The Unknown Twin

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll fix the coffee.” Before she left, she opened two huge windows. The tinkle of wind chimes drifted in. Then, she disappeared into the kitchen.

He bypassed the off-white, nubby couch and sat on a long chaiselike thing that conformed to his body when he stretched out. Plump rose-colored cushions enveloped him. Picking up one of the several geometric-patterned pillows that accented the blues, grays and pinks in the room, he scanned the rest of the place.

Jeez, look at that. In the corner was a full-size hammock. He got up and crossed to it. He’d never seen one indoors. The wall behind it was decorated with an array of mesmerizing paintings. He circled around the hammock to examine them closely. The artist’s signature read “LAC.” Delicate, wispy strokes etched out the water, the mountains, the forest. They were abstract, but he knew for certain what each painting portrayed.

“What do you think?” He turned to see her holding a small tabby kitten. As he watched, she rubbed her cheek on the animal’s furry little head. Another kitten scurried at her feet.

“Are you kidding?” He pointed to a small picture. “It feels like I’m wading in that lake. I can smell those flowers.”

Her smile was broad. “I’m glad you like them.” She set the kitten on the floor—it stayed at her feet like a toddler would its mother—and, crossing to the wall, reached up and took a painting down. “Here, as a thank-you for saving my life.”

“You don’t have to do that. Just tell me who the artist is and I’ll look him up.”

“The artist is a she.”

He cocked his head. She seemed…proud. “You, Lauren?”

She nodded.

“They’re wonderful. They should be in a gallery. For sale.”

Her frown was instantaneous. “No. I wouldn’t want to do that.” She fingered the delicate teak frame. “It would be like selling a child.” She handed him the canvas. “You can adopt it. It’ll be safe with you.”

Grinning, he took the painting. She was downright charming.

“Who’s this little guy?” he asked, squatting to scratch one kitten’s head. Both sidled against his legs, making him smile.

“Butterscotch. The other’s Caramel.”

He chuckled at the names.

When the coffee finished dripping, they sat together on the couch, sinking deep into the overstuffed cushions. Over the rim of his mug, also one of her works of art, he watched her drink. She’d made herself tea—Dana preferred it over coffee, too—and she inhaled the scent first, then sipped. She closed her eyes when she swallowed. Smiled. When she finally licked her lips, he felt his body respond. He had to look away.

“I hope you like hazelnut.”

“Hazelnut?”

“The coffee’s flavored.”

“Um, sure. I do.” He had no idea what he was drinking.

He searched the room for something to focus on instead of her mouth. A picture sat on the odd-shaped end table next to the couch. It was an eight-by-ten close-up of two older people and Lauren. He slid over so he could see it better. The couple was attractive; both had vibrant blue eyes, thick gray hair and they were smiling. In the photo, Lauren was laughing, too, her brown eyes sparkling. He stared at it for a minute, then glanced at her.

“Your parents?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You were adopted.” It wasn’t a question.

“What?” She grinned. “Oh, no. I wasn’t. I know I don’t look like them, but I wasn’t adopted.”

This was odd. “Lauren, you had to be adopted. Two blue-eyed parents can’t have a brown-eyed child.”

“That’s what they say. I studied eye-color genes in biology class. When I asked Mom and Dad about it, they said I must be some kind of mutation because she saw me come out of her body and Dad cut the umbilical cord. Actually, I saw it on the home video they took.”

Alex shook his head. “This goes against everything I know. I studied genetics—my mother’s a geneticist—before I decided to follow in Dad’s footsteps. From what I learned in my courses, this is a scientific impossibility.”

She shrugged. “I guess I’m a rare breed.”

He scanned her place again. He didn’t doubt that. But something wasn’t adding up. And it bothered him. What about her similarity to Dana? What were the chances of someone looking almost exactly like his friend? Slim. What were the chances of a genetic abnormality—impossibility, really—with that same person? Nonexistent, in his mind. But he said only, “Well, I’ll ask Mom about it to be sure.”

Her look was indulgent. “Don’t bother. I know who I am.”

Suddenly he hoped—for her sake—that was true.

