The Wrong Woman

“And please call me Serena.”

“Well, Serena,” Ethan said, “you mentioned on the phone that you want me to find the stripper.”

“Yes.” She set her purse on the table, then glanced at his face. “You sounded surprised when I called you, but I have my reasons.”

“Do you mind sharing them with me?”

She shifted slightly in her chair. “Can I see some sort of identification?” She didn’t know Ethan Ramsey and she thought it best to get some facts about him first. He had one of those faces that suggested real strength of character and she’d love to paint him, but she couldn’t let feminine instincts overrule common sense. She didn’t need another mistake in her life.

Ethan pulled out his wallet and PI badge and laid them on the table in front of her. He admired her astuteness. She should learn something about him.

“After high school I joined the army,” he told her. “I got into intelligence work and liked it. After my tour of duty, I joined the FBI and was a member of a covert intelligence team. I traveled all over the world, but the time away became hard on my wife. When our son was born, I asked to be reassigned. My request was granted, and I became a special agent with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms. I was there until I was shot in the line of duty. Now I’m a private investigator. Does that answer your questions?”

“Yes,” she answered slowly. He was married. She didn’t understand why that bothered her. Of course he wasn’t single. A man like Ethan Ramsey was hard to find—reliable, honest and straightforward. It wasn’t something she really knew about him because they’d only just met, but it was something she instinctively felt. She’d sensed it that day his brother had confronted her about the stripper. In Ethan’s eyes there was no judgment—just a desire to help. Studying him from beneath her lashes, she wondered where he’d been shot. It must have been in the leg. She wouldn’t mention his limp; she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate it.

He picked up his I.D. from the table. “So why do you want me to find the stripper?”

Daisy came to take their order, and they both asked for coffee. After she’d left, Serena said, “It’s a long story, so I’ll try to make it short. My parents died the day I was born. My mother had the same red hair and blue eyes as I do, and so does my maternal grandmother. It’s a family trait. So when you said the stripper looked like me, I couldn’t get it out of my head. I have to know who she is.”

“Have you asked your grandmother?” he inquired, watching her face and trying to gauge her sincerity. So far he couldn’t detect anything off. She was as sincere as they came.

“Yes, and she says it’s ridiculous. That no one looks like me.”

“But you have your doubts.”

She waited until Daisy had placed coffee in front of them and walked away. “Yes.” She touched the warm cup, then added milk and stirred it. “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you? The woman does resemble me? I mean, this isn’t a come-on or something? That’s why I asked about your credentials. I have to be sure.” What was she saying? Serena chastised herself. The man was married, but the words seemed to emerge of their own volition. In truth she didn’t believe for a second that he was coming on to her.

“That happens a lot?” he asked, his eyebrow raised. “Guys coming on to you?” He startled himself with his response. For one thing, she was beautiful; of course guys came on to her. For another, this wasn’t his normal interview. He didn’t get personal.

“Sometimes,” she admitted.

He noticed a tinge of pink in her cheeks. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “This isn’t a line. Like I told you before, the woman is a dead ringer for you.”

She clasped her hands in her lap. “Then please find out who she is.”

Her heartfelt words moved him, but something didn’t seem quite right. Why didn’t she ask where the stripper worked? She could easily find the woman herself, but then, strip clubs probably weren’t to her taste. Still… He had to put his suspicions aside. For once he was anxious to see how a case turned out. If there were two of Serena Farrell, he wanted to see them both.

He got to his feet and picked up his Stetson. “I’ll call when I have any information.”

She grabbed her purse. “Shouldn’t I pay you? You said you take a retainer.”

“We’ll settle up when I find the stripper.” Why did he say that? He always took a retainer unless he knew the client, but nothing about this case was going according to form.

She stood. “Mr. Ramsey…I mean, Ethan.” She smiled as she said his name and he felt a moment of exhilaration. “I can only afford two days.”

“I’ll try to get it done in that length of time,” he replied, placing his hat on his head. “Good day.”

