The Wrong Woman

“You have something to tell me, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Serena swallowed. “Is my mother dead or alive?” She’d been afraid to ask that, but now she couldn’t avoid it.

“She’s dead,” Ethan answered. “Jasmine died from the injuries she received in that car crash the night before your birth—just like your grandmother told you.”

She bit her lip. “Somehow…I guess…I hoped she was alive.”

Ethan had grown very still beside her and she knew there was more. “What is it?”

“Your grandmother didn’t tell you the whole truth. I searched a little deeper and found…”

“What?”

“Jasmine Farrell gave birth to twin girls.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and then she leaped to her feet. Twin girls. Around and around the words went in her head until she had to accept them. “That means the stripper’s my sister. My twin. My double!”

Dear Reader,

Has anyone ever claimed to have seen someone who looks like you? How did you—or would you—react? Would you shrug it off? Laugh? Or would you think about it constantly?

That’s what happens to Serena Farrell in The Wrong Woman. She hears about a woman who’s a dead ringer for her. She can’t stop thinking about the other woman and is finally driven to hire a private investigator to find her.

Ethan Ramsey, the P.I., appeared in two of my other books, Straight from the Heart and Emily’s Daughter. Now he faces a case that intrigues him—as does the blue-eyed, red-haired Serena. If there are two women like this, he has to see them!

Serena’s and Ethan’s lives become entangled in ways they don’t expect. I hope you enjoy their quest to find the woman who looks like Serena. (And if someone sees a person who looks like you—laugh about it. That’s the best reaction.) Thanks for reading my books.

Linda Warren

P.S. You can reach me at [e-mail],

www.superauthors.com, www.lindawarren.net or you can write me at P.O. Box 5182, Bryan, TX 77805. Your letters will always be answered.

The Wrong Woman

Linda Warren

DEDICATION

To Diannia Dudake Landry, my cousin, my sister, my best friend all rolled into one. I pray that in the years ahead, we’ll be as close as in years past. Thanks for just being you and always being there for me. And hopefully, one of us will always remember the way home.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to Joe and Joanna Johnston and Jim Gatewood for sharing their expert knowledge and for being so nice. And to Laurie Fay for continuing to answer my many questions with such patience. Any errors are strictly mine.

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

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

“WOW, ETHAN, take a look at her.”

Ethan Ramsey didn’t raise his head. He twisted the beer in his hand, felt the coolness of the glass against his fingers and wondered what would happen if he took a swallow. Would he want another? Then another?

Travis glanced at his brother and noticed his preoccupation with the beer. “Why’d you order the damn thing? You know you’re not gonna drink it.”

“A test, I suppose,” he answered solemnly.

“Damn, Ethan, you beat anything I’ve ever seen. You have the strongest willpower of anyone I know. You went through a bad spell with liquor, but you had good reason. Under the circumstances, any man would’ve lost it.”

Ethan didn’t answer. He kept twisting the glass, trying to decide if any man had a good enough reason to obliterate the world from his mind.

“Check out the stripper, Ethan. You won’t regret it.”

Ethan wasn’t interested in the stripper. He was more interested in getting Travis out of the strip club. He didn’t want to be here in the first place and would never have come on his own. Unfortunately he’d allowed his younger brother to make their evening plans and—

“Ethan!” Travis called above all the jeers and yells.

Ethan turned toward the girl. She was beautiful, stunning, actually, with long legs, a tiny waist, full breasts, creamy skin and hair the color of rich copper. It hung down her back and she tossed it around her in seductive movements. She was taking off the few clothes she had on and the men were going wild. Ethan focused on her face and the blue of her eyes. They were blank, desolate, a look he’d seen many times in the course of his career. He’d been an FBI agent until he was injured in the line of duty. Victims, especially the abused, had that look. The girl hated being on stage in front of all these men. She was being forced to strip. He knew that without a doubt, and anger surged through him.

He told himself it was none of his business. But that didn’t work. He kept staring at the girl’s face and realized he had to get out of there or he’d do something stupid.

He stood abruptly. “Let’s go.”

