“So, Lauren Conway. Do you know you have a twin?”
Lauren hugged the hospital bedsheet closer. “No. But I gather this Dana looks like me.”
Alex cocked his head, then reached into his back pocket and withdrew his wallet. He leafed through several pictures before he stopped, pulled one out and handed it to her.
Lauren looked down. In the picture was a woman with long, luscious hair and curves to die for outlined in a wild-print bikini. She held a surfboard and leaned on the smiling, sun-burnished man whose arm was around her. The man was Alex.
The woman looked exactly like Lauren.
The similarity made her light-headed and caused her heartbeat to falter. What was going on here?
Dear Reader,
Welcome to my contribution to the CODE RED series. It’s been a pleasure to participate in this project—three Superromance novels, an anthology, a twelve-book continuity, then four sequels—all about my favorite people, rescue personnel. It was a joy to work with the other authors involved in this series. I liked getting to know them and contributing to the story lines. But don’t worry. The Unknown Twin can stand alone, too.
As many of you know, I wrote some firefighter books for Harlequin a few years back, and it was a pleasure to revisit America’s Bravest. I did have to do some additional research, though. Fire fighting in California is different from that in New York State, where I did my original research of riding the trucks, eating at the firehouses and participating in classes and drills. I met with a wonderful former California firefighter, who helped plan out the staff and station house for us. I also called on my other friends in the Rochester Fire Department, particularly Joe Giorgione, who was always there to help out with technicalities and plot elements. All of the firefighters I worked with were wonderful and gave me very important information.
Lauren and Alex’s story is a classic romance about opposites attracting—the macho, charge-right-in hero and the creative, sensitive heroine. I love to put people who are so different together and see what happens. I didn’t expect all of what transpired in the book. It was fun to watch Lauren and Alex wrestle with their relationship. I hope you enjoy their trek to happily-ever-after.
I love to hear from readers. My e-mail is [email protected] and my Web site is www.kathrynshay.com. Though few use it, I still have a snail-mail address: P.O. Box 24288, Rochester, New York 14624. Write and tell me what you think.
Kathryn Shay
The Unknown Twin
Kathryn Shay
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS TOUGH having an imaginary friend at thirty-two. Lauren Conway stared down at hers, now captured in living color in a brand-new comic strip, Dee and Me, that she’d agreed to create for the Courage Bay Courier. She’d moved to the California-seaside town two weeks ago to begin drawing the cartoon, which was based on the imaginary friend she’d first made when she was a child.
Looking down, she reread the strip she’d just finished.
Frame One:
You got yourself a job, Lily! Twelve-year-old Deirdre’s smile is pleasant. It always is, even when Lily does something stupid.
Lily looks nervous. Yeah, for the summer.
Frame Two:
Lily is first this time. I hope I don’t blow it. Like I do everything else.
Don’t be lily-livered. Dee laughs at her pun. You’re not gonna blow it.
Frame Three:
Flexing her muscles, Deirdre picks up the free weights and raises them in an arm curl. Lily stares helplessly at her.
Deirdre asks, You wanna try it?
Frame Four:
Lily appears horrified. Dee, please. I can’t.
If you think you can’t, Lily, you’re right.
Frame Five:
Lily stares helplessly out at the reader. Easy for her to say.
Lauren studied her drawings. “Is it any good?” she asked aloud. Leaning back in her chair, she stared up at the ceiling; the cheerful fresco of blue sky and sun she’d painted there made her smile. She’d worked in a cubicle on the other side of the building for a week while she fixed up this office on her own time. It was so small, so run-down, nobody else at the Courier had wanted it. And since she had just started as a part-timer, she hadn’t been high priority for amenities. Rising, she crossed the room to two oversize beanbag chairs she’d stuffed in the corner, since there wasn’t room for much else. Kicking off her canvas sneakers, she stretched out on one and put her feet on the other. She continued to stare up at her own personal sky, inhaling the spicy scent of potpourri she’d scattered throughout the office and pondering the direction of her cartoon.
Her new boss, Perry O’Connor, had studied the prototype when she’d presented the concept to him in an interview several weeks ago. “It’s got a lot of potential, Conway.” He nodded to the drawings. “I like the self-effacing nature of the klutz. Cute dynamic with her alter ego. Puberty adds a lot. But you need a focus. A tack.” His expression was thoughtful. “We’re looking for something to draw readers to the Courier’s Web site. Maybe we could do this cartoon on the fly.”
“On the fly?”
“Yeah, have readers write in saying what they like and what they don’t like, and see if we can roll with it. It doesn’t have to be in every day. Then you could tailor the cartoon to public opinion.” He stared hard at her from beneath bushy gray brows. “Think you can do it?”
Could she? “Yes.”
“Okay, let’s give it a shot. You’re hired. Don’t let me down.”
“I won’t.”
So she’d moved from Benicia, in the northern part of California, to this small community of Courage Bay, close to L.A., hoping she’d be able to realize a dream she’d had for a long time. And realizing that dream was why she was at the office at midnight.
She shot a look at her battered oak desk. Tomorrow, Saturday, she would come in and strip and re-stain it.
Maybe you should come in and work on our cartoon. Ah, that voice. Her imaginary friend, Deirdre, aka Dee. Just as Deirdre advised Lily when she was at her wits’ end, she was also there for Lauren in the worst of times. There had been a lot of those lately.
Placing her bare foot on the carpet remnant she’d put down—it was thick with a geometric print—Lauren sighed. “I can do this,” she said aloud. “I want to do this.”
Then