Outside in his truck, Ethan took a long breath. What was wrong with him? He was acting like Cole—like a teenage boy—and he’d left those feelings behind many years ago. Serena Farrell was just another client, he told himself, but it was good to know that a beautiful woman could still move him. He wondered why the lookalike stripper didn’t have that effect on him, which only triggered more confusion. Were Serena and the stripper the same person? Did he believe Serena’s story? He honestly didn’t have an answer, but he would find out—and soon.

DAISY GATHERED the coffee cups. “So you’re seeing the cowboy again?”

Serena slung her purse over her shoulder. “What can I say? I like the tall, lanky Texas look.”

“It’s about time.” Daisy laughed. “Ever since you and that fiancé broke up, I’ve seen guys fall all over themselves to talk to you, but you haven’t been interested.”

“It’s hard to know who to trust these days.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Men can be pigs.”

“I feel I can trust Ethan.”

“Yeah,” Daisy agreed. “He has that look about him.”

“See you later,” Serena called as she left. She climbed into her car, certain her instincts were right. She could trust Ethan Ramsey. And now she’d be able to get a good night’s sleep.

ETHAN DROVE into Dallas and checked into a motel. He showered and changed, thinking this was probably the most bizarre case he’d ever taken. And it all had to do with Serena. In a short space of time, she’d lodged herself deep in his mind. He usually managed to keep a barrier between himself and a client, keep his emotions un-involved. Not that his emotions were involved—he’d make sure of that—but he was thinking about her too much. He’d visit the club tonight and find out about the stripper, and his connection with Serena would be over. Then he’d go back to his ranch and his problems and life as it was.

He scooped up his hat and headed for the door. He planned on having supper at the club where Travis and Molly were singing. They were performing several nights a week. After that, he’d go to the strip joint.

He asked for a table at the back of the club because he didn’t want to make Molly nervous. There was a small dance floor, but most of the people were eating as a trio played softly. Shortly after he’d ordered—steak and baked potato—a man stepped up to the microphone and introduced Travis and Molly. Travis came out carrying his guitar, with Molly beside him—a Molly he hardly recognized. He blinked several times. She had on a short glittery dress with tiny straps that barely concealed her breasts. Her straight dark hair was in a windswept style and her face was heavily made up.

Travis started to sing and strum his guitar, and Molly joined him. Their voices flowed together in sweet harmony and for a moment Ethan forgot about Molly’s shocking new appearance. He sat back and enjoyed the show.

They were on for thirty minutes, then took a break. Molly hurried over to his table and held out her hand. “Let me introduce myself,” she said, smiling. “I’m Molly Crawford.”

He stood and took her hand and pulled her into his arms for a hug. “I know who you are,” he muttered. “But in that get-up…”

She drew back and twirled around. “Don’t you like the new me?”

People were jostling to get by, so they sat down. “It’s…different.” But her eyes were sparkling and she was obviously happy. He hadn’t seen her like this in a long time.

“Oh, Ethan, I’m having so much fun.”

He could see that, too.

“I feel young and attractive again. A few guys have even hit on me.”

“In that dress, I can imagine.”

“Isn’t it something? The owner picked it out for me. I wish Bruce could…”

Her whole demeanor changed as she said her ex-husband’s name. Her smile disappeared, as did the light in her eyes.

She brushed at her hair with her hand. “I wish I could stop thinking about him.” She took in a deep breath. “When does the pain go away?”

“I think that’s up to you.”

“Is it?”

“Sure, and you’ve made a great start. Getting away is exactly what you needed.”

“What about you, Ethan?”

He was taken aback by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve been divorced for ten years now, yet you haven’t even begun to live again.”

He frowned. “Where’s this coming from?”

“I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately—without feeling sorry for myself,” she added. “I’m going to survive this and have a better life. I’ve made up my mind. But you, Ethan, I don’t think you’ve gotten over your divorce or Ryan’s—”

“That’s enough,” Ethan interrupted sternly.

“No, it isn’t,” Molly went on. “You’ve spent the last few years taking care of me, Travis and Pop. But who takes care of you? Who listens to your problems?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “When I was shot, you and Pop did a damn good job of it. You almost smothered me, and you know I don’t like that. I can take care of myself.”

“But you need a woman in your life—someone special.”

