Trevor pulled into the hotel parking lot right off I-75. The first eight motels Lara had called had been booked—something about a big convention in Gainesville and a festival in town. Great. The hotel they booked had mold plastered on the north side of the building, but she figured it was better than sleeping in the car. Turning back wasn’t an option. Nothing was going to stop her from meeting the man who claimed to be her dead John Doe.

Once they stepped inside the motel lobby, things went downhill. Not only did the place need a good cleaning, they were given the last room. Make that one room, with one bed. Yes, they’d had mind numbing sex, many times, in fact, if she counted what they did in the shower, but she believed his relief at finding her safe had precipitated their intense interlude, as pleasurable as it was.

“Lara? Your suitcase?”

She’d crossed the lobby toward the stairs without picking up her case. “What was I thinking?”

“I’ll get it. Are you okay?”

“Yes.”

Not really. She’d been in a daze for most of the ride between Tampa and Lake City, in part because she was trying to figure out how she’d messed up her identification, all the while fighting her growing attraction to Trevor. Okay, it was more than just a high school crush. The problem was that the Trevor Kinsey’s of the world never ended up with someone like her.

She pushed aside the sad reality and went over the facts of her case again. The dental arches of her skeleton matched the X-ray and the teeth lined up, more or less. To be fair, the man’s X-ray was a good fifteen years old. Teeth did shift, decay and fall out, but to be that wrong? Impossible.

Trevor took the entry card from her hand and slipped the end into the reader to open the door. Spacing out was not good. Inside, he placed her suitcase on the side of the bed closest to the bathroom.

She unzipped her bag. “You’re sure Randall, my dead guy, is going to be there?”

“He isn’t dead. Life doesn’t come with a guarantee, but Robby seems to think the guy will show up tonight.”

“I hope so.” Or not.

She hadn’t packed much as they’d only be staying the night. She tossed her nightgown on the bed and stashed her makeup bag in the bathroom. Back in the moldy smelling bedroom, she pulled the 8x10 photo from her backpack and studied his features one more time. She’d practically memorized the shape of his jaw and the slant of his forehead, but she wanted to be sure she hadn’t missed some small detail.

Trevor placed a hand on her shoulder. “Tell you what. I’ll give Robby a call to see if the guest of honor has shown up. The party should be in full swing by now and we can head on over.”

“Perfect.” She didn’t want to sit on a bed and wait.

This time when he made the call, he faced her, and she could figure out most of the one-sided conversation. Apparently Randall was at Robby Nesman’s house.

“Time to see who’s right,” he said, though there was no sparkle in his eyes.

She prayed someone had made a mistake. Her ego couldn’t take the blow nor could her job security take the mistake.

Trevor stuffed his cell in his shirt pocket and stood at the edge of the bed looking down at her. “Are you having regrets over what we did last night? You haven’t mentioned our love-making once.”

His comment came out of nowhere. He’d said nothing either. “No regrets. It was amazing.” When his eyes sparkled, she was tempted to have a repeat performance right there, but if she missed Randall, she’d never forgive herself. And the more time she spent in Trevor’s company, the more she liked him. Or did she love him? When his job ended, the separation would hurt even worse.

Trevor pulled her up to a stand, and then ran his hands over her arms. “You look pale. Are you sure nothing else is bothering you?”

Besides having a stalker after her and finding out she was adopted? “I can’t believe Randall Johnson is alive. I was so sure.”

“People make mistakes, Lara.”

“I’m not allowed to. I’ve worked hard my whole life to be the best. Now, I’ve just proven to myself and to everyone else, I’m not.” She refused to let the tear drop from her lash.

Without a word, he folded her in his arms and kissed the top of her head. That one gesture eased the ache of messing up.

She leaned back and looked up at him. “We need to go.”

The ride down Baya Avenue landed them by Alligator Lake. Under the full moon, the place looked rather swampy but pretty in a rustic sort of way. Robby lived in a double wide. The white picket fence was a nice touch, but her upset stomach prevented her from appreciating the beauty of the large Live Oaks that dotted the property.

A handwritten sign on the front door read, “Just come in.”

Trevor squared his shoulders. “Remember, I’m Robby’s cousin from Orlando. We’re a happily married couple. A safe married couple. I’m not a cop and you don’t work in a forensic lab. We’re not here to arrest Randall, just find out a little about him. Can you do that?”

Tension zigzagged across his face. “The moment I see him, I’ll know if he’s lying about his identity.”

“Good.”

Trevor knocked and entered. A mixture of beer and smoke assaulted her as a short man called out.

“Trevor!”