CHAPTER TWO

THE FIREHOUSE WAS a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and textures. As Lauren stepped through the open door into one of four bays and onto the cold concrete floor, she ran her free hand over the rough wall. And sniffed. Gasoline. Oil. The faint acrid smell. The bays were full. Huge red trucks towered over her; they were different sizes and shapes and, she assumed, performed different tasks, as one had ladders, the other hoses. Another was the medical truck she’d ridden in. Walking up to it, she ran her hand over the cold steel surface, sensing the strength emanating from it. Everything here was so big and powerful. Intimidating. Still, she had a delivery to make. She crossed to the station house and entered the building proper. She found the kitchen by scent. It was noontime, and somebody was making lunch. The aroma of cooking beef, French fries and coffee made her stomach growl.

The kitchen area was mammoth. A hulk of a guy bent over the stove against the far wall; he was humming off-key as he mixed food in a huge frying pan. Another man prepared salad at the counter. He was also big. Two more men and a woman were seated by the window at the long oak table, which Lauren knew would be smooth and cool to the touch. It overlooked the rec area, where, from her own office window, she’d watched the firefighters play basketball and sometimes grill outside. Today, they were dressed in the dark blue uniform of Courage Bay firefighters, complete with badges on their chest pockets, a Maltese cross patch on their short sleeves, and name tags.

“Hello,” she said softly.

They peered over at her. “Dana?” the woman asked. She was more diminutive than the rest, but well-defined muscles stood out beneath her short sleeves. Briefly Lauren wondered what it would be like to be brave enough, strong enough to do what this woman did.

A woman like Dee.

“No. I’m Lauren Conway. I was at the newspaper’s offices when they caught fire last week.”

“Hey.” The man at the table stood. “I’m Mick Ramirez. Now I recognize you.”

“They said you were a carbon copy of Dana, but wow.” This from the woman again. “It’s hard to believe you could look so much alike and not be related. You sure you’re not?”

Lauren shook her head. “I’m sure.” She held up a huge shopping bag. “I brought you all something by way of thank you.”

“Something to eat?” the chef asked. “I’m Nick LaSpino, by the way.”

Everybody else gave names Lauren knew she’d never remember.

“Cookies. I made them myself.” She glanced around. “I particularly wanted to thank Alex Shields. He, um, carried me out.”

The men exchanged knowing looks.

“Alex is out back playing a pickup basketball game.”

“Oh.” It was just as well. She’d thought entirely too much about the sexy captain in the few days since the fire. Since she’d last seen him. “I won’t disturb him. I’ll be on my way to the Courier.”

“You aren’t back in the offices yet, are you?” LaSpino asked.

“No, we’re still in the temporary space set up in the vacant building next door.”

Ramirez pointed outside. “Go out through the back. You can get to the newspaper that way and catch Alex before you leave.”

“Showing off, as usual,” the woman noted in a patronizing tone.

Lauren hesitated. “All right.” She said her goodbyes and made her way to the door. One of the guys got up and opened it for her. He towered over her. Jeez, were they all giants?

Just because you’re a shrinking violet around manly men.

Damn, she thought. Go away, Dee. She didn’t need her imaginary friend nagging at her any more than she had all week. Call him, stop by the fire house, act, you sissy.

She smiled at the man who’s name tag read Begay as he opened the door for her. “Alex’d kill us if we let you go without talking to him.” His voice sounded teasing. “They’re playing over there.”

“Thanks.” Once outside, she walked the few feet to the blacktop court, which sparkled in the May noonday sun. She stood behind a barbecue pit so she could observe.

And was mesmerized by the sights and sounds.

Grunts.

Heavy breathing.

A word of direction.

Several curses.

At one point, Alex grabbed the ball, leaped up and seemed to freeze in the air—she’d title the scene “Poetry in Motion” if she had a chance to paint it. He released the ball. It arced, then swished into the net.

“Hot damn, I’m good.” He executed a high five with another guy; two others swore.

One man grabbed the ball, jogged to the top of the court and cracked his hand on it. That must signal game in play because the four men began running all over the place.

“I’m open,” somebody yelled. The ball handler hurled the ball at him, just as Alex stepped in front. He intercepted it and turned, but somebody rammed into him, landing him right on his fanny.

“Oh!” she said with a gasp.

