Poor little lonely one, she mocked the self-pity. She had an aunt and a cousin, not that they were close, but still, they existed. She had a brother, but she didn’t know where he was or even if he was dead or alive.
As an undercover agent with the FBI, Adam had important work to do, work that often put him in danger and out of immediate contact. She’d learned to be self-sufficient.
“You have the scar,” the stranger said.
The flesh on her thigh tingled. “I’ve had that since I was a child.”
“I know. Since you were three,” he said.
Honey’s mouth gaped. How had he known that?
“It’s time to go,” Bert interjected, checking the time, then moving toward the door. “Do you need help getting to your room?”
“No, thanks.” The stranger turned his probing gaze back to her. “Are you off work now?”
She nodded warily.
“Good. We need to talk.” He pulled on his boots and rose in one fluid motion, standing a good six inches over Bert. “How about something to eat? Your friend can join us.” He pointed to the security guard.
“I’m going home,” Bert said in no uncertain terms.
“Me, too.” She edged toward the door.
The stranger frowned, then reached into his back pocket and brought out his wallet. To her surprise, he showed them a badge. “Zackary Nicholas Dalton,” he introduced himself.
Bert studied the badge. “You’re a deputy sheriff? From Idaho?”
“Right. I had official business here, which is finished. I’d planned to start home in the morning, uh, this morning.” He spoke to her. “I really need to talk to you before I go. This is serious.”
Seeing Bert check the time again, Honey shook her head. “I’m beat. And I’m not your cousin.”
“You could be. Do you remember where you were born? Or who your parents were?”
His words gave her pause. She and Adam had been orphaned when she was three and her brother thirteen. Their father had been killed in a bar shoot-out through no fault of his own; he and a friend happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Two years later their mother had died of a rare antibiotic-resistant pneumonia.
“Well?” the lawman demanded.
“Of course I do,” she said firmly.
“Are they alive?”
She stopped, startled by the question, her eyes locking with the stranger’s.
“Ah,” he said, reading her correctly. “They’re not.”
“That…that doesn’t mean anything.”
“Do you remember them?” the deputy persisted.
“Not my father, but I remember my mother. I do,” she said when he raised straight dark eyebrows over skeptical eyes. “A few things.”
“How old were you when she died?”
Honey nearly answered, but stopped in time. Her past was none of this man’s business.
Bert gestured impatiently. “Let’s go.” He ushered them from the holding room, slammed the door, then gazed at her in uncertainty.
“Go home,” she told the guard. “I’ll be fine.”
“Where can we talk?” the visiting deputy asked, blocking her escape with the hand holding the bucket of quarters.
“We can’t.” She hurried after the guard. “Leave me alone, or I’ll call security again.”
“Listen, I know this sounds weird, but my cousin really does have a three-pointed scar on her leg. She fell on broken glass when she was three. A few months later she was taken from the scene of a car wreck. That was shortly before her fourth birthday.”
“Taken?”
“Kidnapped. Her mother died in the wreck on a lonely stretch of highway. Some pervert took the child.”
Honey was aghast. “How long ago was this?”
“Twenty-two years. Tink would be twenty-six her next birthday. How old are you?”
A wave of panic rushed over her, as if she might indeed be this long-lost cousin, as if her own past had been a lie. She shook off the idea. “Twenty-five, but I’m not the person you’re looking for.” She heard the note of desperation in her voice. Her life was complicated enough without having to deal with this man’s search for his cousin. “I’m not. Really. It’s impossible.”
“Uncle Nick had a heart attack,” the deputy told her, sorrow darkening his eyes. “He kept muttering about Tink while he was unconscious. The family—I have twin brothers and three cousins—decided to try to find her. Are you sure about your past?”
“Well…yes. I’m sorry about your uncle,” she said sincerely.
“Yeah, he’s the greatest,” he said, his eyes looking her over as if searching for some truth that should be evident. “He took in six orphans and raised us as his own. Even after losing his wife and child, his care for us never faltered, not once.”
His tale was similar to her own story, yet so different. As orphans, she and Adam had lived with their only relative, an aunt who had never wanted them and had never let them forget it. Honey sighed and blocked the thought.
“I’m really sorry. I have to go.” She hurried off, leaving the handsome stranger watching her with a thoughtful look in his gorgeous blue eyes.
At her one-room studio apartment, she prepared for bed, aware of the weariness that seemed to pulsate from every bone in her body. Clomping around in stiletto heels for several hours was extremely tiring. She hated the smoke and noise of the casino, too. In fact, there was very little she enjoyed about her life at the moment.
For some reason, the image of the handsome lawman came to her—the confidence of his smile, the humor in his eyes, the love he obviously had for his uncle. She sensed an innate integrity in him, the same as her brother had, and kindness…
Unexpected tears burned her eyes, startling her. Good heavens, she really was going off the deep end since encountering the deputy with the heavenly eyes.
Ah, well, this, too, would pass. Besides, she wasn’t normally a crybaby. Neither tears nor wishes had ever changed a thing in her life.
After brushing her teeth, she got out her laptop computer and checked her e-mails.
Her breath stopped momentarily when she saw the coded one from her brother. She quickly opened the mail, which appeared to be an advertisement of an upcoming sale. The date and hours of the sale were a reference to the time her brother would call. That he used this method of contact meant he was in deep, deep cover and in danger.
And so was she.
No matter what happened she wouldn’t return to a “safe” house. She’d lived there just before leaving L.A. Being “safe” had been the same as being in prison—no visitors, no calls, no going out.
No, thanks.
Her aunt’s favorite punishment had been to lock her and Adam in the bedroom and leave them for hours. As a child, Honey had often worried that they would be forgotten. Adam had told her they had to be brave, so she’d learned to conceal the fear. But it had been scary.
She closed her eyes as the memories swamped her with the old familiar anguish. After a moment she resolutely shook off the despair. Adam could take care of himself. She could do the same. No one would ever associate a bleached-blond waitress with the real Hannah Smith.
No! She couldn’t think of herself as Hannah