Deadly Identity (14 page)

Rachel had been in the room to clean it. Light and airy, it was almost as large as the master bedroom. She watched as Cade slid back a door on a closet. He brought out three sewing tables and set them up.

“Abby had these three tables placed around the room. Two were for cutting fabric and other stuff,” Cade explained as he brought the tables upright on their legs. “This one is for the sewing machine. It's a
bit lower and allows you to have the sewing machine at the right level so it doesn't kill your shoulders and back.” He drew out a lime-green suitcase that said
Tutto
on it. “Now this,” he said, hefting it up to the middle table, “is the special suitcase that is built to carry the Bernina she used. You can take it to class with you.”

Fascinated, Rachel said, “This is like Christmas.”

Cade felt the rest of his worry dissolve. It was positive to focus on something that would give Rachel joy. And how much he wanted her happy. He loved seeing the joy in her eyes. “Hey, after the rotten Christmas you had, this is a good thing.” After unzipping the side of the suitcase he carefully pulled out the Bernina.

“There,” Cade said, placing the machine on the sewing desk. “Here's your Bernina. It's called a ‘patchwork' machine and its focus is for people who want to quilt. Take a look.” He stepped aside.

Rachel leaned over and gave the machine a thorough examination. “Gwen was telling me that they have special classes on how to use a Bernina. I think that I'll take those courses first before I do anything with this one.”

A lightness moved through Cade as he walked to the open door. “Do what you want. I don't think you'll hurt it at all, Rachel.”

Touching the white machine with her fingertips, she said, “Classes first.”

“Okay,” Cade said. “I'm going to read the evening newspaper.”

Rachel stood there and listened as the pleasant thunk of his cowboy boots disappeared down the hall. She turned and looked around. The room was painted a sunny yellow color. Rachel wondered if the bright cotton curtains across the only window were made by Abby. No one, it seemed, dodged the awful realities that life threw at them. No one.

After their sweet moment, Rachel felt relief. Her talk with Cade had been open and without emotional drama. How different from her marriage to Dirk. Reaching out, Rachel touched the machine once again. How many times had Abby used it? What had she sewn on this machine? And if she'd made a quilt, Rachel had not seen it in the house. Or was the quilt on Cade's bed made by her? So many questions. Rachel knew she had no business asking him any of them.

And then, her cell phone rang.

Rachel froze. Her phone never rang and she ditched it each month after talking with her mother. The FBI had taught her to never use the same cell phone twice.

Shutting the door, Rachel pulled the phone out of her pocket. It was her handler, Brenda.

“Hi, Brenda. What's wrong?” Rachel said, keeping her voice low so that Cade wouldn't overhear her.

“Just wanted to give you an update. We had police in Des Moines, Iowa, think they saw Dirk Payson.”

Her heart began a wild pounding in her chest. Rachel's voice dropped to a ragged whisper. “Are you sure? What would he be doing
there?
” Fear for her brothers' lives slammed through her. Rachel closed her eyes, wanting to scream.

“I said
think.
We're not sure yet. We got a photo ID on him from TSA video. Right now we're running it through our office to see if it is him or not.”

“What if it is? What's he doing there, Brenda? My God…”

“Don't freak out yet,” the FBI handler warned. “What I want to do is send you a copy of the photo. I want you to look at it and you tell me if you think it's Dirk. I'll send it now.”

Rachel pulled the phone away and heard it make a bell-like sound that meant a jpeg had been forwarded to her. She pressed some buttons and looked on the small, narrow screen. A gasp tore from her. No matter how much Dirk had disguised himself, she would always recognize his narrow, close-set eyes anywhere.

“Yes, that's him,” Rachel rasped. “Is he going to kill my brothers, Brenda?” Terror leaked into her voice and tears jammed into her eyes. Rachel pushed them back. This was no time to get hysterical.

“Thanks for the ID. I thought so myself, but my boss wanted to run the facial recognition on this to be sure.”

“What does this mean? What are you going to do?”

“First things first. Payson has fraudulent identification. We've got all the info from TSA and I have a team working on it right now. He never uses credit cards because they're too easy to trace. Payson always pays in cash for the tickets, for the rental cars and anything else he needs.”

“You said he was on a flight? To where?”

“Back to Miami.”

Relief made her shake. “He's going back to his old stomping grounds.”

“Yes, it appears so.”

“And my brothers? Are they okay?” Oh, how she yearned to talk with them!

“They're fine. Like I told you before, they know Payson is on the loose. The local law enforcement is keeping an eye on the farm. So, just start taking some deep breaths and relax, okay? I'm assuming you're getting out and filtering into the local population? You can't hide. You must live a normal life so people don't get suspicious of you. I know there's a fine balance between being out in public and hiding in your home, but you need to keep a balance between the two.”