As a group, they turned. Alex, from the blacktop, smiled up at her. It was a male smile, one that said I’m glad to see you. “Hey, Lauren, hi.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, edging up to the court.

“Yeah, sure.”

“His butt’s as hard as his head,” one guy put in.

From the firehouse, somebody called out, “Lunch in ten, guys.”

“We’re done, anyway,” another player said. They bade goodbye, leaving Lauren alone with Alex.

Lithe as a cat, he rolled to his feet and crossed to her. She fought the urge to back up. She hadn’t remembered him being quite so big, but today, out here, he looked…overwhelming. Tall, at least six-two. Really broad shoulders under a sweat-soaked gray T-shirt. His hair was damp, his face ruddy and dripping. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. It didn’t help. “Good to see you.”

“You, too.” Her voice sounded raw, even to her own ears.

He gave her a studied look. “Still not feeling well?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Your voice is hoarse.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I, um, came by on my way to work to bring you some cookies I baked as thank-you.”

He propped a foot up on a nearby bench and leaned over, resting his elbow on his knee. His legs were corded with muscles and covered with a sparse growth of dark hair. He wore heavy high-tops on his feet. “I got a beautiful little painting for my bedroom wall as thanks from you.”

“You put it in your bedroom?”

His light brown eyes darkened. “I will as soon as my house is painted.” He nodded to the fire station. “Hey, you wanna stay for lunch? We’re having sloppy joes and French fries.”

Oh, God, and eat with this one hundred eighty pounds of pure male flesh? “I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

She bit her lip and his eyes focused on the action. She felt his gaze in her stomach—and lower. “I’m going to the office.”

“You’re up and running again in the place next door, right?”

“Yeah. Lucky thing it was vacant. Our press is still operating in the old building’s basement, though. It wasn’t damaged.”

“How long will you be working out of the temporary offices?”

“Another couple of weeks, I guess. The west side will have to be rebuilt, but they’ll wall it off and we can work in the rest of the space.”

“I’ve been wondering how you were.”

Then why didn’t you call me? she wanted to ask. But didn’t, of course.

“As I said, I’m fine.”

His eyes flashed with male appreciation. “I’ve been thinking about you, Lauren.”

“Oh?”

“I saw your first cartoon. I recognized Deirdre—she looks like you.”

“Did you like it?”

“Sure. Is it autobiographical?”

Yes. “Of course not. It’s just a cartoon.”

“By the way, I talked to Dana. She was fascinated to have a look-alike right in town. She’s dying to meet you when she gets back.”

“That would be nice.”

He scowled. “I still can’t get over the resemblance. My mother’s away at a conference and I couldn’t reach her.”

“Oh, well, that’s not necessary.” She stepped to the side. “I’ll let you get to your lunch.”

He laid a gentle hand on her arm. “Want to have dinner some night with me, Lauren?”

“Dinner?”

“Yeah, you know, like on a date.”

“A date?”

“Uh-huh, where two people agree to go somewhere together.”

“Um, I’m busy.” She raised the purse she carried to her chest, effectively shrugging off his touch.

“I didn’t give you a day or time.”

She sighed.

“Look, if you don’t want to go out with me, just say so.”

“It’s not that.” She studied his sturdy, rugged form. His handsome face. “I just don’t think we’re very well matched.”

“Never know until you try.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.” She had to get out of there. “I hope you enjoy the cookies.” And coward that she was, she scurried through the backyard of the firehouse, crossed the street and ducked into the new offices.

She didn’t look back. If she did, she might change her mind. And that was not a good idea. She didn’t date men like Alex. She liked the poetic, sensitive, smaller kind of guy. Felt more comfortable with them.

Oh, yeah, sure. Deirdre was back. Dating men like James Tildan is a great idea.

Well, her ex-fiancé had been her type.

Until he stole from you.

God, that stung. Lauren had buried the hurt and didn’t let it surface too often. Just because James had turned out to be a creep didn’t mean all men like him were.

Except for James, you haven’t kept one of those sensitive types around yet.

No, and she didn’t miss them all that much. Though she did miss sex. A lot. As she stepped into her makeshift office, she let herself think for a minute what sex would be like with Alex.

Dazzling. Exciting. Adventurous.

