Undercover Twin. Lena Diaz
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like Nick in her life. She was so tired of having to be strong all the time, with no one else to share her burdens.
“Lily?” she called out. “Are you in here?” She let the door close and stepped farther into the room. The lighting was even worse in here than out in the main part of the club, for which she was extremely grateful. She didn’t want to know what disgusting substance was on the floor, crunching and sliding beneath her feet. “Lily?”
She made her way down the row of stalls, knocking and using the toe of her sneaker to nudge each door open. When she reached the last stall, she heard a noise, like someone taking a deep breath. “Lily, it’s Heather. Is that you?”
“Don’t come in here.” The voice behind the last stall door sounded slurred, but there was no mistaking it.
Heather rolled her eyes. “Lily, are you drunk again? Is that why you called me to come get you?”
“I told you to come at midnight. You’re early.” Another sniff.
She shook her head in exasperation. It was just like her sister to expect Heather to rescue her, but only on Lily’s timetable, on Lily’s terms.
“I have to get up early in the morning to meet with a new client. If you aren’t ready to leave right now, and you’re too drunk to drive, call a cab.” She turned and headed for the door.
“Wait,” Lily called out, her voice sounding mildly panicked. “Just give me a minute. My car won’t start, and I don’t have money for a cab.”
Because she’d already blown all the money Heather had given her? Money Heather couldn’t afford to give her in the first place?
Heather curled her fingers around her frayed purse strap and stepped back to the stall door. “What are you doing in there? Drinking? Haven’t you had enough already?”
“Just wait at the bar. I’ll be right out.”
The airy quality of Lily’s words wasn’t lost on Heather. Her sister sounded far worse than if she was just drunk. All kinds of scenarios flooded Heather’s mind. None of them good. “Open the door.”
Cursing sounded from inside the stall. “This is a bathroom. Give me some freaking privacy.”
Heather hesitated. Arguing with her stubborn sister wouldn’t do any good. It would just make her dig in deeper and fight harder.
“All right, I’ll meet you at the bar.” She walked to the door, her shoes crunching across the concrete. She stepped into the hall, turned around and tiptoed back inside, easing the door closed behind her. She quietly moved back to the row of stalls, pausing a few feet down from the stall her sister was in, so Lily wouldn’t see her through the cracks around the door.
Loud noises sounded from outside the bathroom. Yelling. Feet shuffling. It sounded like people were running. What kind of craziness was going on out there on the dance floor?
Heather ignored the noise and waited. A moment later, the lock on the stall door slid back and Lily stepped out in her ragged jean cutoffs and tank top that showed far more than they concealed, including another new tattoo, a small pink dragon peeking out from the top of Lily’s shorts. Her sister couldn’t afford to buy her own groceries or gas money, but she could pay for a tattoo? Heather gritted her teeth. She was putting in eighty-hour workweeks—minimum—just to keep up with her car payments and rent. She certainly couldn’t afford a tattoo, even if she’d wanted one.
She was about to give her sister another lecture on being frugal when she noticed what her sister was holding. In one hand she clutched a dark blue nylon backpack. In the other, she held a baggie of white powder and a rolled-up dollar bill. Heather’s stomach sank. Now she knew why her sister was making those sniffing sounds earlier.
Cocaine.
Lily’s eyes widened and her face went pale. Heather grabbed the baggie and ran into the stall. She tossed it in the toilet and pressed the handle.
“What are you doing?” her sister screamed. She dropped her backpack and shoved past Heather.
Heather stared in stunned amazement at her sister on her knees on the filthy floor, with her hands in an equally filthy toilet trying to fish out the baggie. Her heart breaking, Heather turned away, but a flash of white in Lily’s backpack made her hesitate. She knelt down and pulled out a duct-taped brick of more white powder wrapped tightly in plastic.
Her hands started to shake. At least two more bricks of cocaine peeked out from the bottom of the pack. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the street value of those drugs, or how many years in prison that would buy.
Lily looked back at her and cursed. “Give me that.” She tried to get up, but her feet slid on the slippery floor.
Heather ran with the brick into the next stall and crouched in front of the toilet. She desperately ripped at the tape and plastic.
Lily stumbled in behind her, clawing at Heather’s hair. “Stop, don’t do it!”
Fire shot through Heather’s scalp. She gritted her teeth against the pain and tore at the plastic, scooping the white powder into the toilet, flushing several times, using her body to block her sister until everything was gone but the tape and plastic.
Lily must have grabbed the backpack when she’d chased after Heather, because now she was cradling it against her, as if to keep Heather from taking the rest of her precious stash of drugs. She slowly slid to the floor, black mascara running in streaks down her face. “What have you done?” she moaned.
Sympathy and anger warred inside Heather as she stepped over her sister to get out of the stall. She was determined to leave her there, but she couldn’t seem to make her feet move to the bathroom door. How many times had Lily dropped into her life over the years, staying just long enough to blow through Heather’s totally inadequate savings account? How many times had Heather woken up to discover her sister gone again, moving on to the next sucker in her life, or her next big scam, or her next drinking binge—usually after stealing one of Heather’s credit cards? How many times would Heather let her sister turn her life into a disaster and disappear until the next time Lily needed a place to crash?
Her shoulders slumped. She knew the answer to all of those questions. No matter how many times her twin hurt her, Heather would still love her, and she’d always be there for her. She couldn’t walk away and leave her sister, the only family she had, not like this.
She sighed heavily and turned around. “Come on. Let’s go home. We’ll figure out what to do, together.”
“I don’t want your help,” Lily spat out. “I hate you. I always have.”
Her sister’s words shot like an arrow straight to Heather’s heart. She drew a shaky breath, steeling herself against the pain. “Hate me all you want, but I’m still not going to leave you sitting on this filthy floor.” She reached her hand out to help her sister to her feet.
Lily jerked back, like a wounded animal perched on the edge of a cliff, afraid to trust the one person who could save it.
A loud banging noise sounded behind Heather. She whirled around to see the bathroom door being held open as a group of six men dressed all in black rushed inside. Heather instinctively positioned herself in front of her sister.
“Federal officers, freeze!” one of the men yelled.
Federal officers? The man closest to her trained his gun on her while two others hurried down the row of stalls, slamming the doors open, looking in each one.
Heather stared in horror at the three white letters printed across their black flak jackets. DEA—Drug Enforcement Administration.
Her boyfriend, Nick, was a DEA agent.
One of the men grabbed Heather and pulled her away from the stall. Another one grabbed Lily and pulled her out into the middle of the room. Lily keened a high-pitched sound and fought to get away.
“Hey, be careful,” Heather