Pressing her fingers to her brow, Rachel nodded.
“Yes, I take a quilt class. I go get groceries. But I still try to keep a low profile. I think I've met that balance.”

“Good. Once we get official identification, Rachel, I'll call your mother and the law enforcement who keeps tabs on her. I'm sure Payson doesn't realize he's been located. I'll be working with Miami-Dade County law enforcement to find him. And I'll keep you abreast of our efforts.”

“Thank you so much. I really appreciate that, Brenda. I just live in terror of him being close.”

“I know you do,” Brenda said gently. “But every one is working on this. Stop worrying, okay? We've got it handled.”

“Should I throw this cell away and go for the next one with the new number?” One call was all that could be made on it.

“Yes, do that. I've got all the numbers of the cells you have in your possession.”

“Right, I will. Thanks, Brenda. This is really good news.”

“Yes, it is. How are things going there for you? We haven't talked in a while.”

“Okay,” she answered. “Cade is wonderful. I love taking care of Jenny. I just wish—well, I wish so badly that I could tell Cade the truth. And I worry about Dirk being loose. Half the time I want to run away to protect this family from him. I know if
he finds me, he'll go out of his way to kill anyone nearby.”

“I know this is putting you on edge, but you need some place to hide. Wyoming is perfect. I don't want you to think of leaving there, Rachel. There's no need to run. I'm sorry you can't tell Cade, but that's how leaks get started. You can never tell anyone, Rachel. You know that.”

Miserably, Rachel nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“Okay, gotta run. I'll be in touch when we know more.”

Rachel flipped the phone closed and slid it back into her pocket. She stood there with her hands pressed against her cheeks. Fighting back relief and fear at the same time, she wanted to cry. But she couldn't. Cade might catch her and then she'd have to explain why. No, whatever she did, she had to tough it out and remain the liar that she was.

“I
WANT YOU TO CHANGE
my mug,” Dirk told Mexican physician Dr. Jorge Morales. Dirk had sneaked across the border in another disguise—clean-shaven and dyed red hair. Word had gotten to him that the cops at the Iowa airport had identified him, but it was too late. He'd gotten off the Miami flight and was long gone before the news reached Florida law enforcement.

The Mexican doctor nodded.
“Sí, señor.”

Dirk grinned. He sat in an air-conditioned office in a high-rise in Mexico City. Dr. Morales worked for the drug cartels. His business was to change faces with a scalpel so that a person could no longer be identified as a criminal. “Make me look pretty,” he told the doctor.

The physician nodded and smiled beneath his black mustache. “Of course, Señor Payson.” He pulled out several books and opened them up. “Let's talk about what changes can be made and which ones you'd like. We'll work together this hour to redesign your face.”

Leaning forward, Dirk felt excitement. He didn't like the eight weeks of enforced hiding in Mexico's Yucatán Peninsula while his face got rid of the bruising and swelling, but he did enjoy the fact that U.S. law enforcement would no longer be able to identify him. He was also getting a new passport, social security number and the whole nine yards, so once he went back into U.S. territory, he'd be invisible to police.

“I just don't like the time it takes,” he griped, moving to the “chins” section of the book.

“I understand,
señor,
but what you are asking, it will take a good eight weeks.”

Dirk shrugged. “I guess I can't complain. I'll be at an exclusive resort, have my own apartment, maid service and meals brought to me.”

“You will live the good life,
señor,
while you heal.” The doctor smiled a little. “The authorities will never be able to use any facial recognition software to find you again. You will be the proverbial wolf among the sheep. And the sheep won't have a clue.”

Dirk intently studied the chin illustrations and suggested changes for his shape of face, and muttered, “Well, no matter. I got a hacker dude looking to find my ex-wife. He said it would take time. Now, I can use that time to make some serious changes.”

“You will be quite handsome when I'm done with you,” the doctor said. “I will broaden your cheekbones with implants. Your nose, which is very aquiline, will
have a slight curve. Just enough to fool the software. And your chin, instead of receding, will be strong and masculine-looking. I'm having my optometry department create special green contact lenses so that your eye color will change, as well.”

Dirk nodded. He liked the sleek chrome-and-glass office, and this doc was efficient and organized. The doctor was a plastic surgeon of great renown. He worked for the drug cartels on the side, and cash came in by the wheelbarrow load for his face-changing work. Greed, Dirk felt, was the best motivator in the world.

“You ever botch a face?” he demanded, giving the doctor a steely gaze.

“Never,” Morales said proudly. And then he flashed Dirk a toothy white grin. “Look at it this way,
señor.
If I was bad at what I did, I'd be dead by now.
Sí?
”

“Sí,”
Dirk said, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Listen, can you give me fuller lips? Chicks dig men with a full lower lip.” He pointed to his. “Mine's too thin. Can you fix that, too?”