“I still don’t understand where all this is coming from,” he said. “I thought you were off love and marriage and all that.”

“I was, but I’ve met someone who’s making me see things differently.”

Ethan was dumbstruck. She’d been here two weeks and had already met someone? This wasn’t like Molly. She was deeply in love with Bruce, and she couldn’t turn her feelings off this quickly. So who was the new man?

Travis tapped him on the back. “Hey, big brother.”

Ethan stood and hugged Travis. A tall, suave-looking man stood beside Travis.

“Ethan, this is Rudy Boyd, owner of the club, and Rudy, this is Ethan, our older brother.” Travis made the introductions.

Ethan shook the man’s hand and instantly disliked him. He had black hair and dark eyes, and he looked somehow familiar. Where had he seen him before? When Rudy Boyd put his arm around Molly, his dislike grew.

“Your sister’s bringing in the customers,” Rudy said. “I’m trying to talk her into staying on. She brightens up the place.”

Molly smiled at Rudy with an infatuated expression and Ethan groaned inwardly. This was the man who made her feel attractive again. Couldn’t she see he was a slimeball? That was what Ethan had immediately labeled him, although he hoped his instincts were wrong.

“Rudy, you’re the sweetest man,” Molly gushed, and Ethan wanted to drag her out of here and take her home. He’d begun to believe she’d put her life together again, but now he had a feeling she was sinking into something worse.

“Time to get back on stage,” Travis said.

“Are you gonna stay?” Molly asked Ethan.

“No, I’ve got some work to do.”

“Okay, see you later,” Molly called as she and Travis walked off.

“Your sister’s very special,” Rudy remarked.

“And vulnerable,” Ethan murmured with a hidden warning.

The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Rudy said, “Well, nice meeting you, Ethan. Come back soon. I’m sure your sister would enjoy that.”

“I will,” Ethan replied with forced politeness. Rudy strolled away and Ethan continued to watch him. Where had he seen that smug face before? It would drive him crazy until he figured it out, but right now he had a job to do. He headed for his truck and the strip club.

THE PLACE was the same as it had been a couple of weeks ago—dark, sleazy and packed with men. He sat down and ordered a beer just as the lights above the stage came on. The club had several cages suspended from the ceiling, and partially dressed girls were dancing in them. But now the main attraction was starting. The men gathered close to the stage—actually more of a runway. Some of them were college students and some were in their sixties and seventies, but most of the men were about his age—and looking for something to spice up their lives.

Girl after girl came onto the runway, each taking off her clothes seductively, tantalizing the men, who threw money recklessly onto the stage and tried to grab them, but the girls always escaped.

The scene was becoming monotonous and Ethan’s hip began to ache, but he had to wait for the redhead. That was why he’d come to this tawdry place. A scantily clad waitress arrived at his table, asking if he wanted another beer. He hadn’t touched the first one, nor did he plan to; he’d ordered it just to show that he could resist the stuff. He didn’t understand why he had to do that, but he did.

He shook his head. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, cowboy.”

“There was a redheaded stripper here a couple of weeks ago. Is she a regular?”

“Yeah.”

“Is she stripping tonight?”

“No, she used the old sick line.”

“Will she be here tomorrow night?”

“I’m not her keeper,” the waitress snapped. “Do you want a beer or not?”

Ethan stood and laid some bills on the table. “No, but thanks.” He picked up his hat and walked out.

Well, well, the old sick line. What was Serena Farrell up to? That was his thought as he went back to his motel room. But if Serena and the stripper were one and the same, why would Serena bother to hire him? It didn’t make sense, and he decided to dismiss the possibility. He tended to believe her; he generally trusted his impressions of people, and he had a feeling she wasn’t lying. So he just had to talk to the stripper and then everything would fall into place.

He was exhausted when he entered his room. Again, he told himself he was too old to keep these late hours. Sitting on the bed, he lifted his leg to remove his boot and was reminded of his weakness as pain shot through his hip and up his back. He jerked off the boot and threw it against the wall.