Travis’s head jerked toward him. “What? We’ve only been here thirty minutes.”

“Let’s go,” Ethan repeated in a voice Travis clearly recognized. Moodily he followed Ethan outside to the truck.

Ethan got behind the wheel and Travis crawled into the passenger side. “You have a way of ruining my whole day,” Travis complained. “I forgot that annoying little habit of yours.”

“It’s two in the morning,” Ethan reminded him as he backed out and pulled into traffic.

“So what?”

“So you’re thirty-eight years old and still going to strip joints. When the hell are you gonna grow up?”

“Whenever I damn well please,” Travis returned, leaning his head back. “I’m not like you and Pop. I don’t want a life that’s so structured you’re old before your time. I have to be myself.”

Ethan rolled his eyes at the tiresome cliché. “Fine,” he muttered, “but that also comes with a price.”

“Oh, God,” Travis groaned. “Don’t preach to me.”

Ethan didn’t say anything else because he knew they’d get into a full-blown argument. That was the last thing he wanted, especially when Travis had had too much to drink. Not only that, Ethan couldn’t shake his feeling about the stripper. It still bothered him, and he was taking it out on Travis. His brother could make his own decisions—even if he didn’t like them—and Ethan had to respect that.

As they drove up to Travis’s apartment, Ethan couldn’t resist asking, “Did you notice the redhead’s eyes?”

Travis sat up straight. “The stripper?”

“Yeah.”

Travis laughed. “Her eyes? No, I wasn’t looking at her eyes and if you were, you’re getting as stodgy as Pop.”

Ethan turned off the engine, letting that last remark slide. “Someone’s forcing her to strip.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you see how scared she was and how she hated the men yelling and leering at her?”

“No, I didn’t see any of that. Shut off your FBI radar. You’re imagining things.”

Was he? He didn’t think so, but he had to forget it. He wasn’t an agent anymore. He was a rancher; he did P.I. work on the side, but only when people asked for his help, and the only people who needed his help right now were his family. He’d spent years working all over the country; that time away had come with personal casualties—a divorce, not being home when his mom died, a bullet to his hip and…the loss of a son. Even now, he had to stop before he’d let himself think those words. That pain would never leave him. Sometimes… He stopped his thoughts and glanced at Travis, who was lounging in the seat, head nodding. These days, family was his top priority. He had to find a way to talk to Travis without arguing.

He’d come to Dallas for that reason—to try to get Travis home for a visit. Their father and Travis had been at odds for years. It was time for family unity. Their sister, Molly, had just gone through a bitter divorce and she needed family around her, but getting Travis home was proving to be a more difficult task than he’d figured.

When Ethan had arrived in Dallas early that evening, Travis was preparing for a gig. He played in a local nightclub three nights a week. Travis grew up strumming his guitar and singing anywhere he could. He didn’t like ranch work, which was a constant source of contention between him and Pop. After high school, Pop had wanted him to go to college, but Travis headed for Nashville to become a country music star. When it didn’t happen, his pride wouldn’t let him come home. They didn’t hear much from him after that, but Ethan had ways of keeping tabs on him. Travis now worked as a foreman for a construction company. He was staying in one spot finally, and Ethan knew it was time to talk.

After the gig, Travis had insisted on the strip club, which certainly wasn’t to Ethan’s taste. He’d gone along, trying to be patient, but his patience was wearing thin.

They reached the apartment building and Travis unlocked his door. “You can have my bed,” Travis said as they went inside. “I’ll use the sofa bed.”

Ethan removed his hat and placed it on the coffee table next to an empty pizza box and some beer cans. Travis wasn’t much of a housekeeper. “Sleep in your own bed,” he replied. “I’m not an invalid.” He hated when people treated him differently because of his hip injury. “Besides, I’ll be up early,” he added in a softer tone.

Travis rubbed his chin. “I don’t have to work tomorrow, so I ain’t getting up early.”

“I’ll probably be gone before you wake up.”

“Damn, Ethan, what’s the rush?”

“It’s hard for Pop to handle the ranching chores by himself.”

