Page 33 of Safeguarding the Witness

“After that,” she continued, “I want to talk to Jamison about the undercover FBI agent who recorded the yacht explosion. I know it’s possible to create all kinds of phony scenarios with AI, but that looked realistic. And I’d expect the FBI to vet the video.”

“The feds don’t share information with civilians. They don’t even like to cooperate with other law enforcement agencies.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to convince them.” She hopped off the swing and left him dangling. “We’ll start at the hospital and take it from there.”

“Wait.” He stepped up beside her. “If we go to the hospital, you’ll miss the memorial service.”

She grabbed his hand and checked his wristwatch. “It’s not even eleven thirty. The memorial isn’t until two. We can make it back by then.”

Hoping to distract her, he pointed out, “You should talk to Bethany and Erin before you leave them in the lurch.”

“Bethany is going to be mad no matter what I do. And Erin will give me a high five for encouragement.” She skipped down the stairs from the veranda, surprisingly agile for someone who didn’t usually wear high-heeled platform heels. “Move it, Spence. We have a lot to do if we’re going to catch this scumbag.”

Heaving a resigned sigh, he accepted her plan. If he was with her, he could still concentrate on keeping her safe, even though she seemed determined to do everything in her power to bring on more threat. Running into a burning building. Defusing a bomb with mere seconds left before detonation. Facing down a cartel with nothing but a beautiful smile and a lot of nerve.

* * *

Standing in the hospital corridor between Spence and Agent Jamison, Mollie felt awkward and out of place. She’d never been involved in law enforcement, either as a cop or a felon, and had no idea how to handle an interrogation. She clung to her initial bravado that inspired her to undertake this investigation. She needed to know: Why was someone after her? Why now?

They’d already made progress, no thanks to her. Evidence gathered by the police showed Julio Flores as the person working with the sniper. She still didn’t know why. Her mood fluctuated from the intense fear of knowing a cartel murderer had targeted her to the realization that Julio’s survival boded well for Madison’s escape from the explosion. She might be closer than ever to finding her twin alive.

At the hospital gift shop, she’d bought Easton a hypoallergenic stuffed teddy bear—recommended by the salesclerk who vetoed flowers and balloons for ICU patients. Mollie had to borrow the money for the purchase from Spence. In the small purse Erin had brought to go with the teal dress was Mollie’s wallet, which was thin on cash and valid credit cards. She also carried eyeliner, lipstick, pepper spray and her ceramic pocketknife, which easily passed through the hospital metal detectors. Spence had to surrender his weapon. Jamison—in his role as an FBI agent—held on to his gun.

A pretty young nurse in pink scrubs joined them. She lowered her mask and offered an overly friendly smile that lingered on Spence long enough to send a message that she wouldn’t mind a private chat with him. An unwarranted pang of jealousy pinged inside Mollie, though she had no claim on Spence. Whatever he did with his own time was his business.

“Only one of you can visit with your friend at a time,” the nurse informed them.

“That would be me,” Jamison said as he stepped forward. Though he wasn’t wearing a neat men-in-black uniform, he’d added a rumpled sports jacket to his jeans. “I was right next to Easton when he got shot. And I have official questions.”

He charged into the small cubicle and drew aside the curtain, revealing Marshal Jerome Easton sitting up in a hospital bed with the side rails in place. Tubes, wires and IVs sprouted from all over his body. With the sheets pulled up to his hips, Easton’s legs were visible. One was wrapped in gauze. The other was casted from below the knee to the foot.

“Is he going to be all right?” Mollie asked.

“Recovery will take a while,” the nurse said. “He’ll be in physical therapy, learning how to put weight on his legs. But he ought to be fine.”

Spence squinted into the room. “He doesn’t look well enough to be released today.”

“Wheelchair transport has already been arranged.” The nurse moved closer to him. Mollie noticed that the young woman accidentally on purpose rubbed against Spence’s chest. In the dapper, navy blue suit he wore for the memorial, he looked good. The nurse whispered to him, “It’s nice to hear your concern about your friend.”

Jamison rushed back to them in the hallway. “Mollie should talk to him next.”

She waited until the nurse moved away, after giving Spence a flirty, little wave. Then, Mollie turned toward Jamison. “Why me?”

“Easton is still dopey from the anesthetic for the surgery. He caught a glimpse of you out here and demanded to see the Princesa. I think you know who he’s talking about.”

“My twin.” How could Easton mistake her for her sister? “But he saw me at the airport. I was pinned down on the field right next to him.”

“Spence was hovering over you, protecting you. Easton couldn’t see much.” Jamison fixed her with a sharp gaze. “He already thinks you’re Madison. Can you pull this off?”

If he’d asked her to impersonate a celebrity or disguise herself, Mollie wouldn’t have known what to do. But she and her twin had been swapping identities since birth. “I can be Madison. Give me a minute.”

Using the mirror-like surface of a cabinet, she accented her eyeliner and added a heavy smear of lipstick. The demure teal dress that suited her wasn’t right for her sister. Using her ceramic knife carefully so none of the hospital staff saw, Mollie cut off the sweet, lace sleeves. She slashed open the neckline nearly to her waist and sliced off several inches of hemline.

Mollie threw back her shoulders so her posture would reflect her sister’s overwhelming confidence. She ruffled her hair, wishing she had about six more inches in length to play with. With a toss of her head, she confronted Spence and Jamison. “How’s this?”

“Very good, Princesa Peligrosa.” Jamison gave her two thumbs-up. She aimed a seductive, Madison-like gaze at Spence, who was still gaping. His mouth snapped shut. “I liked you better,” he said, “before you chopped up your dress.”

“Really?” She cocked her hip and arched her back to emphasize her cleavage. “I thought all men preferred a naughty girl.”