“Of course.” The doctor pointed toward his ears. “
Señor,
your ears stick out quite a bit. I intend to pin them back. It will give your face a completely different look. It's a quick, easy fix but one that will make a world of difference.”

“I like that,” Dirk said, pleased. “My old man always called me Dumbo ears.” He snickered.

“Excellent. We'll make the change,” the doctor murmured, typing the notes into his laptop.

After choosing the appropriate chin and cheeks as well as a less-pronounced brow, Dirk felt exhilarated. It was almost akin to the cocaine highs he enjoyed so much. The doctor had taken a photo of his face and then typed in the changes. What came out in the printer was astoundingly different. Dirk stared down at the photographic paper in his hands.

“This is the new you,” the doctor said in a pleased tone. “I also suggest that you shave your head, which is now quite the fashion. With a thin red mustache that you can dye every few days and your green contact lenses, no one will recognize you,
señor.
”

Dirk stared mutely at the photo in his hands. How far he'd come from a scrawny Dumbo-eared teen with acne all over his face to this. The man in the photo was damned handsome in comparison. Tears leaked into his eyes, but Dirk quickly shoved them back. Too emotional to speak, he quirked his mouth instead.

“Do you like it,
señor?
” the doctor asked, concern in his tone.

Clearing his throat, Dirk blurted, “Yes…yes, I like it. A lot.”

Relief in his face, Dr. Morales sat in his chair. “
Bueno,
good. Well, look at it this way, Señor Payson, you will have eight weeks of rest and recuperation.
And, like a butterfly coming out of a cocoon, you will emerge handsome and different.”

“Yeah,” Dirk laughed giddily, “from worm to butterfly. I like that, Doc.”

“You keep the photo,
señor.
I'm scheduling you for surgery tomorrow morning. After that, you'll recover for a week here in my office in a nice little area reserved for special patients. After that week, you will then have your face wrapped in bandages and you'll be driven by limo to the resort where you'll stay for another seven weeks. One of my assistants, Dr. Gomez, will be there to check up on you. There is enough business of face-changing for me to have him there permanently, so you will not have to worry about not receiving appropriate medical attention. We are there for you.”

As he stared down at the photo once more, Dirk's voice cracked. “Why didn't I do this a long time ago? I'll have women crawling all over me. They won't be able to keep their hands off me.”

Chuckling pleasantly, the doctor sat up and placed his pad and pen on his desk. “Aaah,
señor,
you will truly be sought after by the ladies. Women like beautiful men and you will be one of them.”

Dirk said, “Well, I've got to be in the U.S., but that can be put on hold for a while.” He laughed.

The doctor rose to his feet. “Come, my receptionist will take you to your apartment here in the high-rise.
She will give you instructions so that you are properly prepped for tomorrow morning's surgery.”

Happiness threaded through Dirk. He gripped the photo as he left the office. From worm to butterfly. Hell yes, he liked that idea. As Dirk followed the older woman to the shiny brass elevators in the lobby, he smiled to himself. Once his hacker friend got a trail on Susan, he would find her and kill her. And she'd never see him coming. She wouldn't recognize him at all. Chortling to himself, Dirk stepped into the elevator. Yes, all of a sudden, life was looking up. He might have to spend March and April at a posh, exclusive high-end resort on the Yucatán Peninsula, but after that, in May, he'd be back in the U.S. And looking for her.

 

R
ACHEL STOOD OUT ON
the porch with the throwaway cell phone pressed to her ear. The March thaw was well on its way. The icicles steadily dripped along the porch gutters across the outside door. Spring was coming, thank goodness. She heard her FBI handler clear her throat at the other end.

“Rachel, I'm checking in with you. We had a lead on Payson but there was a snafu in communications between the Des Moines law enforcement and TSA down at the Miami airport.”

Her heart sank. “Oh, no, Dirk is on the loose.”

“Yes, I'm sorry. I'm so pissed I can't see straight. I'm glad we have a new President in office. He's made
it a priority to get all law enforcement talking with one another on the same damn frequency. We could have arrested Payson as he got off the plane, but TSA muffed it.”

Closing her eyes, Rachel felt her gut knotting. “What should I do, Brenda? Should I leave here?”

“No, don't do that. He doesn't know where you or your mother are. You're both safe. Just remember that, okay?”

“What do you think has happened to him? Where has he gone? Is he in Miami? He loves that city.”

“Well, I've got Dade County law enforcement turning over every nook and cranny to look for Payson. In fact, the FBI has gone above and beyond and sent every law-enforcement agency in the U.S. a new wanted poster on him. We're really hustling on this. Not only do we want him captured to keep you and your family safe, but we know that Payson will reestablish his ties with coke dealers in the Midwest he worked with before. We really don't want that, either.”

