Chapter 25

Pinpricks of sweat beaded Dexxter’s brow as he watched the blonde chatting up Kyle. Dexx swiped at his forehead with the back of his hand, aware of Irene logging every move. He didn’t care what she thought. He had already concocted a plan for her “accident.”

Trevor led the group in their direction, and Dexx’s hand went up to straighten a tie that wasn’t there. He was in a lightweight madras blazer and an open neck shirt. He’d selected the outfit especially for the blonde in the pictures, assuming she was Amy.

He’d never given Amy more than a passing glance, but he’d known she had a thing for him. This woman was different; he couldn’t count on her falling for him immediately. From the looks of it, she already had Jensen and Kyle after her. He would have to finesse this one.

“These are our new neighbors,” Trevor said by way of introduction. “Irene Hanson and Dexxter Foxx. Irene, Dexx, this is Rochelle Ralston.”

Dexx stuck out his hand, itching to touch her. “Call me Dexx. That’s Dexxter with two Xs and Foxx with a double X.”

She looked him directly in the eye, then giggled. “Oh, my, it sounds like a chromosome check, not a real name.”

Everyone chuckled, even Irene, as Dexx stood, hand extended. Unfuckingbelievable! The blonde was having a laugh at his expense.

Shelly held up her hand, the fingers curled inward. “I can’t shake, sorry. I was in an accident and my hand hasn’t healed.” She gazed at him as he withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make fun of your name. I think it’s … interesting.”

Liar. Interesting was what people said just to be polite.

“I say the strangest things sometimes,” Shelly went on. “They just pop into my head. It’s a habit I’ve had for years. Right, Matt?”

“She’s a troublemaker with a capital T. Always has been.”

From the look on Jensen’s face, Dexx could just imagine what kind of trouble. Dexxter’s sense of embarrassment eased a bit. Close-up, Shelly was even better looking than he’d thought. The sound of her voice fascinated him. It was like raw silk, low-pitched and soft, yet with a slight rasp to it.

Nothing like Amy Conroy.

“Your parents probably, like, spent months to come up with your name, Dexx,” commented the redhead. “Parents do weird stuff like that. Bubbles is my real name. Now, I ask you, is Bubbles, like, any kind of name to put on a birth certificate?”

Who gave a shit about her? Everyone, it seemed. The group sympathized, discussing names and their experiences. Even Irene jumped in, saying her name made her sound old, and it had been hard to live with as a child.

The fruity doctor, who had spent years wishing his name weren’t Clive, brought Shelly a glass of wine. Kyle grabbed her attention with a story about how Kyle rhymed with bile and kids used to tease him.

Shelly leaned toward him, saying, “All my friends call me Shelly.”

He decided she was coming on to him. Jensen’s arm was still around her, but he was talking to Trevor and Kyle. This is more like it, Dexx thought, grinning at her.

Irene, sensing competition, no doubt, chimed in, “We’re going to be married soon.”

“That’s wonderful,” Shelly responded.

How humiliating, Dexx thought, outraged to have this beautiful woman think he’d want to marry the likes of Irene. Comparing Shelly to Irene was like trying to make a Thoroughbred out of horse shit. Irene’s nails bit into his arm, and he knew she expected a response.

“We came down here to start a new business,” he told Shelly.

“Matt and I are reporters.”

“Really? Have you worked on some exciting cases?” Dexxter moved a little closer as he asked the question.

Shelly shook her head, a sexy gesture that sent her blond hair fluttering over her bare shoulders. “I’ve worked for tabloids mostly. You know, sex lives of movie stars and Elvis sightings. Matt was with Exposé.”

“The newsmagazine?” Irene asked.

“That’s right.” Shelly turned her head toward Jensen, who was talking to Kyle. “Mart’s covered lots of really interesting cases.”

“Like, what case was your favorite, Matt?” asked the Bubbles creature.

