Concealed Identity

DEEP-COVER ASSIGNMENT

After Holt McKnight’s criminal informant disappears, the DEA agent must go undercover to get close to the missing man’s sister, who may know more than she’s letting on. But when Blair Sullivan’s attacked, it’s up to him to protect her—without blowing his cover. Blair isn’t sure she can trust her new neighbor, Holt. After all, the last charming and handsome man she fell for was her late husband, and he turned out to be the brother of a ruthless drug lord. Yet when it’s clear the target on her back is somehow linked to her past, she has no choice but to accept Holt’s protection. Even if getting close is the last thing her scarred heart can handle.

“Blair, you’re in trouble. I can tell.”

She wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Frustration leaped into his words. Not just because he was losing precious time finding her brother and his colleague, but he wanted her trust. Holt wanted her to lean on him.

Even though he shouldn’t.

“I—”

“It’s obvious you’re worried but you won’t go to the police.” He softened. It was time to give her the peace she so desperately needed. “I know someone who can help who isn’t a cop. He’s a private investigator. And he could look into what happened. Maybe find out where Jeremy is.”

For a brief moment her chin quivered and her eyes seemed hopeful, but she tamped it down. Inhaling deeply, she shook her head. “Jeremy has a friend. Someone he said he could depend on. He helped him get clean and keeps him accountable. He might know where Jeremy is. Could you...could you help me find him?”

Holt’s insides wilted.

Yeah. He could help her find that friend. She was staring right at him with watery eyes, and he wanted desperately to tell her. His gut said she was innocent. But his job said to follow protocol. He’d never been more torn. But he’d never once broken cover. He couldn’t start now.

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Holt and Blair’s story. Maybe you can relate to Holt. He had big dreams and lots of plans that he’d committed to the Lord, but a tragedy in his life ripped them out of his grasp and he feared to dream again. To hope again. He buried his faith when he buried someone he loved deeply. One of my favorite accounts in the Bible is Jesus traveling to raise Lazarus from the dead. Lazarus’s sisters were devastated. All seemed lost. No hope. And yet Jesus called Lazarus to come forth. The passage tells us that he immediately arose and came out of the tomb, still bandaged from his grave clothes.

Maybe all your hopes and dreams have decayed in a tomb built by tragedy, pain, loss. If you can muster up even a mustard-seed-sized amount of faith to believe that God can heal your heart, raise up dead or new dreams—like Holt, you’ll find that peace and joy you’ve been craving for so long but were afraid to grab hold of. Maybe it’s time for you to trust Jesus to say, “Come forth!” and see what He raises to life!

I’d love for you to get Patched In! My newsletter subscribers receive first looks at book covers, excerpts and occasional FREE novellas, as well as notifications when new books release. Sign up today at www.jessicarpatch.com. Please feel free to email me at jessica@jessicarpatch.com, join me on my Facebook page, www.Facebook.com/jessica rpatch, for daily discussions and take a peek at my Pinterest board to meet the characters and get an up-close view of the scenes from the book.

Warmly,

Jessica

JESSICA R. PATCH lives in the mid-South, where she pens inspirational contemporary romance and romantic suspense novels. When she’s not hunched over her laptop or going on adventurous trips with willing friends in the name of research, you can find her watching way too much Netflix with her family and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. To learn more about Jessica, please visit her at jessicarpatch.com.

Concealed Identity

Jessica R. Patch

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Now hope does not disappoint,

because the love of God has been poured out

in our hearts by the Holy Spirit who was given to us.

—Romans 5:5

To my son, Myles, for inspiring me with your endless imagination and amazing me with your servant’s heart. I love you.

Thanks go out to:

My agent, Rachel Kent, for continuing to champion and believe in my writing.

My editor, Shana Asaro. As always, thank you for your keen eye and amazing editorial skills.

Susan Tuttle: thank you for brainstorming and seeing me through yet another book.

Special thanks to Sergeant/SWAT Commander Greg Carson for helping me get my DEA information correct and for so many great ideas. If something’s not right, or stretched, it’s my fault!