A little relief flowed through Rachel. “I—I'm just worried, Brenda. I worry that this family I'm with will be killed by Dirk. I know his temper. He's a sociopath. He won't think anything of killing an infant, the parents of Cade or Cade himself. I just can't bear to think of that happening.”

“I understand,” Brenda soothed, “but look at this another way, Rachel: you have to live somewhere.
You have to work to keep a cover. So, no matter where you might go, you will involve others simply because you have to have a job. You see that, don't you?”

“It's enough my brothers and mother pay for my choice,” Rachel said, a sob lodging in her throat and making her voice raspy. “I—I just feel at my wits' end, Brenda. I'm so shaken by this. I love Jenny. I love Cade's parents….” She almost said,
I love Cade.
The shock of that startled her for a moment. Rachel had no time to feel her way through that epiphany. Choking down the sob, Rachel pleaded, “Brenda, get him! Find him and get him behind bars. Please? I feel horrible about involving the entire Garner family. They do not deserve violence coming to their doorstep. My God, Jenny has lost both her parents. She doesn't need Dirk coming here to kill her!”

“Take it easy,” Brenda said in a gentle tone. “Just breathe, Rachel. Breathe. You're getting too emotional about this and that's not like you. What's different this time? Why are you wigging out?”

Anger stirred in Rachel. “Wigging out? I don't think so, Brenda! Before, Dirk was behind bars and we were safe. Now, we're not safe. I don't think my reaction and my concern for Cade's family is unwarranted. I've created enough trouble for my own family, much less involve the Garners, don't you think?”

“You're right, you're right,” Brenda said. “Look,
the witness protection program isn't perfect, Rachel. We're doing the best we can. We've stepped up surveillance on Payson by involving every local police department in this nation. You have no idea the cost to do that, but you shouldn't have to be concerned about it, either. We want your ex-husband off the streets as much as you do. Please, just know that we're on top of it as much as we can be.”

“His drug-lord boss is from Mexico City. Could he have skipped out of the country and gone south?” Rachel wondered.

“We're looking at surveillance tapes at all border crossings right now,” Brenda said. “I think Payson has skipped the country.”

“He could hide in Mexico for a long time and then come back across in a disguise.”

“Yes, that's what our team thinks. We're sending out special instructions to border agents and border-crossing points from one end of the U.S. to the other about Payson and his habits.”

Rachel stared out the back-porch door. The temperature was in the forties, the sun shining brightly, the sky an incredible blue. Ordinarily, she'd be jumping up and down for joy over the welcome change of weather. But not now. Grimly, she said, “Dirk is a chameleon, Brenda. He was always changing his looks even when I knew him. Dumb me, I just thought he did it because he was vain. I didn't know
he was dyeing his hair and changing his hairstyle to fool people in the drug business.”

“You can't have known what he was really doing, Rachel. You married the guy thinking he was on the up and up. You don't marry a man thinking he's a major player in a Mexican drug cartel.”

“No, I guess not,” Rachel whispered, closing her eyes. “I just keep eating myself up over this, Brenda. Why didn't I see him for who he was? My mother and brothers didn't like him at all. My mother put up such a fuss over me marrying him that I ran away with him to Las Vegas. I went along with it because I was so in love with him. I wanted to marry him! I thought my family was wrong.”

“Listen, honey,” Brenda said in a confidential voice. “You were raised on an Iowa farm. You led a pretty cloistered life out there in the Midwest. Drugs and stuff like that aren't as active in the Greenfield area where you grew up. You were ignorant, Rachel. That's all. You can't keep punishing yourself for what happened. Payson lied to you. Here you thought he was a big-time software salesman making big bucks for his fake company. He was very good at convincing you.”

“Yes, he was. I swallowed everything like the stupid ditz I was.”

“Stop that,” Brenda said sternly. “You couldn't know you married a drug dealer. There was a part of him that wanted a real family, Rachel. You know
the readout on him and his family. They were meth parents. As a child, Dirk was a throwaway kid. His father beat him black and blue, broke his nose and some ribs later on. I think he saw the innocence in you that he'd wanted and never had himself. I think he was trying to start all over.”

“I know,” Rachel murmured. “The psychology isn't lost on me. I can feel compassion for him now. I know what happened to him, but that doesn't mean I condone what he did to me and Sarah.”

“I'm not trying to suggest that you should,” Brenda said. “I'm just trying to get you to understand that Payson saw a way out through you. Rachel, you were young, beautiful, innocent and your family loved you. I'm sure on some sick, twisted psychological level Dirk saw a way to right all the wrongs of his terrible childhood by marrying you and surrounding himself with a healthy family. He would no longer be treated as he was when he was a young child.”