Читать книгу Which Twin? - Elane Osborn - Страница 10

Twenty minutes later Rose was seated in Logan’s red Mustang.

“Where are we going?” she asked as Logan finished pulling off the quiet residential street and onto a busy boulevard.

He gave her a quick glance before turning his attention to the traffic ahead. “To see a friend of mine from college.”

Rose blinked. Her life had been turned upside down and he wanted to socialize? Slowly she asked, “And we would do this because…?”

“Because he works in the police forensics lab.” Again Logan glanced her way. “You are still willing to prove your identity, aren’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have the glass from Anna’s bathroom, one of her perfume bottles and her brush, which should hold her fingerprints. I also have a clean glass for you to leave your prints on. My friend Dennis agreed to do a quick comparison. That is, if you’re still so sure of yourself.”

Logan turned narrowed eyes to Rose as the car stopped for a red light. She stiffened beneath his suspicious glance. “I’m sure. And once I prove to you that I am Rose Delancey, I want you to promise—”

“One step at a time,” Logan broke in.

Rose had barely managed to nod before Logan’s attention was once more captured by traffic. As the car moved forward, he shifted into second gear, then into third to race down the street. As he swerved from one lane to another, passing the slower vehicles, Rose’s heart leaped, then began to race.

Was this due to fear, she wondered, or excitement? The last few years had become a blur of doctors’ offices, hospital rooms and the small chamber her mother retreated to after each chemo treatment. There had been ups and downs to deal with, hopes and fears, tears and laughter. So her life had hardly been uneventful. And although she and her mother had been dealing with death, together they had learned to live each day as fully as possible, to notice the way the clouds moved in, the taste and texture of each bite of food.

But since the funeral Rose had come to see how narrow her world had grown, and how empty she felt. She’d greeted this numbness with fury, seeing it as a poor way to remember the woman who had given her life, showed her how to live, encouraged her to dream and to follow those dreams, even as all of hers were fading.

Rose sighed and stared out the window at the tall buildings and the business-lunch crowds bustling along the sidewalk. Kathleen Delancey had undoubtedly been referring to life choices and career direction when she’d urged her daughter to “follow your dreams,” but the woman’s death had left Rose feeling too lost to address such imposing matters. So she’d followed the only dreams she could think of, those involving the Golden Gate Bridge and the laughing-eyed man who so resembled Logan Maguire.

This thought brought Rose’s attention back to the man sitting next to her. The sense that she somehow knew this man warred with the knowledge that he was really a complete stranger. A stranger who thought—no, wanted—her to be someone else, something quite ironic, considering that two years ago she’d walked away from what she knew had looked like a fairy-tale marriage for just that reason.

“Yesss!” Logan hissed as the car braked to a sudden stop. He glanced over to smile at her puzzled look and explained, “The parking gods have smiled upon us.”

Rose looked ahead to see a large silver car pull out of a parking space directly in front of them, then held her breath as Logan gunned his motor and angled into the spot practically on the heels of the departing vehicle.

After switching off the engine, he reached into the back seat for the black backpack that held the items he’d referred to earlier. He whipped a handkerchief out of the inside pocket of his leather jacket, then wrapped it around his hand as he retrieved a plain drinking glass.

“Grip this,” he said. “Make sure all five fingers leave a mark. All right, now. Give it back.”

Rose placed the glass in his handkerchief-wrapped hand, then watched him fold the white fabric around the item before returning it to the backpack.

“Okay.” He gave her a smile. “Now we feed the meter, then go confirm that you are who you say you are. Or rather, who you aren’t.”

Rose fought a strange sense of nervousness as she exited the elevator on the third floor of the building Logan led her into. This was silly, she told herself as she followed him down the hall and into a green-and-stainless-steel room, where Logan introduced her to a man wearing a white lab coat over a denim shirt and tan tie.

