Dead Ringer Page 6

  She entered, lowered into the chair across from him, and picked up the cup. “This may keep me up the rest of the night.”

  “It’s decaf.” He replaced the carafe and sat back down. “I spoke to your doctor today, about your injury and amnesia.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you believe me?”

  “I accept the possibility you believe you are Mercy Lawrence. With the trauma you’ve experienced, have you considered that you might actually be Traci Wallace?”

  “I don’t have all the pieces of my memory.” A shadow passed over her eyes. “But I do know who I am. Memories of my early childhood are vague, but when I accepted the position at Sabine Oil, I knew I could do the job, knew I had the training. And I could never have forgotten a husband and son.”

  He shifted his position and examined her face. Her gaze was steady, and she didn’t look away—signals she told the truth.

  “Have you done anything with the information I gave you?”

  “Yes, I have people working on it. These things take time, especially when it’s a foreigner inquiring into the background of an American citizen. I’m not convinced you’re Mercy Lawrence, but I’m convinced you think you are.”

  “I could give you DNA evidence and fingerprints, as I offered in Bermuda.”

  “Fingerprints would be fairly easy for an expert to check, but DNA would take weeks. That will be the next step. Right now, I’m waiting for basic background information, work history, education, birth records, et cetera.”

  Exhaustion set in like swimming against the current. The possibility that she wasn’t Traci complicated his world beyond his ability to comprehend. He rubbed his hands across the five-o’clock shadow on his face, the sound like sandpaper on wood. “If what you’re telling me is true, I have an even greater problem. Not only have I done you a grave injustice, but my son believes you’re his mother. I’m not sure he could stand to lose her twice.”

  “I’m aware of that, Thomas. And I don’t have the answer.”

  “Can I get your promise not to do anything rash until I finish gathering all the information? We’ll decide what to do, then.”

  She pushed the chair back and stood. “I can hardly do anything else.”

  He couldn’t read her expression, unsure whether it was anger or resignation.

  Her next words erased all doubt. “You have forced me to come here to this isolated island against my will. Made me homeless and unemployed. Now you want me to obediently sit by while you make up your mind what to do with me?”

  Her outburst caught him off guard. “I understand that you’re upset, and you have every right to be. But the situation exists, and I can’t change that.” He ran fingers through his hair. “Granted, I created this mess. But now Daniel is caught in the middle and I don’t want him hurt.”

  Her posture relaxed and she sat back down.

  “If you have an easy answer to resolve this, please tell me.”

  She shook her head.

  Silence filled the space for a few minutes. He still needed her help and in her present mood, he doubted he would get any cooperation from her. He removed the spoon from his saucer and stirred the dark brew, stalling. “I need a favor.”

  She gave him a you-must-be-kidding glare. “From me? What kind of favor?”

  “I...we have been invited to a formal affair in Paris tomorrow night at the American Embassy. My presence is mandatory, and I wondered if you would go with me? Actually, I’m supposed to bring an escort, and since everyone knows we’re still married, I can hardly ask someone else.” He’d considered the problems with this arrangement on the flight home. Taking her would be risky. If she bolted, it would break Daniel’s heart. He lifted the cup to his lips and found it empty. For a moment, he thought she hadn’t heard the question, or perhaps considered it too outrageous to respond.

  Finally she spoke. “How long would we be away?”

  “We’ll leave after breakfast tomorrow morning and return when the affair is over. It’ll be late.”

  “You’d be taking a chance. I might try to stay at the embassy. Go back to my life.”

  “The thought had occurred to me. But as you’ve reminded me repeatedly, you no longer have a job. I can fix that and your homeless problem when you leave here.” He stood and refilled his drink and started to top hers off.

  She placed her hand over the cup.

  “You might even be able to pull it off. However, the French authorities aren’t terribly fond of you after the Concorde fountain episode. If you claim to be someone else, they’ll think you’re mental.” He sat back down. “But I’m hoping you don’t want to disillusion Daniel. So how about it? Will you come?”

