Dead Ringer Page 2

  “When did your son...when did Daniel have the surgery?” Her voice sounded soft in the quiet cabin.

  “Two months ago. I started to look for you before that. I thought you would want to know.”

  Thomas had cleaned the wounds on his neck with alcohol wipes and applied antibiotic cream, but it began to sting again. He unfastened the seat belt and went back to the restroom to reapply the ointment.

  When he returned to the cabin, she rested her head against the seat, her gaze focused on him. He couldn’t read her expression. Perhaps fright. She, of all people, should know there was no reason to fear him.

  How could someone with such an angelic countenance behave as she had? Embarrassing the family in public without regard for propriety. Abandoning her only child.

  He pushed the button on the seat to the recline position. Introspection could take him just so far. It wouldn’t solve his problems.

  3

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Saturday, May 6

  The airplane dropped altitude, and a small dot on the ocean changed into an island with ten or twelve miles of sandy beaches and green foliage. Along with the scene below came the reality of her plight, and she was unsure of what to expect when the plane landed. From the birds-eye view, the only escape route would be by aircraft or boat. And she had no clue where this insane man had taken her.

  Wheels touched down with a hard thud. Home. Wherever that might be.

  Bright sunlight flashed through the window. She squinted and rubbed her eyes.

  A shadow fell across her face. Her captor held out a cup of coffee.

  The aroma of fresh-roasted beans wafted to her nose, and she accepted the hot brew. After a tentative too-sweet sip, she shuddered and handed it back. “I drink it black.”

  He went to the galley and returned with a steaming cup, black as his soul. “Still believe a woman can’t be too rich or too thin?”

  Why try to explain she always drank it straight? That she appreciated the unenhanced flavor. He probably didn’t care.

  He took the seat across from her, his expression tight. “Daniel is mobile now, slowly regaining his strength. He won’t be up when we arrive. Get your shower and change. Try to be a concerned mother. Anything else will be unacceptable.” His jaw muscles flexed. “I’ll be watching you, and so help me, if you show Daniel any sign of rejection, I’ll give you the thrashing you never got as a child. That’s a promise.”

  What his idea of a thrashing was, she didn’t have a clue, and had no interest in finding out. “I’m not afraid of you, and I would never be cruel to a child.” She looked down at her wrinkled shirt and jeans. “I have nothing to change into unless you packed my clothes while you were rummaging through my things at the bungalow.”

  “Your wardrobe is still here. I figured you’d come back sooner or later, so I didn’t toss your clothes out, although I should have.”

  Mercy turned her gaze away. On the long flight, the little boy’s needs crept into her thoughts. She didn’t know what the next few days held for her, but she wouldn’t be the only victim here. The child could get terribly hurt. This mistaken identity fiasco might delay his recovery. Children were smart. He might realize she wasn’t his mother at once, even if his father refused to accept the truth.

  Why did this man insist she was Traci? Could her resemblance to his wife be strong enough to fool the airport security system? How was that possible?

  The aircraft door opened, and he waited for her to unfasten her seatbelt and stand.

  She stepped to the entrance, unable to stop her hand from shaking. At the top of the steps, a man she recognized as the chauffeur reached out his hand. “Watch yer step, lass.”

  Legs unsteady, she accepted the offer. “Thank you.”

  The old Scot’s eyebrows rose almost to the plaid cap he wore, but he said nothing. This was her first good look at him. He must have flown up front with the pilot. His clothes were rumpled but clean. A big man, with a weathered face that held the same disapproving glare his boss wore.

  A brusque voice came from behind her. “Fergus, will you see to the luggage?”

  “Aye.”

  A long stone path led to steps and then to a plateau. Her host guided her up the stairs and moved up beside her.

  At the top, she paused, taking in the Italian villa spread out over what seemed an acre, all white arches sparkling in the morning sun. An enormous white diamond set among a field of sapphires. Unique perfume that smelled of honeysuckle and roses filled the air around the terraces dotting the grounds. The sea, a blue backdrop, could be seen from every point of view.