Dennis Langtrey stood a little over five-seven. He had light, caramel-colored eyes, a round, youthful face beneath short, wavy blond hair and a smile that could only be described as angelic, which instantly put Rose at ease. Once Logan explained what he wanted, the man placed the items taken from Anna’s room into one tray and the glass holding Rose’s prints in another. He then brushed gray powder over them and used tape to lift the resulting smudges. All the while, Dennis chatted with Logan about “old times” at Stanford University. Occasionally he glanced at Rose, as if expecting her to comment, leaving her to assume that this man must have met Anna on several of those occasions.

“Yes, that was some party Robert threw for our graduation,” Dennis said, then smiled as he straightened from his work. “Well, I have a pair of perfect thumbprints. Now for the fun part.”

He moved over to a desk, fiddled with the computer sitting there, and a moment later he was staring at a screen displaying two gray ovals formed of tight concentric lines.

A look of total concentration creased Dennis’s features as he repeatedly glanced from one print to the other. When Rose realized she was holding her breath, she slowly and determinedly released it. This was ridiculous, she told herself. Any second now, this man was going to announce that the prints did not match. She was, after all, not Anna Benedict.

“Wow. These are close,” Dennis said on the heels of her mental declaration. Lifting his head, he looked at Logan and went on, “But, as they say, close only counts in horseshoes.”

“Are you trying to say the prints don’t match?” Logan asked.

“That’s right.” Dennis stood and stretched before going on. “But, damn, they are close.”

“I got that. Are you sure they’re from two different people?”

Dennis glanced at his computer screen with a frown, then looked at Logan again. “Ye-es,” he said slowly.

“Is there some question?”

“No. Not about—”

“Because this is vitally important,” Logan said. “I need you to be 100 percent sure on this.”

“I am 100 percent certain,” Dennis replied. “However, I have a theory I want to check out. There are some hairs on this brush. Can you get me some from the person who donated the other set of prints so I can run a DNA test?”

Logan turned to An—Rose, he reminded himself. He raised one eyebrow inquiringly and after a moment’s hesitation she nodded. Opening her purse, she drew out a small brush and handed it to Dennis.

As the man removed the few strands of hair tangled in the bristles, Logan asked, “Just what are these suspicions of yours?”

“Suspicions?” Dennis’s full lips curved into a particularly cherubic smile as he returned the brush to Rose. “Let’s see…I agreed to look at these fingerprints, despite the fact that you said that you couldn’t tell me what all this was about. So, until I’ve run this test, I think it only fair that I keep my own counsel. Wouldn’t you say?”

Logan met his friend’s wide-eyed, innocent gaze with narrowed eyes. Games. He’d forgotten how much Dennis Langtrey loved to play guessing games. Most likely this characteristic was what enabled the brilliant mind behind that round, childlike face to focus on tiny bits of minutia day after day, trusting that eventually they would lead to the unraveling of a puzzle.

And this was definitely a puzzle worthy of Dennis’s mind. Two women who were almost identical—no, who were identical—yet came from completely different backgrounds. And to make things even more interesting, the day after one of them runs off, her look-alike shows up.

Logan glanced at Rose. And what about this claim that she’d appeared on the Benedict veranda in response to some dream? The story sounded preposterous—like one of Anna’s more outrageous fantasies. But…Dennis had just unequivocally stated that her fingerprints didn’t match the ones he’d lifted from Anna’s glass. They were close, Dennis said. An impossible suspicion grew in his mind. Maybe this test of Dennis’s would confirm it. In the meantime, he needed to keep the Benedict family as normal as possible.

Aware that nothing would get Dennis to tip his hand before he was ready, he asked, “How long before you have the results?”

Dennis shrugged. “Tomorrow, probably.”

“I thought DNA testing took weeks.”

“It can, especially in a murder investigation when you must compare several samples and run multiple tests for accuracy. But if my guess is right in this case, I should only have to run the most basic screen. Also, I don’t have any pressing cases going right now to hold me up.”

It was clear that the man had no intention of giving out any more information. “All right, Dennis,” he said with a sigh. “Keep your little secret for the time being. But call me as soon as you finish running your test.”