She remembered how strong he was, carrying her down the ladder. How safe she’d felt when he put his arm around her in front of her house. But damn, she couldn’t handle a big, strong, tough firefighter. His physical presence intimidated her.

Nope, she’d made the right decision.

Yeah, sure you did, you lily-livered wimp.

THEY WERE GATHERED around the window when Alex strode into the firehouse. Which was all he needed. He was good and pissed.

“So, she say she’d go out with you?” Robertson asked.

Ramirez snorted. “She get swept away by your charm like all the ladies, gringo?”

When he remained silent, Robertson winked at the others. “Don’t tell us you didn’t ask her out. We know you did.”

“Like hell.” They’d never let him hear the end of it if they knew she’d blown him off.

LaSpino called out, “Hey, come look at these.”

Saved by the chef, who had a legendary sweet tooth. Alex crossed to the table and looked down at the cookies Lauren had brought. “Holy hell.”

There had to be twenty dozen of them. He picked one up. “A Maltese cross.” The insignia of firefighting. “It’s beautiful.” Frosted in red and yellow, Lauren had even put a badge number on it. 527. His.

“There’s some boots and helmets, too,” LaSpino murmured. They were also frosted with details—a black line for the sole, yellow reflectors.

“They had to take her forever,” Janey Lopez said.

Another asked, “Why’d she wrap each one in plastic?”

“So they’d stay fresh, moron,” LaSpino told him.

“Didn’t she know we’d chow ’em down right away?”

Still, nobody moved to take one.

“Well, lookee here.” This from Alvarez. “A helmet, frosted in red.”

“It’s probably for me,” joked Will Begay, the captain on the engine. Captains wore colored helmets so they could be found easily in an operation. Everybody knew, just like the badge number, this cookie was for Alex.

Then why the hell had she said no to a freakin’ date? “Women!” he quipped, and stalked out of the kitchen to the bathroom. The guys’ razzing followed him.

Under the shower’s spray, he thought about her. She wasn’t exactly Miss America. Still, she was pretty. As pretty as Dana? Hmm. He hadn’t thought about Dana in those terms for years. But Lauren was definitely as pretty, only in a different way. He could still remember how she’d drunk the tea, how she steeped herself in it. Cherished it. Hell! Just thinking of that had an effect on his body.

And she was softer than Dana. Delicate. But delicate women were probably a lot of trouble. They’d need coddling. You’d have to do things for them. They had never been his type. Out of the shower, he pulled on sweatpants in deference to the woman subbing on their shift and grumbled, “I don’t need any wilting flowers in my life.”

“She looks more like a vibrant little rose to me.”

Damn, he didn’t know anybody else was in here. Will Begay had come out of one of the stalls and was washing his hands at a sink. Rubbing his head with a towel—it was too late for backpedaling—Alex mumbled something unintelligible.

At least Will was trustworthy. The only Native American on Alex’s squad, he seemed more self-possessed than the rest of the guys. He and Alex had been friends for years.

Will leaned against the wall as Alex dried off. “She said no, didn’t she?”

“Yep.”

“You haven’t been shot down in a long time.”

“Nope.”

“Giving up?”

“Uh-huh. Before I invest. I got a feeling she’s high maintenance.”

“She seemed pretty interested in you. I looked out the window, and she was watching you on the court. Acted like she was studying a foreign species, but she was fascinated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the red frosted helmets weren’t for me.”

He snorted.

Begay hesitated, then spoke. “She’s a dead ringer for Dana.”

There was something about his tone….

“So?”

“That’s not why you’re interested, is it?”

“Nope.”

Will pushed away from the wall. “Good.”

Alex asked, “Will? Your wife, Mareeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Is she high maintenance?”

“In my experience, Shields, all women are. You just gotta find one who’s worth it.” He nodded to the bay. “We saved you some food. What time are we training?”

“This afternoon. About four, if there are no calls.”

“On what?”

“Orientation for that new warehouse they just finished over on Twelfth Street.”

The PA blared. “Car accident at Ronstat Street. Truck One and Paramedic One go into service.”

Alex grabbed his stuff. “That’s me,” he said, and raced out of the john.