  Eyes narrowed, he glowered at her. “You act like you’ve never seen it before.”

  She met his unflinching stare. “I haven’t.”

  Behind them, Fergus uttered an almost inaudible, “harrumph.”

  As they reached the villa’s entrance, the lord-of-the-manor motioned her inside. A wide staircase rose in the center of the marble foyer, tall, potted ferns placed artfully on each side.

  He guided her to the second floor and turned right. “I called ahead and had your things moved next to Daniel.” He swung the suite’s double doors wide and turned to leave. “You know your way around. If you need anything, just let one of the staff know.”

  Of course, there would be servants. Would they help?

  He left without closing the door. No reason to lock her in. She had no way off the island.

  With urgent steps, she crossed the room, locked the door, and searched the area for a telephone. Her breath caught when she spotted one on the nightstand. She lifted the receiver and listened. No dial tone—an intercom house phone.

  What did it matter? What could she say if she found a way to reach the outside?

  “Hello, my name is Mercy Lawrence, and I’ve been abducted.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know. An island somewhere.”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They would write her off as a nutcase.

  She stood in the middle of the room and surveyed her cell. Certainly unlike any jail she’d ever seen. The room was huge, with white walls and a white marble floor. A king-sized bed on a raised platform dominated the center of the room. Sheer white and sapphire panels flowed from a silver cornice board centered over the bed. The bedding was white with blue, red, and silver throw pillows.

  A thick scrapbook rested in the middle of an antique writing table in the corner, and on the opposite side, a plush, oversize chair sat next to a reading lamp. Elegant French doors led out to a balcony with lounge chairs and tables.

  A platinum prison.

  Mercy shuddered, kicked off her shoes, and found the bathroom, bigger than the living room in her Houston apartment. Rummaging through one of the vanity drawers, she found a supply of new toothbrushes. That solved one problem. In the shower, she mulled over her meeting with the little boy. Best let him set the tone.

  She wrapped a large towel around her body and stepped into the closet. One thing was certain. The lady of the house had great taste and an unlimited budget. Racks of clothes with matching accessories, arranged by casual, dress, and eveningwear, seemed to go on forever.

  She selected white slacks and a blue silk top that fit as if made for her. Even the Italian footwear in rows under the matching garments was her size. How was that possible? How could he have known her size? Even the style suited her taste, although designer labels had never fit into her budget.

  She shook the doubts away. Despite the head injury, she couldn’t have forgotten all this. She was not Traci. Her name was Mercy.

  Dressed, she stepped into the hallway and turned around to get her bearings. Not a soul in sight to show her the way. Following instinct, she located the second-story landing.

  Descending to the main floor, she found it as empty as the upstairs hallway.

  Her gaze drifted into the great room, drawn to the enormous fireplace and the portrait centered ab
ove the mantel. She moved in closer. The portrait was a mirrored image of her.

  He hadn’t lied. In every detail, the woman in the painting resembled her own features—blonde hair, sun-streaked and shorter than her own, the sapphire blue eyes, and the light olive complexion. This was beyond strange.

  Knees weak, she backed up to the closest chair and sat on the edge. She placed both hands on each side of her face and shook her head. Could the things she remembered be Traci’s memories? She knew nothing of Traci’s background. Had she studied geology, been poor before her marriage?

  Chin raised, she stood and straightened her spine. She knew herself better than that. She wasn’t Traci. If everyone had a double, then she must be Traci’s doppelganger. That was the answer. She would never desert her own child as she’d been abandoned.

  Muffled voices echoed from across the entryway.

  She tore her gaze away from the portrait and followed the sounds down a short passage into the dining room.

  An elegant older woman and a small boy, perhaps the most beautiful child she had ever seen, stood at a buffet table filling their plates from silver serving dishes.

  Conversation stopped when they spotted her. The two exchanged a look, the boy’s expression that of a child who had torn away Christmas wrapping and found a train set.