“Of course,” the man responded with a nod. “And then you’ll explain what is going on?”

“As soon as I know the whole story.”

And know it’s politically safe to reveal, Logan thought as he ushered Rose out the door. As they walked to the car, he found himself recalling the speculative glint in his friend’s eyes. Upon reaching the car, Logan held the passenger door open for Rose, then walked around to the driver’s side, deep in thought. It was his job to see that the family name remained above reproach, he reminded himself. It was even more important now, with Robert running against an opponent known for gleefully slinging any mud he happened upon—or dug up.

Robert’s track record in state government was above reproach, but news that his daughter might be unstable could kick up a media frenzy that would drain attention from the proposals the man wanted to communicate to the electorate. Logan drew a deep breath. So he had landed in the last place he wanted to be—a political campaign.

Schmoozing and charming was Chas’s department. However, damage control was Logan’s. It was up to him to straighten out this situation, and quietly.

A not-too-polite honk broke Logan out of his thoughts. Realizing that he’d put on his seat belt and placed the key in the ignition only to sit and stare out the window, he switched the engine on. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noted with a grim smile that the car behind him slid into his spot even as he moved forward, just as he’d done over an hour earlier.

An hour in which he hadn’t learned much more than the fact that the woman next to him was definitely not Anna.

“Now what?” she said, echoing his own thoughts.

Logan glanced at her as he stopped for the next light. “Good question. How about some food? It’s after noon, and the last meal I recall was something in a plastic dish served on the airplane an hour before I landed. I don’t think all too well on an empty stomach.”

Rose frowned. “What’s to think about? Your friend confirmed that I’m not this Anna person. End of story. The hotel I’m staying at is around here somewhere, I think. Just drop me off, then you can—”

“Which hotel?” Logan asked as the light turned green.

“The Herbert, on Powell and O’Farrell.”

Logan nodded. He needed a plan, and to give himself time to come up with one, he made small talk.

“I know where that is. Small place. Rather old.”

“Yes. And all I can afford.”

Rose turned to stare out the window, her jaw stiff with chagrin at the ever-so-slightly defensive note she’d heard beneath her words.

It wasn’t that she was ashamed of the reduced state of her finances. She didn’t regret for one moment the money spent on battling her mother’s illness, nor her choice to cut back her performing and teaching schedule to spend as much time as possible with Kathleen rather than taking on new students.

She was a bit embarrassed by the way she’d set off on this trip without considering the cost—driven by a need to escape Queen Anne Hill, to get away from the hustle and bustle of the well-to-do customers who patronized her mother’s gift shop, to escape the sudden emptiness that filled the rooms above that had once rang with loving laughter.

“I can help you with that.”

Logan’s quiet words captured Rose’s attention. She turned to him with a lift of her eyebrows. Before she could ask what he meant, he gave her a smile. It was a wide, warm smile. But this time she noticed right away that it didn’t reach his eyes. Immediately she stiffened suspiciously.

“You can help me with what?”

“Money?”

“And why would you do that?”

“As payment.”

“Payment? For what?”

The smile widened as the car slid to a stop. “For services rendered. And hopefully for services to be rendered.”

Rose frowned. “What are you talking—”

“Park your car, Mr. Maguire?”

A thin brown face appeared at the driver’s side window. Anticipation glittered in the teenager’s dark eyes as Logan replied, “We’ll see. Give us a moment, okay?”

When the boy stepped back, Logan turned to Rose. “I have a proposition for you. It’s of a rather sensitive nature, and given that I’m rather well known in the city, it’s not something I’d feel comfortable discussing in a crowded restaurant. I live in the building across the street. There’s a conservatory on the top floor, an area that’s both public and private at the same time, so you needn’t worry that I’m luring you to my lair. We can stop at the deli to pick up some sandwiches. What do you say?”

Rose wasn’t sure what to say. She glanced around, disoriented.