  “All right. Just so we’re clear, I’m doing this for Daniel. He doesn’t deserve to be hurt anymore than he already has been.” She pushed away from the table. “I don’t have a passport. Mine is still in Bermuda.”

  “I took the liberty of getting you a new one earlier this week.”

  “It usually takes weeks.”

  “I just told them you’d lost yours. Replacements are easier than starting from scratch.”

  “Will Daniel be OK with our absence?”

  “He has been in the past. If you need a new gown, you can call some of your…Traci’s old connections in Paris. They’ll be more than happy to accommodate you on short notice.”

  She waved a hand towards her room. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  “It’s your choice. Select your gown and accessories, and Fergus will put them on the plane. You can dress in the stateroom after we land at Orly. We’ll have a few hours before time to leave for the embassy.”

  Mercy drained her cup and returned it to the saucer.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  “Yes.” She rose, still clearly agitated, and left the room.

  He carried the cups and carafe to the sink. Emotions boiled inside him he couldn’t describe, even to himself. Bent on bringing Daniel’s mother home, had he recklessly kidnapped the wrong woman? How was that possible? How could he have made such a monumental mistake? He needed to talk to someone, someone who could point him in the right direction. But he had pushed God out of his life ages ago.

  8

  Wallace Island, the Aegean Sea

  Saturday, May 20

  Mercy rose early and showered quickly. She had to select a dress for this evening and had only given the closet a cursory glance last night—a gown was the last thing on her mind. She’d tossed all night, considering the coffee klatch with Thomas. For the first time since this madness began, she had hope. The comments he made proved he hadn’t made up his mind about her identity. At least he was open to discussing it. A major leap forward.

  She couldn’t deny Paris offered a viable opportunity to get away. To go home. Home to what, was beside the point. She no longer had a job and no place to go. She’d paid her rent only through May. If she didn’t return soon, the apartment complex would think she’d abandoned the property and would sell off everything she owned. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had. And then there was Paddy. She heaved a deep breath. And she didn’t belong here.

  Escape in Paris presented obstacles. Big ones. She didn’t speak the language. She had no money and no identification. However, she would be at the American Embassy. They assisted stranded tourists. She could repay them once she found a job. She still had some of the insurance money left. Maybe, as a guest, she could speak to the ambassador personally.

  But as Thomas reminded her, they might think her mad. She couldn’t explain her remarkable resemblance to Traci Wallace. Besides, she’d made a bargain. And, as always, Daniel’s face clouded her judgment. How could she hurt him?

  She pushed her personal dilemma aside and stood before Traci’s closet. She had a decision to make. In another life, she would be ecstatic. Paris was on her bucket list, a place to see and experience before she died. One of Traci’s fabulous gowns would make her feel like Cinderella. But Thomas was no Prince Charming, ha
rsh one minute, almost gentle the next. His mercurial behavior made her head spin.

  That was a problem for another day. On to the dilemma at hand.

  Close examination of Traci’s eveningwear revealed her preference for plunging necklines and backless gowns. No way would she appear in public dressed like that. Pity. The lavish money spent on those frocks would feed a family of four for twenty years.

  Dare she call one of the designers in Traci’s phone directory and ask for something more sedate?

  She’d give the closet one last look before calling a designer. Separating the garments one by one, she almost gave up until a white beaded frock in the back came into view. One look told her this was perfect. Simple, elegant, and light as silk.

  Decision made, she put her travel wardrobe together, hung it out for Fergus, and then joined the family for breakfast.

  As they ate, she refilled Daniel’s juice glass. “I’m going away with your father today. But we’ll be back in time for church tomorrow.”

  He gazed down at his plate, but said nothing. No tears, but the look in his gaze spoke volumes.