And to Jesus. For Your glory always. My hope is in You alone.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Acknowledgments

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

ONE

Blair Sullivan glanced in the side-view mirror of her company’s box truck. The dark SUV seemed a little too close for comfort, and with her past, she wasn’t taking any chances. Not when the windows were tinted far beyond the legal limit. It looked exactly like the types of vehicles she’d ridden in over the years.

And no one good had ever been inside.

Pulse skittering, she laid on the gas while her sister, Gigi, obliviously switched radio stations and rambled about lunch destination choices. She must have pressed the pause button with her on-again, off-again boyfriend who co-owned the Black-Eyed Pea. That was where they normally ate their meals, since neither had mastered the kitchen, unless peanut butter and jelly counted.

“It’s hotter than blue blazes.” Gigi lifted her hair, a shade lighter and a few inches shorter than Blair’s, from her neck. “You notice Mr. Hollywood noticing you at the auction this morning? Because I did. I also noticed you noticing him.”

Could she use notice in a sentence one more time?

Blair’s stomach roiled as she glanced in her side-view mirror again. The SUV continued to follow. Could be paranoia. She’d been looking over her shoulder since her late husband, Mateo, was gunned down in Colombia. Not long after their wedding, she’d discovered he was a drug lord in a major cartel and not the man she’d believed him to be. But at that point, it was too late to get out alive. Blair had shielded Gigi from that world of fear, and she wasn’t about to pull her into it now.

It’s a casual drive home. Act normal.

A few cars sped by. Not much traffic this Saturday morning. Her heart rate continued to elevate as memories surfaced, but she forced herself to engage in conversation. “He wasn’t noticing me. He was watching to see if I’d keep bidding on the storage unit.” He had been attractive, though. Built like a superhero made of steel. Dark scruff that did little to hide the deep dimple in his squared chin.

Okay, so she’d noticed. Every woman at the storage unit auction had perked up when he had swaggered onto the scene. Not just because he was movie star good-looking, but he was new to the monthly auctions. “That reminds me, did you see Ronnie Lawson or hear him mention he wouldn’t be there today?”

The SUV continued to ride her bumper. She was going seventy!

“How does Mr. Hollywood even remotely remind you of Ronnie?” She snorted. “I didn’t hear jack, but I know you’d have lost that unit if he had. He seems to enjoy outbidding you.” Gigi paused, her dark eyes concerned. “Hey, you okay? You look wigged out.”

Blair cleared her throat. “I’m fine.” She breathed evenly, pasted a fake smile on her face and hammered the gas pedal as she exited the ramp onto the outskirts of her small town of Hope, Tennessee. The place where she’d started over. Where her grandparents had lived most of their lives. The only place Blair had ever felt safe and at home. “Just feeling buyer’s remorse. I may have paid more than I should for that unit.”

She’d hoped the SUV wouldn’t have taken the ramp, too. But it had. What to do... What to do...

“You’ll know once you get home and inventory everything. So, about the guy. He looked exactly like Superman. Coal-black hair. And those eyes. No one has eyes that blue but Superman.”

At twenty-six, and two years younger than Blair, Gigi acted more like fifteen. She wasn’t going to let up on the hot topic. Mystery Auction Man was no Superman. Superman didn’t hold wildfire in his eyes. Red flags had flown high. She’d been duped by charm and good looks before and ended up marrying the man behind them. Never again. No more falling for liars and men who pretended to be one thing when they were something else entirely.

Blair changed lanes, the SUV stayed in the right one. Okay, maybe she was being paranoid after all. A few cars zinged by, leaving the bypass she was now on empty. Only them and the SUV.

“Fine,” Gigi said, “if you don’t want to talk about Mr. Hollywood, let’s talk about our brother. You heard from him?”

Another flop of her stomach. Jeremy hadn’t called or answered any of her texts and voice mails in several days. It wasn’t like she could pop on over to his apartment, since he lived in Memphis, though she’d tried to get him to move to Hope. Closer to her and Gigi since their father traveled regularly now that he was retired. Right now he was off in the West Indies and her brother was AWOL. Surely Jeremy hadn’t relapsed. He’d been doing so well. Lord, please keep Jeremy out of trouble again. Watch over him.