“Goddammit,” he cursed, not at his injury but at everything crowding in on him. He squeezed his eyes shut to block the vision in his head, but to no avail. His son’s laughing mischievous face was there for a brief paralyzing moment and he was caught in a vortex of that pain. Why did Molly have to say Ryan’s name? She wanted him to talk, but he didn’t need to talk. He had dealt with his son’s death in the only way he could, just like he’d dealt with his hip injury. By himself. In private.

He stood and removed his clothes. Pulling the covers back, he crawled into bed, but his hip wouldn’t let up and he couldn’t get comfortable. He’d been given pills for the pain, but he’d seen all too often what drugs—including prescription painkillers, which were readily available and sometimes addictive—could do to people. He never took them unless he had no other option. He forced himself to keep the memories at bay. He couldn’t think about Ryan. He shifted his thoughts to Molly and hoped she wasn’t messing up her life with Rudy Boyd. He’d check out Mr. Boyd just as soon as he could.

He moved onto his side and brought his knee up to take the pressure off his hip. That helped; the pain eased. Molly said he needed someone in his life, but he didn’t. He’d tried and it hadn’t worked. He was too much of a loner and he didn’t share easily, and women needed men to share—especially when it came to emotions. That part of him was sealed away so tight it would never surface again, and he was satisfied with that. Or was he fooling himself? He stayed on the ranch until he became restless, then he took cases to chase away the demons that brought on those restless spells. And a woman wouldn’t like that. His past was another casualty he had to live with.

As sleep drew near, Serena’s face flashed in his mind. She was a woman who could ease a man’s aches and pains—but not his.

CHAPTER FOUR

ONCE AGAIN Serena didn’t sleep well. She kept wondering if Ethan had found the stripper. What was her name? Did she and this other woman have a connection? She was up early hoping Ethan would call, but he didn’t. Gran had her bridge ladies over, so Serena worked in the study. She had several greeting cards to finish, and in the afternoon she was planning to work on a child’s portrait. She’d already met the five-year-old girl, whose mother had brought lots of photos. That would be her routine for the summer, trying to supplement their income. She didn’t know how much longer she could keep it up or what she was going to do when the money from the earrings ran out. And she still had to pay Ethan Ramsey. Again she questioned her decision in hiring him. She could definitely use the money for other necessities—like electricity and food. But for some reason, she just couldn’t get the other woman out of her mind.

When she heard the cars leaving, she went into the den to talk to her grandmother.

“Are you tired, Gran?” she asked. Aurora sat in a large wing chair, eyes closed and feet propped up.

“A little.”

“I’d like to talk about my mother.”

Aurora’s eyes flew open and she sighed. “Serena, I don’t understand why you keep bringing this up.”

“Because it’s important to me. I’d like to know more about my parents.”

“I’ve told you all you need to know,” Aurora said in a sharp tone.

“I’m not ten years old, Gran,” Serena replied just as sharply. “And I don’t appreciate it when you treat me that way.”

“Oh, darling, don’t get upset with me,” Gran pleaded. “I just don’t like talking about them.”

“Why?” Serena wanted to know. “Jasmine was your only child, yet there are no pictures of her in this house. It’s like she never existed.”

Aurora’s lips tightened. “She broke my heart when she chose that man over me and your grandfather. I had all her things put in the attic. I didn’t want any reminders.”

Serena swallowed hard. “Why, Gran? Why do you hate my father so much?”

“He wasn’t a nice person,” came the clipped answer. “And I raised Jasmine with high standards. Standards that he flouted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He took Jasmine from me out of spite.”

Serena’s eyes narrowed. Gran was talking as if she knew John Welch very well. She remembered the other conversations she’d had with her grandmother, and something here didn’t ring true. “You said you didn’t know anything about John Welch, yet—”

Gran cut in. “I just get angry when I think about that man and what he did to my family.” Gran fingered the pearls around her neck with a nervous hand. “It’s so long ago now and I’m tired of talking about them.”

Gran was lying. Serena got to her feet, knowing it was useless to talk to her; Gran wasn’t going to let go of years of resentment and bitterness. Still, Serena wanted to find out why. As she went back to the study, she kept thinking that maybe her mother was alive. Oh, God, could her mother be alive? The ringing of the phone stopped her thoughts. She immediately yanked it up. It was Ethan, and she’d never been so glad to hear anyone’s voice in her life.