  Their conversation of the other night popped into her mind. He must think she wouldn’t come back. How many times had that happened when Traci left and didn’t return for months? From the looks of her scrapbook, Traci hadn’t spent a lot of time at home.

  He finished eating quickly and left the dining room, his head down.

  After the boy had gone, she caught Thomas’s eye. “Couldn’t we take him? It would do him good to get away, see life outside the island.”

  “We couldn’t take him to the embassy. It’s an adult affair. There would be no other children there.”

  “Fergus could come and stay with him while we’re away.”

  He studied her for a moment. She held her breath until he raised his hands in surrender. “Get his clothes packed. Be sure to add some sweaters. It can get chilly for thin-blooded islanders this time of year. Wheels off the ground in thirty minutes.”

  

  Orly Airport, Paris, France

  Saturday, May 20

  The flight turned into an unexpected family affair with Daniel and Fergus on board.

  Thomas settled down to take care of leftover paperwork from the office.

  Fergus and Daniel played checkers in the back, and Traci read a novel she’d brought.

  The aircraft was the perfect place to work. With everyone quiet, it served him well. Often too many interruptions at home and at the office made it difficult to concentrate. Thoughts of the message he’d received Monday made him pull the copy from his inside pocket. He read it again.

  ----- Original Message -----

  From: "Paul Redford”

  To: "'Thomas Wallace”

  Subject: Your Eyes Only

  Meet me in Paris at the embassy Saturday. Important. Don’t say no. You owe me. Something big in the wind. Heim Rosen will join us.

  Paul.

  In his other life, Thomas had worked with Heim Rosen. The message sounded ominous when he first read it, and it still troubled him. He slid the paper into the shredder and watched it turn into confetti. Whatever Paul’s mission, it couldn’t be good if it involved Israel and the USA.

  After Thomas had finished university, the CIA recruited him. With his American mother and Scottish father, the agency considered him a good candidate. Eager to sow some wild oats, Thomas worked for Paul in a European cell. Six years of chasing bad guys through dark alleys and mosques and trying to stay alive while doing it.

  Thomas walked away when his father’s health declined, and his dad had asked Thomas to take over at Wallace Limited.

  Things were more complicated now. He had a wife, a son, and no desire to jump back to the dark side. He’d served his time. Unfortunately, as the man stated, he owed him.

  Good weather hastened their arrival at Orly, giving them six hours before the party. He unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. “Anybody up for a little sightseeing?”

  All gazes turned to him.

  He waved a hand towards the window. “There’s a big city out there. Where shall we go?”

  Fergus shrugged. “I’ve seen it all, lad.”

  “I’ve always wanted to drink coffee at one of the sidewalk cafés,” Traci said.

  As many times as Traci had been in Paris, and she’d never visited a sidewalk café? He gave a metal shrug. Traci came for the nightlife. She’d probably never been awake during the daytime. Then again, this woman just might not be Traci.

  “Great, I know just the place, a little café on Place Saint-Germaine. I should warn you, the coffee is so strong the spoon stands straight up in the cup. Espresso was born in Paris.” He laughed. “But it’s a little known secret that you can get a cup of tea at a sidewalk café if you ask.”

  They breezed through customs, only to find a horde of paparazzi waiting. Someone must have tipped them off.

  Flashbulbs almost blinded Thomas.

  Calls rang out from the crowd of reporters.

  “Look this way, Traci.”

  “Where have you been, love?”

  “Things have been dull without you, mon ami.”

  Thomas shouted over the uproar. “Fergus, the boy!”

  Fergus sprang for Daniel and loaded him into their hired car.

  Thomas took Traci’s arm and shepherded her into the back seat behind Fergus.

  Daniel, his face as white as his shirt, turned to his father. “Were those bad men, Dad? Did they want to hurt us?”

  Traci pulled Daniel in close, her face as pale as her son’s. “They meant us no physical harm, but they are not nice people.”