The SUV changed lanes and zoned in on her bumper. Blair white-knuckled the steering wheel and slid her upper lip into her mouth, concentrating. Thinking. Praying. Lord, let me simply be paranoid. She shifted back into the right lane, hoping the driver was in a hurry and would pass her.

Please. Please. Please.

Pulse pounding as they shifted in behind her, Blair inhaled and exhaled. “Can you turn the radio down?” She couldn’t think straight. Her head buzzed.

“Why?” Gigi lowered the volume but huffed. “Blair, what’s wrong with you?”

The SUV rammed the back of her truck.

Gigi squealed. “What was that?”

“Sit tight.” Blair increased speed. Nothing but fields for miles on their way home. Of course, she wasn’t dumb enough to try to make it there and lead her pursuer to the house, but she didn’t know where to go or what to do. She could hardly swallow.

She glanced in the rearview.

The SUV was gone!

But there it was in her side mirror, gaining.

“Reach under the seat and get my gun, Gigi!”

“Gun! You carry a gun?” Gigi’s eyes widened, hysteria and questions blaring loud and clear.

Blair didn’t have a choice. “Now is not the time. Get it,” she hollered, and floored it. Gigi’s hands trembled as she handed Blair her Glock.

“What are you going to do?” Gigi’s voice squeaked with panic.

Good question. She had to protect Gigi and herself. Blair had learned a thing or two—if only indirectly—being married to Mateo. Always be wary and always be on the offense.

She rolled her window down and aimed the gun, hoping her time at the gun range and some prayer would help her hit the tire and spin the SUV out.

Gigi’s anxious cries echoed through the cab.

Blair gripped the gun with clammy hands, lungs squeezing, and fired a round.

The SUV rammed her again, sending them lurching. What was that thing made of—steel? The passenger window lowered. A man she didn’t recognize, wearing dark glasses, raised the barrel of a gun.

Blair cracked off another shot, missing the tire, but hitting the metal around it. The SUV swerved, giving them time to veer ahead.

Gigi screeched.

Cracks sounded in the body of the truck.

“Lord, save us!” Blair prayed, then shifted in her seat. “Take the wheel and the gas!” she commanded, and raised her gun, firing at the tires again. Blood whooshed in her ears, and her throat had turned as dry as dead grass.

Gigi scooted over, gathered the wheel and replaced Blair’s foot with hers on the gas pedal. “I’m scared!”

“Me, too, G. Hold on and pray.” Blair didn’t want to hang out the window, but she couldn’t get a clear shot at the tire. What other choice was there? If she didn’t spin the SUV out, she and Gigi might get killed.

Blair turned in the driver’s seat and leaned out the window.

Another pop pierced the air, and the SUV struck the corner edge of her vehicle.

“I’m losing control,” Gigi shrieked, and flinched. “Blair!”

Her truck swerved and Blair whirled around to take the wheel, but it was too late. They sailed into the ditch on the right side of the road.

Shots were fired in rapid succession as if a gun war was happening behind them.

Blair’s head nailed the steering wheel. Her neck popped and a blinding pain shot clear to her toes. Gigi, eyes closed, slumped against the passenger-side door, her long walnut hair covering her face.

“Gigi!” Blair called.

Another round of shots were fired.

With blurred vision, she groped for the gun that had clattered to the floorboard and grabbed it. She had to save them from whoever was trying to kill them. Why were they being targeted?

Blair forced the driver’s door open. Hot, sticky blood oozed down her forehead and cheek. Hands shaking, she stumbled into the brush on the side of the road. The world tipped.

The SUV fled the scene as a red truck stopped on the side of the road.

A man bounded toward her as she tottered to the ground.

* * *

DEA Agent Holt McKnight raced toward the woman he’d identified as Blair Sullivan, who had collapsed into the waist-high weeds. He’d been on his way back from the auction outside town but had to stop about six miles back for gas. Somewhere between the gas station and here, someone had emerged and tried—worst-case scenario—to kill Blair and her sister. Best-case, scare and run them off the road.