“He does it when you’re off on one of your cases,” Travis reminded him.

“I always get Roy Dawson to help him,” he told him. “Pop’s sixty-five, Travis, and he’s slowing down.”

Travis shoved both hands through his hair. “You want me to come home. That’s why you’re here.”

Ethan pushed a mound of clothes aside and sat on the sofa. “Yes, for a visit. Is that so bad? Molly’s having a rough time and she could use your support.”

“Bruce is a bastard, leaving her for a twenty-year-old girl. The man must be going through a midlife crisis.”

“Yeah.” Ethan stood and stretched. “That’s Bruce’s problem. I’m not sure what yours is. Your whole life has been a midlife crisis.” The words came out before Ethan could stop them. He had a habit of speaking his mind, and sometimes that wasn’t good.

Travis bristled. “Don’t think that because of your injury I won’t punch you, Ethan.”

“And don’t think that because of my injury I won’t punch you back.”

There was a tense moment, then Travis burst out laughing. “Do you remember when we were kids and we used to fight over really stupid things? You were five years older, but I just knew I could take you.”

Ethan smiled. “Yeah, but you never did.”

Travis sobered. “No,” he admitted. “I have an advantage now, though. The years are on my side.” He playfully poked Ethan in the stomach. “Want to fight, old man?”

Ethan shook his head. “No.”

“Me, neither.” Travis sighed regretfully, then suddenly hugged Ethan. “God, it’s good to see you.”

Ethan hugged him back. “You’d better go to bed before you pass out.” The beer had taken its toll and Travis was slowly going down.

Travis moved away. “I’ll see you in the morning.” In the doorway he paused. “Sure you don’t want my bed?”

“Sure.”

“Night Ethan.”

“Good night, Travis.”

Ethan stared at the sofa with all the clothes and the coffee table with the leftover remnants of a meal. How did Travis live like this? If Molly could see it, she’d have a fit. Or maybe not. Molly wasn’t herself these days; her husband’s betrayal had hit her hard. But Travis could always make her laugh and Ethan hoped that having him home for a weekend would cheer her up.

He shoved the table to one side and dropped the clothes on the floor beside it. He unfolded the bed and saw that it already had sheets. That was good, he supposed. He didn’t even want to think who might’ve slept on them last. He was too tired. He flipped off the light, threw off his jeans and shirt and crawled in. It had been a long day—too long. His hip would probably ache tomorrow, but that was a casualty he’d learned to live with.

As he drifted off to sleep, it wasn’t his hip or his family that was on his mind, it was the redheaded stripper. What was her story? Why was she stripping against her will? She needed help. No. He resolutely turned over. She didn’t need his help. It was none of his business—absolutely none.

THE NEXT MORNING Ethan picked up all the clothes and put them in the washing machine. He cleared away the trash and washed the dishes in the sink. By the time Travis stumbled out of the bedroom, Ethan had the clothes folded and the room as clean as he could get it.

Travis scratched his head and glanced around the apartment with bloodshot eyes. “Damn, Ethan, when did you turn into my mother?”

“There’s no coffee or food here, so I had to do something until you dragged yourself out of bed. Get your clothes on. I’m hungry and I desperately need coffee.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Travis said with a grin. “I’ll take a quick shower and we’ll be out of here in ten minutes.”

“Hurry.”

In no more than seven minutes, Travis emerged from the bathroom with his wet hair slicked back and dressed for the day. Ethan was surprised at the transformation. He’d have sworn that Travis would have a hangover for the rest of the day. Years ago a hangover was a daily occurrence for Ethan; he quickly shook off the thought.

“Tell you what,” Travis said as he fastened his watch. “I have to check out a job in Fort Worth—make sure the materials I ordered were delivered. We can eat at a café not far from the site.”

“How long will it take to get there?”

Travis slapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, brother, I’ll have you there in no time.”

Ethan followed in his truck. He was heading back to Junction Flat as soon as he’d talked to Travis. That was the reason he’d hung around this morning; he had to try once more.