  “The café is out of the question,” Thomas said. “They’ll follow us wherever we go. This is the tourist season, and the streets will be crowded. We could be trapped for hours by those bloodhounds.”

  He hadn’t wanted Daniel to have to deal with this.

  Fergus turned in the front seat. “What’s your game plan, lad? We can always go back to the plane.”

  Thomas shook his head. “We haven’t had lunch. I know a place where the press won’t bother us, and we can enjoy a leisurely meal.” He gave the driver the name.

  “You’re sure they won’t follow us inside?” Traci asked.

  “The hotel won’t allow it. We’ll rent a suite and have room service. If you haven’t been there before, you’ll like the atmosphere. It’s an Eighteenth Century Renaissance rebuilt in 2001, with Louis XV décor, and high-speed Internet service. Privacy at a price. We’ll be safe there. Piece of cake.”

  She cast him a skeptical glance. “I seem to remember Marie Antoinette saying something similar. Look what happened to her.”

  

  It started to rain, and Mercy welcomed the sight of the hotel through the car’s streaked windows. Maybe it would dampen the paparazzi’s fervor.

  Outside the hotel, a Middle-Eastern vendor sold toy puppets under a covered awning. Seeing Daniel, the man stopped and made a red-vested monkey clap and dance. The boy gazed from the vendor to his father.

  “Buy it for him,” Mercy said.

  “It’s a cheap toy. He’ll break it in a day.”

  “Then he’ll have fun for a day. All his toys are educational. Buy it.”

  Thomas began a conversation with the vendor in Arabic. Money changed hands, and he handed the toy to Daniel. Looking at her, he asked, “Satisfied?”

  She nodded. “How is it that a Scottish businessman speaks Arabic?”

  “Actually, it’s Farsi, and the answer is simple. I deal in oil equipment. It’s the mother tongue of most of my customers.”

  Cars and motorbikes slammed to the curb behind them, and Thomas herded Mercy and Daniel inside the hotel lobby. The doorman stopped the pack of photographers at the entrance.

  Thomas led his family further inside, and they boarded the elevator to the top floor. The doors slid open into the elegant suite. The ornate Louis XV furniture looked too delicate to
sit on, but proved comfortable.

  Mercy applauded Thomas’s decision to have Fergus return to the plane and bring their luggage to the hotel. She’d never experienced anything like the paparazzi. How did celebrities survive such an assault on a regular basis? It must terrify their children.

  She had wanted this to be a pleasant outing for Daniel, but he was forced to spend most of his time in a plane and now in a hotel room. Fortunately, he entertained himself with the toy and watching television—a novelty for him.

  Now she understood why Thomas kept Daniel on the island. It was the only place the boy could lead a somewhat normal life.

  His mother’s antics had made his life more complicated than it might have been otherwise. The Wallace fortune would bring him attention over time, but hopefully nothing like what they had faced today.

  A glimpse at the clock told her she had to get dressed. After a shower, she used hot rollers on her hair, deciding to wear it down. While the curlers did their job, she applied her makeup, slipped into the gown and surveyed her image in the full-length mirror.

  Nervous, a sudden thought jarred her composure. The gown was a full length formal. What if the women wore a simple black dress? This was Paris, after all. Why hadn’t she asked? Such a faux pas would be disastrous. Traci would instinctively have known the dress code.

  Hands shaking, she picked up her bag and cloak and stepped into the living room.

  Already dressed in his tuxedo, Thomas stood at the window, looking out over the City of Lights. He turned when she entered, and something like appreciation flashed into his gaze before he shut it down.

  “That’s the first time you’ve worn that gown. What made you choose it?”

  Her heart sank. She’d made the wrong choice. “Actually, I chose it because it was the only one with a neckline that didn’t plunge to my navel. Please don’t tell me it’s inappropriate.”

  Approval returned to his gaze. “It’s exactly right. Do you remember where it came from?”

  “No. Thomas, I don’t know where any of the dresses in Traci’s wardrobe came from.”