That had to be Robby. The man’s arms and upper chest were covered in tattoos, and his pulled back hair that formed a ponytail accentuated his thinning hair on top.

Trevor shook the man’s hand. “Robby. Good to see you again, man. I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Lara.”

The word wife had a nice ring to it. Though their marriage was a ploy to shield the real reason for the visit, her pulse skipped a beat. Before she could think about her reaction, the cousin hugged her and kissed her on the cheek. His hair reeked of cigarettes.

“Nice to finally meetcha.” He turned to Trevor. “It’s been what? Three, four years?”

“About that.”

Robby faced the two men and three women who filled all but one sofa. “This here is my cousin, Trevor Kinsey, and his little wife, Lara. They’re from Orlando.”

She balled her fists at the mention of the word, little, but she pushed aside the slight. This was only an act. The man who claimed to be Randall Johnson had a deep brow ridge that matched the X-ray. Dammit. How could she have been so wrong? If this was Randall, who was her skeleton? She stole a glance at Trevor who schooled his reaction at seeing the missing man.

He took her hand and led her over to the only available seat, which was a short loveseat where their hips would touch and her memories would betray her.

“Nice place, Robby.” Trevor faced the other guests. “You all live around here?”

What kind of dumb question was that? Hadn’t he told her they were to appear casual and not give a hint he was a cop?

All five nodded and murmured something. She looked at Trevor to catch his reaction. Nothing but a smile painted his face.

“I want to ask you all a question,” he said.

“For that smile, I’ll answer any of your questions, sweetie.” This came from a large woman with a big head of platinum hair in the shape of a cone.

Didn’t she care Trevor came with a wife? Even if she were a fake one?

“I came up here to visit Robby, but I also had another mission. I got a friend down in Tampa who’s real upset.”

Lara uncrossed her legs trying to look relaxed. “Our friend had a neighbor who disappeared a few months ago, and he thinks the guy might be headed this way.”

Lara shot her gaze to Randall whose face was as blank as a sheet of unused paper.

An older woman sitting next to Miss Bouffant of 1956 scrunched her face. “He was coming to Lake City?”

Trevor placed a hand on the small of Lara’s back no doubt to keep her from interrupting. “Seems so. Apparently, the guy was a private pilot who often flew into Cannon Creek Airpark to visit some friends. He was scheduled for a flight up here but never showed and never came home.”

She surveyed the motley group. All eyes remained riveted on Trevor.

“Anyone know anything about him?” Trevor wiggled his fingers at her for the photo.

She dug the 8x10 out of her backpack and handed it to him. He passed the photo to his left.

Lara watched Randall’s face. Surely, he’d confess once he saw the picture. But confess what? He was the real deal and her skeleton was still a John Doe. He couldn’t know she had his X-rays and a dead body.

The older woman frowned. “Why Chester, this guy looks just like you.”

Chester?

Chester/ Randall swiped the picture from her and studied it. “No, it don’t. You need glasses, Flo.”

The largest of the three women leaned over Chester and snatched the photo. “He’s your double, sure as shit.”

Chester, or was it Randall, stood. “I best be going.”

Trevor rose too. “Are you Randall Johnson?” The Randall look alike clenched his jaw and stared at Trevor. They were like two men facing off at the OK Corral.

From the shifting eyes, the new sweat on Randall’s forehead and his clenched fists, implied that would be a yes.

Randall’s shoulders slumped as he dropped down on the seat. “Guilty as charged.”

Trevor sat too. “You want to tell me about where you’ve been for the last few months?”

Fat Flo punched Randall in the arm. “You’ve been lyin’ to us? To me?”

He chomped on his bottom lip. “Kind of.”

At least Trevor didn’t shoot a look at Lara. She wasn’t sure she could take the I-told-you-so face. How had she been so wrong? The width of the eyes matched, the shape of his chin and the size of his head seemed to be the same as the skeleton’s. Except, her skeleton was dead and this guy was very much alive. Robby said this man was Randall, yet he went by the name of Chester. What was going on?

Randall ran a hand over his hair. “My wife died ‘bout six months ago. Cancer took her sudden like. With her gone, I lost it and started to gamble a lot. Then I was fired from my job. I got a stipend each month from the Reservation, but I managed to piss it away too.”

Lara’s heart saddened.

“What about the night Joe Merrick disappeared?” Trevor leaned back in his seat, taking a non-aggressive pose. Lara took his cue and spread her fingers on her thighs instead of clenching her hands.