Apparently, while she’d mulled over the question of her finances and the pain of her recent loss, she’d failed to notice that Logan Maguire hadn’t been driving toward her hotel, as she had assumed. Instead of finding herself in the heart of downtown San Francisco, she discovered that they’d come to a stop on a street running along the southern edge of the bay.

The silver-toned Oakland Bridge soared off to her right. On her left, the building Logan had referred to stretched down the street in both directions, a peachy stucco several stories high with iron balconies and windows framed by brightly colored shutters. High-priced condos, she decided, set up to look like something in a quaint Mediterranean fishing village.

Quaint and expensive.

Tension crept into her shoulders. Once upon a time quaint and expensive had called to her like honey called a fly. And had caught her, just as surely. But, she reminded herself, she’d escaped. Now, forewarned was forearmed. She could walk into quaint and expensive with no fear of becoming entangled in its silky web. She could satisfy her still-unquenched curiosity about this Anna person, then walk away and return to her own pared-down and simple life.

Freed, hopefully, from the dreams that had so haunted her.

“All right,” she replied.

“Leon.” Logan turned to the boy. “Do you know how important my car is?”

The kid nodded solemnly. “You restored every piece of her yourself, and you will hurt anyone who so much as scratches her bumper.”

“Right,” Logan said as he got out. “I’ll call the garage when I’m ready for you to bring her back, in an hour or so.”

Rose watched the boy’s face light up as Logan handed him the keys. By the time Logan reached her side of the car, Leon was behind the wheel, obviously ready to take off as soon as Rose got out. And sure enough, the moment her door closed the kid gunned the motor to a loud roar. He then let it ease to a purr before shooting a grin toward Logan and pulling sedately away from the curb.

Logan led her across the street, then pulled a cell phone from his jacket. As they entered the small deli located on the building’s ground floor, she heard him ask about “the family home project” as she gazed at the selection of salads behind the slanted glass counter.

When the phone conversation ended, Logan stepped up to the counter to order. After the food was prepared and packaged, Rose noted Logan’s composed response to what she considered an exorbitant amount of money for food and beverages that barely filled one small grocery sack, while it was all she could do to keep from choking.

She should be accustomed to people who thought little or nothing of spending large amounts of money, she told herself. After all, her mother’s shop would hardly have supported the two of them, along with her partner, Goldie Lander, for the past nineteen years, if not for customers who were willing and able to pay top dollar for the items on display.

And, she reminded herself as she followed Logan to the stainless-steel elevator, there was nothing intrinsically wrong with that heady lifestyle. She’d simply learned that the cost to maintain it was too high for her blood. No regrets, she told herself as she followed Logan into the elevator.

The area that greeted Rose when the doors opened again whispered of understated elegance. The terra cotta floor was open to the blue sky above, protected from wind and rain by large panes of glass. Here and there lacy potted palms and dwarf citrus trees screened benches or umbrella-covered tables.

Aware that Logan had been as silent as she since leaving the deli, she followed him to one of the tables, where he placed a sandwich and container of salad in front of her. He then took a small pad of paper out of his jacket pocket and began making notations on it with his right hand as he devoured the sandwich in his left.

Rose realized that this was the first chance she’d had to really study the man since those first breathless moments on the balcony, when he’d seemed a dream come true. And, if one went by looks alone, that was just how this man would appear, with his square-jawed, tanned features. The fact that he was every bit as well built as the fit of his jacket indicated had been something she’d learned as she lay pinned to Anna’s bed beneath that powerful body, a memory that now brought a blush to her cheeks and heat flowing wildly through her veins.

Oh, yes, the man of her dreams, she thought as she placed a forkful of macaroni salad in her mouth. Except for the fact that Logan Maguire seemed to be every bit as controlling as the last man she’d thought of in that way. Logan was a man of power, just like Josh—a man who knew what was best for everyone and didn’t hesitate to use charm, coercion or even force to get others to see things his way.

