, I…want to help.” This was so ridiculous. Why did she keep losing it emotionally?

He bent over and flipped open the case. He spoke gently but as though he hadn’t heard her protest. “Tomorrow you can come back in here, but make sure a friend is with you. Look and see if there is anything else missing—make me a list with a description of each item.”

She appreciated the concreteness of the assignment and the wisdom behind it. “Sorry, this is my first robbery. You’ve probably done thousands of them.”

He lifted a camera out of the case. He rose to his feet and looked her in the eyes. “You’re going to be all right, Miss Kimbol.”

Detective Hawkins had been right about everything so far. She needed to trust and quit fighting him in an effort to prove to herself that this robbery wasn’t upsetting her. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

For ten minutes, Lucy sat on the couch listening to him work, determined to stay awake. He seemed to be taking a long time for what had sounded like an easy job. She rested her cheek against a pillow as her eyelids grew heavy.

She stirred slightly when a blanket was placed on her. Relishing the comfort, she pulled the blanket up over her shoulder and drifted off again. Sometime later, the warmth of his voice surrounded her. “Miss Kimbol, you need to lock the door behind me. I’ll wait outside until I hear the bolt click.”

She heard his footsteps and the door swing open and then ease shut.

Still groggy, she rose to her feet, swayed slightly and trudged across the floor to flip the dead bolt. She checked the kitchen clock before falling back asleep. It was nearly 3:00 a.m.

His car started up. The rumble of the engine was loud at first but faded into the distance. Lucy pulled the blanket around her; the sense of security she’d felt while he was in the house vanished. Just as she was slipping into a deeper level of sleep, she’d wake with a start, thinking she had heard a noise. She slept fitfully until the phone rang at six.

Even though the phone was on a table by the couch, she didn’t pick up until the third ring. She mumbled a hello.

Heather’s chipper voice floated through the receiver. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

The memory of the robbery made her shiver. “Forgot what?” She should tell Heather.

“Your second date with Greg Jackson, breakfast at Lydia’s Café. You told me about it a few days ago.”

Lucy winced. She had agreed to let Heather create her profile on the online dating service, but now that actual dates were involved, she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.

Heather must have sensed Lucy’s hesitation. “Everything okay?”

Why was it so hard to share with her best friend? Christians were supposed to bear each other’s burdens. “It’s just that—”

“Do you like Greg?”

“He’s seems like a nice Christian guy, but I…” Lucy gathered the blanket around her as the memory of last night invaded her thoughts.

“You only had one date. You do this every time, Lucy. You’ve got to give him more of a chance.”

“It’s not that.” She had no trouble helping other people, but it was so hard to be the one who needed support. She paced through the house. Finally, she stopped, took in a deep breath and blurted, “I was robbed last night.”

“Oh, Lucy, are you okay? Were you hurt?” Heather’s concern was evident even through the phone line.

“I wasn’t hurt or anything.” She stood in the doorway of her bedroom, looking at the dumped drawers, the empty boxes and clothes tossed from the closet. Her hand fluttered to her neck. Detective Hawkins had advised her not to do this alone.

“I’m sure Greg would understand if you need to cancel. He’s probably already in town. Do you have his cell number?”

Lucy’s hand gripped the frame of the door. She couldn’t stay here…not alone. “Actually, I think I need to get out of this house. I’ll go on the date. It’ll get my mind off of things.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.” Anything to get away from being reminded of the robbery. She should have taken Eli’s advice and not spent the night here.

“I’ll meet you right after your breakfast and then, Lucy, I’ll stay with you as long as you need.”

She pivoted and pressed her back against the wall, so she didn’t have to look into the bedroom. “It’s nice to have a friend who reads my mind.”