Matt gazed at Shelly for a moment, an intimate look that fried Dexx, then Matt responded, “My favorite case was the one in Hawaii. Remember the woman who was discovered by a man out training a search-and-rescue dog? She’d been in a terrible accident. If he hadn’t found her, she would have died.”

“I remember that story,” Irene said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. “The woman had a head injury and lost her memory. She never recovered it. They couldn’t identify her.”

“I saw her story on television. Missing! did a segment on her, trying to get someone to come forward and identify her,” Clive added. “The awesome part was that one of the shoes she was wearing belonged to a woman who had been murdered a year earlier.”*

“I went to Hawaii,” Matt said. “My article and pictures on Lucky’s story got Exposé out of the red.”

“Hello.” A policeman dressed in khaki bermudas and a shortsleeve khaki shirt came out from the kitchen, an envelope in his hand. “No one answered the bell, but I could hear voices, so I came in.”

Dexxter quickly looked at Irene. The police didn’t make him nervous, but Irene had been jumpy since the FBI had come to the office. Irene lifted one dark brow and winked at Dexx.

Trevor walked toward the man. “You’re not one of our regular officers. You must be one of the recruits from Key Largo.”

“That’s right, sir. They brought us down for the Fantasy Fest.”

“Things get rowdy around here during Fantasy Fest,” Clive told Irene and Dexx. “It’s a lot like Mardi Gras where too many tourists get drunk and fight.”

“What can we do for you?” Trevor asked.

“Chief Obermeyer sent me. He called this afternoon, but your phone was out of order.”

“I knocked it off the hook and didn’t notice for hours.”

“He wanted to let you know that the woman who was killed in the crash has been identified.”

He extended the envelope, but didn’t seem sure whom to give it to. Irene nudged Dexx, but his eyes were on Shelly. Chin tilted upward, Shelly looked expectantly at the officer.

Trevor took the envelope, opened it, and read its contents. “The forensic team in Miami has identified the victim as Amy Joyce Conroy of Seattle, Washington.”

Dexxter watched Shelly’s face remain impassive. Obviously, the name meant nothing to her. Irene poked him in the ribs again, and he was forced to take his eyes off Shelly. He whispered, “I guess Zane made a mistake.”

“I don’t know. This is weird.” Irene shrugged.

“I’m supposed to bring in Miss Ralston for questioning,” said the officer.

“Why?” Shelly’s voice rose an octave. “I haven’t done anything.”

“The chief said something about the Conroy woman being in the Witness Protection Program. She might have told you something before she died.”

Uh-oh.

The officer grinned, excited. “I’ll bet it was a mob deal. A hit, maybe.”

What if Amy had blabbed everything to the knockout blond, Dexx wondered. It didn’t seem likely. Shelly hadn’t batted a lash when they’d been introduced. She hadn’t recognized his name.

Trevor said, “We’re having a dinner party. Can’t she come in tomorrow?”

“That woman didn’t tell me anything,” Shelly said. “She barely said two words.”

“I thought you didn’t remember the crash,” Jensen said with a frown.

“I didn’t until recently. Now I vaguely recall being at a Stop ’N Go, then I woke up in the hospital and you were there.” The way she looked at Matt as she spoke made Dexx want to kick the jerk in the balls—hard. “A little has come back to me, but not much.”

“Let’s go call the chief,” suggested the officer. “I’ll ask him if it’s okay to come in tomorrow instead.”

A warning voice whispered in her head as she followed the officer into the house. The FBI had to be behind this. All her prints had been removed from databases and her dental records pulled. The only way Amy Joyce Conroy had died was because they had wanted it that way.

As soon as he had her inside, the officer said, “I’m Scott Phillips, special agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’m bringing you in.”

“In where?”

“Into protective custody.”

“Why? Dexxter Foxx thinks I’m dead.”

“Maybe he bought it, and maybe not. We’re close to making a case on him, but we need your testimony to cinch it.”

“The Bureau knew where I was all along, didn’t they?”