Randall’s eyes narrowed and his jaw jutted out. “Robby told you, didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Randall didn’t even glance in his friend’s direction. “I was at the Grand like I always was back then. It was a bad night.” He polished off his beer. “Joe and me stopped at the liquor store and bought a fifth of Jack. Actually, it was our second. We was sitting on the roof of his truck drinking and trying to figure out how I was going to pay back the debts I owed. Knowing I didn’t have the money, I wanted out.”

Robby dropped another beer in front of Randall.

“What happened to Joe?” Trevor asked.

Randall, or rather Chester, inhaled deeply on his cigarette. “I went to take a whiz behind the dumpster when I heard a loud noise. I stuck my head out and saw some guy stab Joe and stuff him in the back of his car.”

Lara couldn’t help but intervene. “You didn’t try to stop him?”

He cut a look at her. “A day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t asked myself the same question. I was drunk. If I had stumbled out, the guy would have come after me too. Only after I seen the prick drive off, did I step out from behind the dumpster.”

Trevor placed his hand on hers. “Did you get a look at the killer?”

“It was too dark.”

A tic manifested around his eye. “You sure a man killed Joe?”

“I was drunk, but not that drunk. It was a man for sure.”

“Tall, short, fat, Black, White, Seminole, what?”

Randall half stood, then dropped back to his seat. “Guy was White I think.” He leaned forward dangling the beer in his fingers. “Maybe five ten, a buck eighty.”

“Age?”

Randall shook his head. “I couldn’t tell.” He held up a finger. “The guy drove an older model blue Volvo. That’s all I remember.”

Lara’s logical mind clicked. “If you could tell the brand of car, why couldn’t you describe the man’s face?”

She waited for Trevor’s hand to stop her, but he didn’t move.

“Can’t see a face through his back. The guy didn’t turn around for more than a second.”

“Sorry. It must have been hard for you to see someone you cared about die,” she said.

“Damn right.”

The muscles relaxed in Trevor’s face. “You didn’t happen to catch the license plate number, did you?”

“No. My eyes weren’t focusing right.”

Robby placed two beers in front of her and Trevor.

Trevor took a long drink. “Thank you for coming clean.”

“You’re not Robby’s cousin, are you?”

“No.” Trevor nearly polished off the beer.

As Randall sank back further into the sofa, the image of blue car driving down her road flashed in her mind. Could it have been the same person? She took a sip of beer, partly to quench her dry mouth and partly to numb her brain.

“You a cop?” Randall’s gaze bounced around the room. Was he trying to decide if he could escape without Trevor stopping him?

“Yes.”

Randall stood and shoved his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “You going to arrest me?”

“No. I know where to find you.”

Trevor edged forward on the sofa, looking like he wanted to leave.

Lara held up a palm. “Why didn’t you call the police right away?” She hadn’t planned to say anything else, but her inquisitive mind wouldn’t stop.

“Too scared, I guess. Joe and I had a little fight at the casino. I didn’t want the police to think I’d killed him.”

That wasn’t a good excuse in her opinion. “What about your family? Did you tell anyone you were alive? Didn’t you realize you might have ruined their lives?”

Trevor claimed Randall didn’t have any family, but maybe there was still a living aunt or cousin.

He jerked as though she’d hit him. Her tone must have been too harsh. “All I got is a stepsister, and she don’t care much about me. Besides, I needed the guys I owed money to believe I was dead.”

Trevor leaned forward. “You do realize keeping Joe’s murder to yourself is against the law?”

Randall slammed the bottle on the table. “Four of my friends went missing. I’m guessing they’re dead too. I see my best friend die. It ain’t no crime to want to stay alive.”

The man did have a point. She took a deeper slug of her beer. The cool, refreshing drink slid down her throat, perhaps a little too easily.

“Who were the four friends who disappeared?” Trevor asked.

“John BlueEyes, Smitty Johnson, Danny Shaw, and Johnnie Bayard.”

Trevor’s men. She squeezed his hand.

“When did you see them last?” He crossed a booted foot over his knee.

Randall told Trevor what he knew, but it wasn’t much. Trevor handed Randall his card. “Contact me if you remember anything else.”

He thanked the host and left, leaving Randall, if he was Randall, to live in his own guilty hell.

She remained quiet on the way back to the hotel, pleased Trevor had the compassion to let the man go. At a stoplight, she slapped the dashboard.

He looked over at her. “You forget something?”

“I should have asked if Randall had a twin. The man’s physical resemblance to John Doe #1 is too close.”

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder. “You heard him. The man only had a stepsister. No twin.”

Lara tucked a leg underneath her on the seat. She gathered her braid and twisted it in a bun. “There’s something he’s hiding. I could see it in his eyes.”

“That may be, but we may never find out what it is.”