Trap, Secure. Carol Ericson
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a tall, slim brunette.
She pulled back with a start, knocking over her bottle of water. Gage snatched the picture away from the spill.
“What’s wrong? That is you, isn’t it?”
“How the hell do I know?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know what I look like.”
He searched her face, his blue gaze tracking across each of her features. “Against my better judgment, I’m beginning to believe you.”
He shoved back from his chair—this time it stayed upright—and extended his hand to her. “Come with me.”
What choice did she have at this point? She placed her hand in his, and when he curled his fingers around hers, a warm current flowed through her body. His touch felt like the only lifeline she had.
He snatched up his folder and led her into the house. The tiles felt cool against the soles of her bare feet. As she gazed at the crystal chandelier dripping from the high ceiling, Gage pulled her toward an ornate mirror gracing the hallway.
Turning her toward the mirror and standing behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders. Her gaze scanned the woman in the reflection. Large, dark eyes stared back at her from a mocha-tinted face framed by wisps of brown hair coming loose from a ponytail. She knew Spanish because she obviously had some Latin blood.
Her eyes met his in the mirror. His gaze still held suspicions, doubts.
He held up the photo to the mirror. “Could be you, right?”
“He has his arm around the woman. Does that make her his girlfriend?”
He fumbled in the file folder he’d placed on a side table and withdrew another photo, same quality. In this photo, the man had the woman in a tight embrace, laying a passionate kiss on her lips.
She exhaled. “I see what you mean, but I’m sure there are lots of tall brunettes in the world.”
“Wearing this?” He dug into the pocket of his camos and pulled out a scarf with silver spangles threaded through it. He waved it next to the picture, and she noticed the woman in the picture sporting something similar around her neck.
“Where did you get that? I wasn’t wearing it when you found me.” She folded her arms across her chest and turned away from the mirror. She didn’t want to be some bad guy’s girlfriend. She didn’t feel like a bad guy’s girlfriend. Was he a drug dealer?
He jabbed his finger in the air. “I found this upstairs, right before I spotted you from the balcony. You must’ve been in that room, and left your scarf before trying to escape.”
“Who said I was trying to escape? Maybe someone pushed me. Someone obviously shot me.” Despite the warm night, a rash of goose bumps pebbled across her skin, and she hugged herself tighter. “I want to see this room.”
“Follow me.” He placed a booted foot on the first step of the curved staircase and reached out his hand to her. “Are you feeling okay? You look pale.”
“The ibuprofen helped the pain. Now I just want to know who I am.” She placed her hand in his. He must still be worried that she’d make a run for it, but the idea of running made her head spin even more.
They continued up the stairs, and she left her hand in his. She didn’t feel physically wobbly, but emotionally she was about to crack.
She gasped as she followed Gage into the room. Turning in a circle, she drank in the bright colors and cheery furniture. “This is a children’s playroom.”
“Yep.”
Picking up a book of fairy tales, she traced the edge with her finger. “Does this Zendaris have children?”
“We don’t know, but it sure looks like it.”
“Unless this room is for the children of his staff. This is a big place. He must support a lot of people living here.”
Gage gestured around the well-appointed room. “Seems kind of lavish for the staff, doesn’t it?”
She swallowed a painful lump. “Do you think Zendaris could have children with his...girlfriend?”
Gage’s eyebrows snapped together as if it had never occurred to him that she might be the mother of Zendaris’s children.
Her knees felt shaky and she sank into the armchair. Something about this room stirred emotions deep within her, plucked at her heartstrings. Could she be a mother?
She flipped open the cover of the book still clutched in her hand. Her fingers traced over some words in Spanish. “Look.”
Gage took two steps and hovered over her shoulder. “What is it?”
“It’s a note in Spanish. It says, To Randi, May you have a fairy-tale life, Love, Abuelita, little grandmother.”
Gage rubbed his chin, sprinkled with dark stubble. “Who’s Randi?”
“You’re asking the wrong person.” She followed the letters with her fingertip. “Could Randi be one of Zendaris’s children?”
“Then who’s Abuelita? Zendaris, as you can probably tell by his name, is not Latino.”
“The child’s maternal grandmother? Maybe they’re half-Colombian. Maybe that’s why they stay here.”
His hands dropped to her shoulders and the touch felt like a caress. “Are you up for a little more exploration before I get you out of here? I think you need to see a doctor.”
“A head doctor.”
“Maybe that, too.”
She rose from the chair and tucked the book under her arm. As she did so, she noticed a pair of sandals halfway under the chair. She put her hand on Gage’s corded forearm. “Wait.”
She slipped her feet into the sandals and grimaced. “Just like Cinderella.”
They poked their heads into one adjoining room. Little-girl decor—princesses, ballerinas and mermaids— overlooked a disheveled mess. Someone had tossed drawers and emptied closets. All personal effects had been stripped from the room.
They crossed the playroom to the other adjoining bedroom, and the same scene had been played out in the boy’s room.
Gage crossed the hall and she followed, her sandaled feet almost dragging. She didn’t want to see what awaited them in those rooms.
Gage pushed open a door, and a powerful, masculine aroma washed over her. The scent of musk made her head pound even more. The closet doors gaped open and empty hangers swayed back and forth. A neatly made-up king-size bed had a commanding position in the corner of the room, facing a flat-screen TV.
Had she slept in this bed with her children across the hall?
The room led to a large master bath and beyond the bathroom, another door beckoned. She stepped into the adjoining room and gripped the book so hard the edges dug into her palms.
This room had a distinctly feminine touch. It, too, had been ransacked, but clothes still hung in the closet. She crept toward the items and yanked a dress on its hanger from the rack. She held it up to her body and spun around to the full-length mirror.
“It’s a fit.” Gage came into the room with a scowl etched across his face.
Her cheeks warmed. Had she lived here in this house as man and wife with a drug dealer?
She tossed the dress onto the bed. “I still don’t remember anything.”
“Don’t you...Randi?” He pulled a small envelope from the dressing-table mirror and turned to wave it in her face. “They missed something when they ransacked the room.”
Her heart jumped as he pulled a slip of paper from the envelope.
He squinted at the note. “It says, Randi, almost