“Yes. When Dr. Burroughs requested bioengineered skin from DermaGraft, the company notified us. The technology is still experimental. They monitor its use. We checked and found Clive Burroughs was doing reconstructive surgery on an accident victim.” The agent shrugged. “We figured you were as safe here as anywhere.”

A dead federal marshal and two other murders could be attributed to Dexxter Foxx. She should have known the FBI would relentlessly pursue the one woman who could link him with the crimes.

“How did you find me?”

“Through the Miami office. They tried—unsuccessfully—to ID the other accident victim. One of our agents looked into the accident and discovered you. We were going to take you to a safe house again and start over. Instead, we took the precaution of altering the records. Prints, dental charts, vital stats. You are now Rochelle Ralston. Just don’t forget your mother’s maiden name was Merriman.”

Scary. After pretending to be Shelly, now she was Shelly as far as the world was concerned.

“Come on. We’re outta here.”

“Wait. Think about this. If I suddenly disappear, isn’t Dexxter going to smell a rat? We’re so close to Mexico. He could run, and you’d never get him.”

He hesitated. “I was told to bring you in.”

In a split second she made a decision that she hoped wouldn’t cost her life. But in her mind she heard Matt calling her back from the near death. She loved him with all her heart, and she had no intention of leaving him.

She had looked directly into Dexxter’s eyes, behaving like a bad girl. Okay, her version of one. The wimp hadn’t shown a flicker of recognition. If anyone suspected the truth, it was Irene. They had never known each other well. Irene had been too busy prancing around, trying in vain to get Dexxter’s attention, to notice a disfigured woman glued to her computer terminal.

“I’m not coming with you. Your protection stinks.”

“We had a leak, but it’s been fixed.”

“Why didn’t you warn me that he was coming? They’ve been here for at least two days.”

The guy shook his head. “Irene Hanson made the arrangements. We didn’t have Irene under surveillance. When Dexxter disappeared, it took us a while to locate him.”

“Great. Another few hours and I might have been murdered in my sleep.”

“I don’t think so. We had our profiler work on this case. She says Dexxter has a personality disorder. He believes he’s handsome and invincible. But he’s not brave enough to kill anyone himself.”

“Handsome, Dexxter? Now, that’s a stretch.” He was short and average-looking, not terrible, but nothing like Matt. “I’ve always wondered what Irene saw in him.”

“They’ve been together since they were kids. We haven’t studied her too closely because until now Dexxter hadn’t shown much interest in her.”

“They’re engaged.”

“Really? That’ll throw the profiler for a loop. According to her, Dexxter doesn’t have relationships with women. He uses prostitutes. He may not realize it, but he does this because he doesn’t want to be turned down by a woman.”

“Irene will never turn him down. I swear, she behaved like a lovesick puppy the whole time I worked for him. If he paid any attention to a woman in the office, Irene saw that she was fired. There was even a rumor that she pushed one woman down a flight of stairs just because she worked late one night with Dexxter.”

“He’s suddenly decided to marry Irene. It doesn’t fit the profile.”

“Coming to kill me doesn’t fit either. He had the whistle-blowers in Asia taken care of, didn’t he?” Scott nodded thoughtfully, and she continued. “He had someone fire-bomb the house where I was living. It doesn’t make sense that he would come here and take care of me personally.”

“Something else is going on, but what?”

“I’ll try to find out.”

“No, stay away from him. It’s too dangerous. We’ve been feeding him false information, so he doesn’t realize how close we are to arresting him.”

“Hurry up. When you need me to testify, I’ll be here.”

“I could get a court order and have you held in the protection program as a material witness.”

“You could, but if you guys are smart, you’ll see that I’m right. Don’t tip your hand now. Let me handle Dexx.”

He studied her a moment, then said, “You’re going to have to explain the dog. That’s how they located you.”

She gave herself a mental pat on the back. A producer looking for an “unusual” dog had been very suspicious. “I’ll make up something.”

He made her memorize his phone number, then reluctantly left. She decided the simplest explanation about Jiggs would be the best. Less to trip up on. She manufactured a smile and walked back to the group.