  The china in his hand crashed, sending shards and food bouncing onto the pristine terracotta tile. He froze in place for a second and then bounded across the space between them and grabbed her around the waist. “Mummy, oh, Mummy! You came home.”

  The woman, tall and slender, silver hair pulled back into a smooth chignon, had the classic features of a Greek statue. Her skin wore a freshness many younger women would envy. There was something oddly familiar about her. She moved forward with an effortless grace and then pulled up short, blue eyes glistening. Her face formed a welcoming smile. “Traci, it’s good to have you home. Thomas said he’d find you.”

  Perhaps she should have expected this, but somehow, Mercy wasn’t prepared.

  They labored under the same delusion as the man who snatched her from Bermuda. They believed her to be Traci. After viewing the painting, she could understand why. Despite the identity confusion, a useful piece of information fell into place. She now had a name for her abductor. Thomas Wallace.

  She paused for a moment. How should she respond to the child? This wasn’t her son. She had no feelings for him. Yet something, perhaps the woman in her, empathized with this little boy who had been so ill without a mother to comfort him. She knelt.

  His arms flew around her neck, his head resting on her shoulder.

  She pulled him close and whispered against his blond curls. “Hello, Daniel.”

  A now familiar voice spoke from the doorway. “Don’t knock your mother off her feet, son. I know you’re happy to see her, but let her get breakfast.”

  “Daddy!” Daniel released her, shot across the floor, and leaped into his father’s arms. “You’re home!”

  Thomas held the boy close, laughter in his eyes. The harsh man transformed. Lines in his face softened, and he glowed with pride as he inspected the boy. “We arrived a little while ago. You must be careful, son. You’re not well, yet.” He tousled the boy’s hair. “I think you’ve grown an inch while I was away.”

  Daniel wiggled out of his father’s arms and came back to Mercy.

  She smiled and took his hand. “Shall I help you clean up the food and broken glass?”

  Thomas dismissed her offer. “The staff will take care of that. Sit down and eat with Daniel.” As if awaiting summons, a maid scurried from the kitchen, dustpan and broom in hand, to remove all signs of the mishap.

  “In that case, Daniel, may I help you get your breakfast? What will it be? Shall we start with pancakes?”

  A smile tipped the corners of his mouth, and he nodded.

  She filled his plate and one for herself from the buffet table, and sat beside him.

  The absurdity of the situation hadn’t escaped her. Yesterday, she had been an orphan. Today she sat at a family breakfast, pretending to be a wife and mother to people she didn’t know. It was like a strange dream where one wakes on stage in front of an audience without ever having read the script.

  Daniel’s adoration-filled eyes never left her face. It unnerved her. She had done nothing to warrant his devotion. Her heart ached for him—the neglect he endured from his mother. Yet his actions carried no reproach. Only a soft expression in his innocent blue eyes, so like her own. “No school today, right?”

  Thomas cleared his throat. “We’re declaring a week long break from school next week, since you’re home, an official holiday in your honor.”

  The undercurrent of cynicism in his tone eluded the boy, but the woman across the table caught it. Her bright, intelligent gaze darted to Thomas and then back to Mercy.

  Daniel couldn’t contain his excitement, wiggling in his chair. “You and Mummy, both?”

  “We’re at your disposal for the next seven days. I’ll have to get back to work the following week, but for now your mother and I are yours to command.”

  Over breakfast, the woman watched Mercy with the same attention Daniel expressed. Mercy shifted in the plush chair, not knowing how to address her. Her kind, well-defined face held a serenity belying the turmoil Mercy sensed in this house. She didn’t look like a governess. Much too elegant. Perhaps a grandmother. There was a strong family resemblance to Daniel.

  The need to be outside to collect her thoughts swept over Mercy. All the stress of the past twenty-four hours pressed in on her. “After I take a run on the beach, would you like to show me your favorite places on the island, Daniel?”

  He ducked his head and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  As the meal ended, Mercy caught Thomas’s eye. “May I speak to you for a moment?”