When he got back, he did some paperwork until four, then called the group together. There were nineteen of them, including the HazMat guys, who were also housed in the Jefferson Avenue firehouse. They’d need this training, too, because the warehouse would contain hazardous material.

When the crowd settled down, Alex explained the purpose of the session and told them they’d be going to the site on their next shift to check out the place before it opened. He gave them stats with questions to go with them. “I’d like you to look at the information I’ve got here. First, the warehouse is three thousand square feet. How long will it take to search it out for victims?”

“Not usually a lot of people in a warehouse.” This from LaSpino.

“No, but a thorough search still needs to be done.”

Somebody suggested a time frame.

“So how long does one SCBA last?”

They got the picture and discussed ways to search effectively and divvy the warehouse into manageable parts to accommodate their air supply.

“Second point—which hoses do we lay?”

Janey tackled this one. “Our usual? The one and three-quarters.”

Alex said, “It’s only forty-five feet long. Can it make it to all the walls?” When everybody shrugged, he said, “Let’s figure it out.” They did the math on a blackboard Alex had set up behind him. That length of hose would stretch to some walls and not others. They discussed alternatives.

In the next hour, Alex covered other points: he talked about what would be housed in the warehouse from the list provided by the owners. They studied it.

“Now let’s analyze the conditions here that you wouldn’t encounter in a bedroom fire. Any suggestions?”

The guys speculated there would be additional oxygen from all the doors that would be open when they attacked with water. They also mentioned decreased visibility.

Alex ended the session with some recommendations of his own: “We need to use the closest access doors. We need to back up with larger lines. And accountability is an absolute.” He waited for this to sink in. “Last thing to talk about is the trusses…”

When they finished training, it was after five. Restless, Alex wanted some fresh air and privacy. He grabbed the paper and headed outside before dinner. Telling himself he was just curious, he sat at the picnic table and flipped to the comics. Lauren’s cartoon, Dee and Me, wasn’t in every day, so it probably wasn’t even here.

It was.

Frame One:

The ocean. Deirdre and Lily stand on the dock. Deirdre wears a chic suit, holds a surfboard. Come on, Lily, let me show you.

Lily is dressed in a dowdy bathing suit, horn-rimmed sunglasses and has zinc oxide on her nose. I can’t swim. You know that.

Frame Two:

Dee is in the water. You said you were taking lessons.

The bubbles indicate Lily’s thoughts. I wish I was more like her.

Frame Three:

Lily stands on the dock looking dejected. She’s at the very end, where waves crash, watching Dee, mumbling Some people have all the fun.

Frame Four:

Other swimmers jostle Lily as they jump into the water.

Lily teeters on the edge of the dock after one particular shove.

Frame Five:

A big, muscle-bound boy skids into view, grabs her from behind before she falls.

A little eek comes from Lily.

Alex reread the cartoon. Hmm. A shy retiring female being rescued. Did this have something to do with her? With him? He glanced up at the building temporarily housing the newspaper. He’d never been a no-means-yes kind of guy, but the comic, coupled with the cookies, made him think trying again for a date was a good idea. He’d just whipped out his cell phone to call her, when she emerged from the building.

With news reporter Toby Hanson. Toby covered the fire-department beat and often showed up at their calls. The guy was her height, slender, nicely dressed. He wore wire-rimmed glasses. Alex remembered thinking before he was kind of nerdy, not really a man’s man. Right now, he had his hand at Lauren’s back. They walked toward a small Toyota, and Hanson opened the passenger door for her. She was just about to get in when she looked up. She must have seen Alex staring, phone in hand, because she gave a slight wave and slid into the car.

I’m busy.

For some reason, he had never thought about her having a boyfriend. So that’s why she’d blown Alex off.

It made him feel better to know that.

Sort of.

LAUREN STARED at Toby Hanson and realized that she’d never been more bored. Immediately, she chided herself for the unkind thought. Toby had been sweet and sincere with her since she arrived in Courage Bay. “I’m sorry about not sitting on the rooftop,” he said. “My allergies are bothering me.”

“That’s all right.” She’d have preferred to be in the outdoor restaurant. Would Alex have wanted to sit up there? “This is a great place inside, too.” It was. The Courage Bay Bar and Grill was an off-duty hangout for the rescue personnel in the community and bore signs of its main customers.