“What took so long?” Kyle asked.

“I answered the chief’s questions over the telephone.”

“Let’s sit down,” Trevor said, making shooing motions with his hands. “Clive has made Coquilles Saint-jacques. They’re no good if they’re overdone.”

Matt pulled out a chair for her, and she sat down, still smiling like the village idiot. Dexxter grabbed the seat next to her. Irene had to clear her throat twice before he stood up and pulled out the chair for her.

The scalding look Irene threw her would have made the devil shudder, but she had more on her mind than a jealous woman. She had to convince Dexx that she really was Rochelle Ralston.

Kyle and Bubbles sat opposite her, laughing and joking. Trevor helped Clive serve the first course, oysters on the half-shell, then they sat down. She didn’t know how to begin, but Kyle saved her by asking a question.

“Were you able to help the police chief?”

Everyone was eating the oysters, but their eyes were on her—especially Matt’s. She should be more worried about Dexxter, but Matt was the one who knew her best. He might detect something the others couldn’t and know she was lying. If he gave her away, no telling what Dexx would do.

“I’m afraid I wasn’t much help. A few details have come back to me, but not much.”

She forced herself to look Dexx in the eye. It wasn’t suspicion she saw, but something more like lust. From the tight set of Irene’s thin lips, it was evident she noticed it too.

“Like what details?” Bubbles wanted to know.

“We don’t want to bore Dexx and Irene—”

“We’re not bored,” Irene assured her. “While you were on the phone, they told us all about the crash and Clive’s remarkable work when half your face was sheared off in that horrible accident.”

“What did the police chief have to say?” Kyle asked again.

She leaned forward slightly as if this was just so intriguing. “It seems the woman had information on some important case. They wanted to know if she had told me anything.”

“Had she?” Clive asked.

“No, she hardly said a thing. She didn’t even tell me her name.”

“Now, let me get this straight. She was in your car, not the diesel truck, the way we originally thought.”

She didn’t like the challenging tone in Matt’s voice. Dexx was slurping down the oysters as if he were listening only to be polite. Irene’s eye had a gleam of something she didn’t care to examine too closely.

“That’s right. Somewhere north of Miami I stopped at a gas station. She asked for a ride—”

“You should never pick up hitchhikers,” Dexx said, leaning a little too close to her as he spoke.

Irene chimed in, “Anything can happen.”

She gazed at Trevor because she knew he would understand. “The woman had a little dog in her arms. The two of them looked so pathetic. Half the dog’s ear was missing, and the woman had this horrid birthmark on her face. She said she’d been traveling for days and wanted to know if I would give her a ride to Miami.”

The sympathy in Trevor’s eyes was unmistakable. He would have seen the beauty in The Beast. Had they met under different circumstances, they still would have been friends.

“I thought she was homeless. I said to myself: There but for the grace of God go I.”

“Oh, Shelly, that’s, like, so sweet.”

She smiled at Bubbles but didn’t venture a glance in Matt’s direction. Was something in her voice giving her away?

“Did you talk to her?” Kyle asked.

“It’s all pretty vague. I didn’t remember any of it until the last day or so.”

Clive asked, “Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“What good would it have done?” Trevor asked. “The woman was already dead. Shelly didn’t recall anything helpful.”

“I was waiting to see if I remembered more.” She might have jumped in a little too quickly. There was a distinct quaver in her voice. “But I don’t think there’s much more to remember. The woman said she was exhausted. She got in the backseat and went to sleep.”

“Why didn’t you let her off in Miami?” Matt asked.

She ventured a look at him and lifted her shoulders in a perplexed shrug. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Maybe the woman, like, told you this awesome secret. That’s why you brought her to Key West with you.”

Oh, no, Bubbles, please.

“One day you’ll remember everything about the accident.” Irene’s voice was just a shade too calculating.

How stupid could she be? She’d painted herself into a corner.

*See Unforgettable.