  He placed his napkin on the table and stood. “Of course. Let’s go to my office.”

  After leading her down a wide hallway lined with muted paintings of beaches and harbors, he stopped at an open doorway and ushered her inside.

  She waited until the door closed and rounded on him. “I’ve seen the portrait, and despite the resemblance, I’m not your wife. You can’t just throw me in the midst of this household and expect me to meet everyone’s expectations. Can’t you humor me, and consider the possibility I’m telling the truth? Who is the older woman? What is she to Daniel, to me? What do I call her?”

  He sat on the edge of the desk, one dark brow arched. “Don’t you think you’re carrying this charade too far? Nanna is the grandmother who raised you. As you are well aware.”

  Mercy dropped onto the sofa near the desk, resting her head in her hands. “I am not well aware. I don’t know you. I don’t know them, and I’m beginning to doubt my own identity.”

  He stood and grabbed her shoulders. Pulling her to her feet, he shook her. “I know who you are. That’s all that counts. Make no mistake, Traci. You will fulfill your obligation to your son until he is well. There is no way off the island unless I take you. Your boyfriend won’t pick you up. As far as I know, he lost track of you, too. If you decide to run again, I will have you committed, and you know I have the connections to do so. That is not my first choice, but I will do what I have to do for Daniel. Two months, that’s all I’m asking.”

  Heat burned her cheeks. “I’ve told you, two months, and I lose the job of a lifetime, because you’re too stubborn to admit you made a mistake.” She stormed from the room, slammed the door behind her, and moved into the corridor.

  This man was playing with her life, her future. She could understand his concern for Daniel. Heartless as it seemed, it wasn’t her problem. She wasn’t Daniel’s mother.

  Nanna stood a few paces away. She took a step forward. “Traci, don’t be too hard on Thomas. You’ve caused him and Daniel a great deal of pain. Thomas has been crazy with worry about the boy.” She paused, seeming to search for the right words. “I’ve prayed for you to become the woman your husband and
son need. Please try, Traci, for my sake. For all our sakes. I’m getting too old and too tired to clean up behind you.”

  The haunted look in her eyes struck Mercy like a physical blow. How could her double have caused so much heartache, crushed so many spirits?

  “Nanna, I’m not...”

  Nanna removed a white lace handkerchief from her pocket and held it to her eyes. She sniffed, and then patted Mercy’s arm. The woman disappeared down the corridor, looking like Atlas with the weight of the world on his shoulder.

  Warning bells went off in Mercy’s head. She’d spent most of her childhood without parents or grandparents, and this ready-made family could fill that void. That would be disastrous. Traci Wallace was alive somewhere, and Thomas Wallace came with the package.

  She dashed back and changed into sweats and running shoes. On her way out, she stopped at the scrapbook she’d noticed earlier, and flipped it open. Page after page of Traci’s exploits unfolded in tabloid headlines.

  A wedding picture and article dated seven years ago captioned, “Wedding of the Year.”

  Sorry ladies, but party girl and fashion model Traci Montgomery, has captured the heart of Thomas Wallace, heir to the Wallace Oil Machinery fortune. The couple exchanged vows Saturday in a private ceremony with five hundred of their closest friends on Wallace’s private island.

  A year later, another photo of Traci holding baby Daniel, with Thomas smiling in the background. The caption read, “Wallace Heir Arrives.”

  More recent stories turned ugly. Pictures of Traci and a Latin-type male leaving her London apartment. A topless Traci sunbathing on the yacht of an American playboy. Traci arrested for disrobing down to her underwear in a Paris fountain. A drunk and uninvited Traci joining the singers onstage at an Italian opera house. A public affair with a man named Ricco Rossellini, the man shown in the London photos.

  And on and on.

  Surreal, seeing her face below the tawdry headlines. Mercy closed the book, heat searing her face. Who would save such disreputable publicity? Did she take pride in her escapades? Keep them around to punish her husband? The scrapbook left Mercy with no doubts about her identity. She could never have been involved in such behavior.