Feeling old angers rise, Rose glanced at her surroundings. She had to admit it would be easy to get used to this sort of life again. Chewing a bite of sandwich, she took in the vistas provided by the windows and the glass roof above. Without even working at it, she could easily allow herself to slip back into the world of wealth and privilege.

Except, she doubted that the price had changed since the last time she considered such a move. And her soul was no longer for sale.

Rose sighed and swallowed her last bite of the vegetable foccacia, then realized she hadn’t said one word to the man who’d paid for it. Lovely manners, she chided herself before saying, “Great view you have here.”

Her words had caught Logan with his mouth full of meatball sandwich. In reply he lifted his eyebrows and nodded.

“Yeah, it is,” he said after swallowing. He glanced around slowly. “I’d almost forgotten about this place. The real estate agent walked me through this area when she showed me the condo, but this is the first chance I’ve had to spend any time up here.”

Rose shook her head. She didn’t know why his words surprised her. Her experience with Joshua Whitney should have taught her how little the very well-off really knew about getting the most out of life.

“Something wrong?”

Logan’s question pulled Rose’s gaze from the magnificent San Francisco skyline rising beyond the glass wall in front of her. When she turned to him, the corner of her eye caught a glimpse of the green water stretching out toward the east bay.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I tend to get irritated when natural beauty is ignored.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Ignored? By me?”

“Yep. You have this great place you can use anytime, and you don’t even take the trouble to come up here.”

“And that bothers you, because…”

“Because,” Rose started, then shut her mouth. Waste of time, she told herself. She’d had this conversation before, or at least a strikingly similar one. And the last thing she needed at the moment was to have someone point out how naive and unsophisticated she was, then attempt to teach her about the “finer things in life,” like caviar.

Unable to prevent the shudder brought on by the thought of those salty, slimy little eggs, she made the gesture into a shrug.

“Never mind. Look, the lunch was delicious and the view spectacular. I appreciate your sharing both of them with me, but—”

“But,” Logan broke in, “we have more important matters to discuss. I want you to stay at the Benedicts’ house a bit longer, to pretend to be Anna. You won’t have to do much. Everyone already thinks that you are—”

“No,” Rose managed to break in.

Logan frowned. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Rose echoed. “My life is in Seattle. I have…things to do. Obligations to fulfill.” A life to put back together, she finished silently.

Logan seemed to consider her words carefully before he leaned forward, looked deep into her eyes and asked, “You mean to tell me you’re going to leave without meeting Anna? You claim that you’ve come all the way from Seattle to find a view that has been haunting your dreams for years, learned that it can be seen from the room belonging to a woman who looks exactly like you, and you’re going to leave without taking the trouble to meet this person?”

Rose could hardly miss the way his tone mocked the words she’d so recently flung at him. She also thought she caught a teasing glint in his eyes, but his lips showed no hint of a smile.

“It’s not the same thing,” she replied. “Besides, as I said, I have a—”

“Life to get back to. Of course. You have kids?” Rose shook her head.

“A husband?”

Again Rose shook her head. Careful to keep her voice neutral, she replied, “Not any longer.”

Logan lifted one eyebrow. “Bad breakup?”

“No, actually. I think we were both relieved when it ended.”

With that response, Rose shifted her attention to the skyline again. That wasn’t the complete truth, of course, but she didn’t think this man needed to hear the entire story.

After several seconds she heard Logan ask softly, “Then what are you running away from, Rosie?”

She turned to face him quickly. “My name is Rose. Only my mother—” She broke off, took a deep breath then said slowly, “I’m not running away from anything. I just want to go home. Where I belong.”

“I see.” His expression was skeptical. “And you’re not even curious about Anna?”

“Of course I am. However, I don’t have the kind of money, or the time at my disposal to—”

“As far as money goes,” Logan broke in, “I have enough at my disposal to make it worth your while to stick around. And I’m more than willing to do so.”

Every muscle in Rose’s body stiffened. The rich and powerful had one easy answer to everything. She knew better.

Getting to her feet she said, “I’m not interested in your money.” Then she turned and headed toward the elevator.