The café was a typical down-home kind of place with red gingham curtains and country music playing on a radio. They sat in a booth and Ethan ordered coffee immediately.

“Thanks for straightening the apartment,” Travis said. “I usually do that on the weekends.”

“Just be glad your sister didn’t see it.”

The waitress brought the coffee and took their order.

“Speaking of Molly…how is she?” Travis asked.

“Not good and neither is Pop,” he said truthfully. “Molly’s depressed and Pop’s worried about her, and it’s getting to him.”

“My being there’s not gonna help.”

“You might be surprised.” Ethan met his eyes.

“Ethan,” Travis groaned, and changed the subject. “How’s Cole handling all this?”

“He’s angry as hell at his father, which is understandable. I’m just glad he and Molly are at the ranch with us. Listen, they’d both like it a lot if you could come for a visit…maybe just a weekend. That’s all I’m asking. A weekend out of your life.”

Their breakfast arrived and Travis didn’t answer. They ate in silence. Finally Travis wiped his mouth. “Okay, I’ll come home next weekend.”

Ethan smiled—he couldn’t help it. “Thanks,” he said. “Why don’t you call Molly and tell her?”

“So she won’t think you pressured me?” Travis grinned.

“Something like…” His voice trailed off as he noticed a woman sitting in a corner by herself. There were papers scattered on the table and she was reading them as she drank coffee. Ethan blinked. It couldn’t be, he told himself. But there she was, the redheaded stripper. Looking a bit different, but it was her, he was sure of it. Her hair was pulled back and clipped in a knot, and she wore a brown business suit. The face was the same, though. He had studied it thoroughly last night and he’d know her anywhere.

“Ethan, what are you staring at?” Travis asked.

“I can’t believe it.”

“What?” Travis turned and followed Ethan’s gaze. “Well, I’ll be damned! It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Turn around and quit staring.”

Travis glanced at Ethan. “I’m going over to say hi.”

“No,” Ethan said. “Her life is her business.”

“You said she was scared and being forced to strip. Well, she doesn’t look too scared now. I’m gonna prove to you how wrong you were.”

Before Ethan could stop him, Travis was out of the booth and marching toward the woman. Ethan slowly followed.

“Howdy,” Travis said, and she raised her head. Ethan recognized the sparkling blue of her eyes, but he saw no fear in them today, just annoyance.

“Do I know you?” she asked.

“No, but I know you,” Travis said glibly.

She arched a fine eyebrow. “You do?”

“Yeah, and you look as good with your clothes on as you do with them off.”

“I beg your pardon?” she said in a haughty tone. “If this is a come-on, it’s not working and I wish you’d leave.”

Ethan put his arm around Travis’s shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse my brother. He’s forgotten his manners. We’re sorry if we bothered you.”

Travis shook off Ethan’s arm. “Yeah, and to make up for it, when you get off work tonight, I’ll take you out for an early breakfast. How’s that?”

She frowned. “Get off work? What are you talking about?”

Travis placed his hands on the table and leaned toward her. “The strip joint, honey. If you want to keep it a secret, that’s fine with me.”

“A strip joint? You think I work in a strip joint?”

“I know it for a fact,” Travis told her. “And you don’t just work there, you’re the star attraction.”

Her eyes narrowed to mere slits. “If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the police.”

Ethan knew when enough was enough. If the woman had a secret, it was hers to keep. He caught Travis by the collar and pulled him away. “Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I apologize for the intrusion.” He pushed his brother toward the door.

Outside Travis straightened his shirt. “What the hell did you do that for?” he growled. “She may be able to fool you, but she can’t fool me.”

“She has a right to her privacy.”

“You didn’t think so last night. You wanted to rescue her.”

“Something’s different today. I can’t explain it.”

“She’s all prim and proper and…” Travis let out a long breath, his irritation evaporating. “God, she’s a beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Ethan agreed, glancing through the café window. In that instant he made a decision. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“What are you—”

Travis’s words faded as Ethan entered the restaurant. He took out his wallet and removed a business card, then walked over to her table and placed it in front of her. She drew back as if to brace herself.