Based on things her brother, Jeremy, had told Holt in casual conversations, Blair wouldn’t hurt a fly. From the hailstorm of bullets, Holt wasn’t so sure. Not exactly the same innocent-looking woman he’d observed at the storage auction this morning.

Either way, Holt had a job to do and Blair Sullivan’s sunny smile and warm eyes weren’t going to interfere. Jeremy, his criminal informant, and Bryan Livingston, his DEA colleague, were missing. The only connection between the disappearances was Alejandro Gonzalez, the right-hand man of the Juarez Mexican Cartel, who had last been seen in Hope.

Holt had jumped on the undercover assignment to investigate and hopefully find Agent Livingston and Jeremy alive. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to Jeremy. Not only was he his CI, but Holt had been mentoring him over a year after helping him get into rehab in Memphis.

Holt knelt over Blair. Blood slicked her cheek and neck, but the injury didn’t appear too bad. Next to her lay a Glock .380 auto. Slimline. Nice choice. It appeared Blair knew guns. But then, she’d been married to a criminal who trafficked them along with drugs. How could a woman who seemed so kind and gentle have gotten messed up with someone like Mateo Salvador?

Holt checked her pulse. Steady.

Blair’s long eyelashes fluttered and rose to reveal dazed eyes the color of medium-roasted coffee beans. Man, but she was beautiful. Get a grip, Holt. She’s a person of interest and you know her past. She shot up and skittered back. “Get away from me!” She searched along the ground frantically.

Holt raised her gun. “Looking for this?”

Terror pulsed in her eyes, and she held her hands up. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Then that makes two of us.” But trouble had reared its ugly head. Question was, had it come for her or because of her?

Easing into his cover, he pasted on a grin, hoping to disarm her. He needed Blair Sullivan to trust him. “I’m Holt Renard. Was on my way home when I came up behind that vehicle.” He’d been following her for two days, not that he wouldn’t recognize her. Jeremy had a few family photos on his mantel, and Holt had thoroughly examined the case files on Mateo Salvador. “Why were they shooting at you?”

Not that she’d tell him if she did know, but she was scared and it might tumble out. Had it been Alejandro in that SUV? Or Hector Salvador, her late husband’s brother and the head of the Colombian Salvador Cartel? Did he find out Blair was fraternizing with his greatest enemy? Was she playing both sides? Eyes that held goodness and honesty told him she wasn’t playing anyone. But looks could be deceiving.

Recognition lit her face. “I know you. You were at the auction today. Trying to outbid me. You’re Superman.”

Wow, she’d really nailed her head good. He’d been called a lot of things, but Superman wasn’t one of them. Had to admit, he kinda liked the idea. But reality smacked him with truth. Holt was no one’s hero. The one person he’d wanted to save most in his life, he couldn’t.

He cocked his head and contained his amusement.

She shook her head as if confused. “Did I say that out loud?”

“That I’m Superman? Yeah. You said that. And you’re right—I was at the auction today.” It had been a great place to blend in and study her without raising suspicion. He didn’t think she’d paid him a lick of attention. Apparently, she had. He clasped her hands and helped her to her feet. She swayed a bit, and he steadied her. “Got a name?” he asked.

“Gigi!” Blair’s face flashed with panic, and she hobbled to her truck. She opened the passenger door, and Blair’s sister moaned and touched her head as she exited the vehicle. A small cut above her forehead oozed a few drops of blood. “You okay, G?”

Gigi nodded and then threw up in the field.

“We need to get her to a hospital.” Holt stepped closer.

Blair held Gigi’s hair away from her face and soothed her, stroking her back. Holt’s chest squeezed. Her soft voice and words of comfort to her sister moved him, not to mention she was ridiculously pretty. Fairly tall, even compared to his six-foot-three frame. Curvy where she should be, but delicate. Surely this woman wasn’t neck-deep in drug trafficking.