“Have you found her?” was all she could say.

“No,” Ethan said, and her spirits sank.

“She wasn’t at the strip club?”

“No, they said she was sick.” He sounded put out and she wondered why.

“Then she’ll be back, won’t she?”

“I’m not sure. Since it was Saturday I was almost positive she’d be there.” A long pause.

“What’s wrong?” she asked when he didn’t say anything else. There was definitely a quality in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

“I believe in honesty. If clients lie to me, there’s not much I can do to help them. You once asked me if I was lying. Now I’m asking you, Serena. Are you lying to me?”

Now she understood the problem—he thought that since the stripper hadn’t appeared they could be one and the same person. “No, I’m not,” she said earnestly. “I am not the stripper. Please believe me. But I have to know who she is.”

She could almost feel his relief. “Okay, I’ll go back tonight.”

“Thanks, Ethan. I’ll wait for your call.”

Serena hung up the phone and noticed the caller I.D. Ethan was staying at a motel in Dallas. As she stared at the name, an idea formed in her head.

AFTER HEARING her voice, Ethan felt better. She wasn’t lying. He believed her, and he never took a case unless he believed the client. On this one, he’d been waffling back and forth so much he was beginning to doubt his instincts. Her soft voice confused those instincts completely, something that had never happened to him before. He’d feel like a fool if he was wrong about her, but deep inside he knew he wasn’t.

He decided to stake out the club to see if the redhead went in or out. He spent the afternoon watching the back entrance, but mostly saw service and delivery people. As afternoon grew into evening, a few girls trailed in, but they were blondes and brunettes, no redheads. The building was a two-story, and he glanced at the top floor. He wondered if any of the girls lived on the premises. It was certainly possible.

Bored with the inactivity, he called it quits. He’d check the club later when things were livelier. In the meantime he drove to the police station. He had a friend who worked narcotics; as far as he knew, Daniel was still on the force. He wanted to ask him some questions about Rudy Boyd, but unfortunately Daniel was out on a case. Ethan felt as if his whole day was wasted. He returned to his room, showered and changed for the evening, then drove to the nightclub to talk to Travis. Molly was getting dressed, so they had a few minutes alone.

“What do you know about Rudy Boyd?” he asked.

Travis shrugged. “Not a lot. He hired me about a year ago, but I’ve seen very little of him. He has clubs all over Dallas—he’s a very busy man. I’ve seen more of him since Molly’s been here than I have the whole of last year.”

“What’s his interest in Molly?”

“Damn, Ethan, you’ve been on that ranch too long. What do you think his interest is?”

“Be realistic, Travis. Molly’s my sister and I love her, but she’s thirty-five and Rudy Boyd seems more the type to go for twenty-year-olds.”

Travis shifted in his seat. “Yeah, I thought that, too, but maybe he’s tired of empty-headed twenty-year-olds. Whatever, I figure Molly’s old enough to know what she’s doing.”

Ethan rose to his feet. “You just keep an eye on her, because I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ethan, don’t go looking for trouble.”

“I’m not. I’m just being cautious.”

“Too cautious, if you ask me. There’s more to life than work.”

“I’ve got to go,” Ethan said.

“Aren’t you gonna watch the show?”

“No, I don’t want Molly to think I’m spying on her.”

“Really.” Travis raised an eyebrow. “Where would she get an idea like that?”

Ethan gave him a piercing look and left.

AT THE STRIP CLUB, Ethan’s night was a repeat of the night before. The redhead didn’t appear. Tonight, though, the place was packed and there wasn’t any room to sit. He stood for a long time, watching and waiting, then made his way to the bar, hoping to talk to the bartender.

“What’ll you have?” the man finally asked after serving several other men.

“A draft, light,” Ethan said.

When the beer was placed in front of him, Ethan said conversationally, “I was hoping the redhead would strip tonight.”

The bartender frowned. “You got a thing for her?”

“Yeah. I’d sure like to meet her.”

“In your dreams, buster,” the barman muttered.

“I’m good at dreaming,” Ethan replied casually, trying to sound like a normal customer. “Any idea when she’ll be here again?”