“My name’s Ethan Ramsey. I’m a private investigator. If you need any help, just give me a call.”

Her eyes caught his. “Contrary to what your brother might think, I am not a stripper. He’s mistaken me for someone else.”

“If you say so.” Ethan knew he should walk away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from her face. She was so sincere—and so different from the woman last night. What was it that pulled him to her? He didn’t know, but he had to do what he’d told Travis—respect her privacy. He tipped his hat. “Good day, ma’am.”

“Mr. Ramsey?” she called, and he turned back.

“Does she really look like me?”

He was taken aback by the question, but he answered truthfully. “A dead ringer.”

“I see,” she murmured, and rose to her feet. “I assure you it wasn’t me.”

“You’ve said that.”

“And you don’t believe me?”

Ethan took a step toward her. “I’m not sure what to believe, but the woman last night hated stripping. I thought she might need some assistance. That’s why I left my card. If you’re not her, just throw it away.” He inclined his head and walked to the door.

SERENA FARRELL stared after the tall man and she noticed that he limped slightly, but it didn’t diminish his aura of strength and capability. Not that she needed either one. A stripper? It was too ludicrous to think about.

As she stuffed papers into her briefcase, she could see him through the window talking to the other man. They were definitely brothers—same brown hair and eyes. Ethan Ramsey was the leaner and taller of the two. His brother also had an attitude, while Ethan seemed compassionate. He had warm eyes, and for some reason he seemed worried about her. There was no need to be. She wasn’t a stripper who required his assistance. She was a teacher and taught art at a local high school. She’d met the father of one of her students here this morning; he worked during the week so she’d arranged to meet him on a Saturday. His son had remarkable artistic skills, but he saw that as being sissy and not macho enough. She’d tried to convince him otherwise, but the father was macho to the core and didn’t like his son sitting around drawing pictures. She didn’t understand why he couldn’t accept his son’s talent and encourage him, but then, dealing with parents was the hardest part of her job.

“Hey, Serena, who was the good-looking guy you were talking to?” Daisy, the waitress, asked.

“Which one?” she countered with a smile. The school where she taught wasn’t far away, and Serena often came in here for coffee. She became acquainted with Daisy and she liked her.

“The Clint Eastwood type with the boots and the hat.”

Serena picked up the card. “Said his name’s Ethan Ramsey. He’s a private investigator.”

“Do you need a private investigator?”

“No. He thought I was someone else.”

“He used a line like that? I didn’t figure he was the type.”

Serena started to tell her about the stripper part, but decided not to. She didn’t want any more rumors to circulate. There were enough already. More than enough.

“You just can’t tell, can you?” she replied as she collected her briefcase and slid the card into her pocket. She’d throw it away later.

Daisy quickly wiped the table. “No, you sure can’t, but he could use that line on me any day of the week. I served him coffee and breakfast, and all he said was thank-you. All the guys go for you.”

“Maybe he noticed the wedding ring on your finger.”

Daisy twisted her hand. “Oh, yeah, forgot about that.”

Serena smiled. “I’ve got to go. See you later.”

“Oh, Serena,” Daisy called before she could leave. “I’m sorry about your grandfather and all.”

The smile left Serena’s face. “Thank you,” she said, and walked out.

As she got into her car, she reflected that everyone was sorry about her grandfather…and all. But it didn’t change a thing.

AS SHE ENTERED THE driveway, Serena saw that all the other cars were gone. Her grandmother’s monthly bridge meeting took place this morning, and Serena was glad it was over. She had to talk to Gran and she couldn’t put it off any longer. Her grandmother had to stop spending money. They were broke; it was that simple. Her grandfather had died three months ago and left them heavily in debt. Her grandmother wasn’t helping by ignoring the problem.

She went in through the kitchen and found the house completely quiet, except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the hallway, which only emphasized the silence. The lady Gran had hired to serve refreshments must have gone. She and Gran had argued about it this morning. They couldn’t afford to pay someone for maid services, but as usual Gran had turned a deaf ear to her pleadings.