Gigi turned in his direction and moaned. “Naturally, the guy with the eyes would see me ralph.”

Holt chuckled. “If it makes you feel any better, you did it gracefully.”

“It doesn’t.”

Blair smirked, then sobered. “I want to get out of here.” She looked at Holt. “Blair. Sullivan. And this is my sister—”

“Gigi. Yeah I got that. Seems you might need a little medical attention.” He pointed to her head.

She touched it and sighed. “It’s not that bad. Thank you for checking on us.”

Not that Holt came to their aid to get close to Blair, but he did hope it might be an open door to gain her confidence. Whether she was involved with the cartel or not, Blair could be the key to helping him find Jeremy and Bryan. And time was not on his side.

“What happened? Who were those crazies?” Gigi took the water bottle Blair gave her and swished some water in her mouth before spitting it out and climbing back inside the truck.

“Yeah, who were those crazies?” Holt asked, frowning. Blair had no business driving after knocking her head like that.

Blair shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m not sticking around in case they decide to come back and introduce themselves. Thanks again for your help.”

“Yeah, thanks, Mr. Hollywood.” Gigi smiled and then winced.

“It’s Holt, in case the head injury has you confused.” With all the acting he was about to do, Hollywood fit much better than Superman.

Blair leaned out her driver’s-side window. She looked too petite to be driving this bulky thing. But clearly, the woman was strong. And brave. “Had you not shown up when you did, I don’t know what would have happened. You must have scared them off.”

Holt studied her, searching her eyes for answers to what might have actually gone wrong. Nothing there but terror and confusion. “I guess I did.” It took squeezing off a few rounds himself. Relieved Blair didn’t realize he’d used his weapon, he relaxed his shoulders. “You sure you’re okay to drive? I can give you a lift to the hospital, and we can come back for your truck later.”

Blair’s face blanched.

Did she not plan on seeking medical attention? Not if she didn’t want questions raised.

“I can manage,” Blair finally said. “Besides, my stuff’s in the back and I’m not leaving it.” She narrowed her eyes. “We’ll be fine.”

Holt couldn’t blame Blair for being suspicious of him, but he’d have to remedy it. Quick. If saving her life didn’t get him in her good graces, he wasn’t sure what would. Charm? He could lay that on pretty thick when necessary, but something about the way she’d carried herself and avoided eye contact with him at the storage auction said charm wasn’t the way to go to win her trust.

Honesty might be the ticket. But that was one thing he couldn’t give. Came with the territory. “You sure?”

“Positive. Thanks again.” That was her polite Southern belle dismissal.

“Okay.” He ambled toward his truck with no intention of letting them out of his sight. Blair cranked the engine and it sputtered to life. She pulled through the tall grass and back onto the road from the shallow ditch. Holt followed at a distance, hoping not to further scare them, but this was the only way into town, and he wanted to make sure they were safe.

As he suspected, they went straight to their home. No medical attention. He clambered out of his truck.

“Why are you following us?” Blair demanded.

He held his hands up in surrender. “You took a whack to the head. Just wanted to make sure you got safely home.”

“Well, we did.”

Holt turned to Gigi, who was tottering out of the truck. He rushed to help her. “How do you feel?”

“Like I got hit by a truck.”

Holt winked. “Imagine that. Are you not going to the hospital? You really should.”

Blair came around and slipped in between Holt and Gigi, creating a protective barrier. “I can take it from here.” She shifted her eyes toward Gigi and studied her sister’s face, as if she were in a battle about whether she should go or not.

“I feel woozy, Blair.”

Blair sighed. “We’ll go see Doc Drummond.”

Ah. The local doctor. “What about the police?” he asked. Didn’t matter to him as much as them receiving some medical care. Better if she didn’t call the police. They’d only get in his way. Besides, based on the homework he’d done on the town, the sheriff was recovering at home from a stroke and the deputy chief was in charge. He was only a year younger than Holt’s thirty-two years. Probably didn’t know diddly-squat. This town barely had two thousand residents. Biggest crime might be cow tipping.