Identity of the Heart (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 1) Page 6

  Not for the first time in this conversation, I begin to wonder if my presence is intrusive and wrong. I’m feeling very much like a third wheel. I softly clear my throat because they seem to have forgotten that I’m even here. “I have some business I could do in my car if it would make you feel more comfortable,” I offer.

  Rogue looks panicked. “No, Tristan, please don’t leave. I want you to be here when I explain the situation to Marcus. He’s probably going to have questions I don’t know the answer to,” she says as her eyes plead. She grabs my hand and holds on tightly. “Please stay.”

  “I just didn’t want to intrude on your private conversations,” I explain glancing back and forth between Marcus and Rogue.

  “I suspect there’s going to be very little that’s private between us over the next few months. I think we’re probably going to be living out of each other’s pockets. I believe that after today none of our lives are ever going to be the same. You may both regret the day you met me, “Rogue responds frankly.

  I look directly at Marcus, “How do you feel about me being all up in your business?” I ask.

  Marcus shrugs as he replies, “If Rogue is cool with it, I’m down with it too. You seem like a straight shooter to me. I know this goes without saying, but I’ll say it anyway. If you hurt Rogue in any way, you’ll have to deal with me.”

  “Understood,” I state. “I would never intentionally hurt her, but she’s going to be thrust into the middle of a very emotionally charged situation. Things could get dicey and communication may break down. It’s going to be tough on everyone. We’ll all have to work hard to pull together instead of apart.”

  Marcus looks back and forth between us and lets out an exasperated sigh. “Will you two stop talking in code and just tell me what’s going on?” he demands.

  I lean over and murmur into Rogue’s ear, “Relax, you can do this. I’m right here if you need some help. Remember, Marcus is a friendly audience.”

  Rogue squeezes my hand and takes a shaky breath as she says, “Remember that strange picture of me on BrainsRSexy.com?”

  Marcus nods. “I don’t know why you object to that picture so much. I think you look amazing in it.”

  “Oh, I agree. I think both the dress and the makeup are phenomenal. But it’s not me.”

  Marcus squints at the picture as he comments,” I don’t get it. You go on lots of modeling gigs where you wear other people’s clothes. I’ve never seen you act this way before. What’s the big deal?”

  “No, I don’t mean I don’t like the style. I mean it literally is not me,” Rogue clarifies.

  Marcus picks up the picture and studies it more closely. After a couple of minutes he carefully sets the picture down. I notice his hands are trembling.

  Marcus is watching us with the scrutiny he would give a street magician in Vegas. His narrowed gaze travels back and forth between us like he’s hoping for an early arrival of April Fools’ Day. He performs a cursory search of the room for cameras as he demands, “Are you guys punkin’ me?”

  Rogue is squeezing my hand so tight my fingers are numb. I’m a little awestruck by this small act of trust.

  We both vigorously shake our heads no.

  Marcus stands up aggressively and grabs the front of my shirt as he growls, “Just what kind of scam are you trying to pull here? I thought you were going to look out for Rogue.”

  Rogue looks a little shell-shocked at his outburst, yet I’m really not. I’d be suspicious as hell too. In this day and age, it is remarkably easy to doctor photographs.

  “Marcus Taylor Brolen! Apologize right now!” Rogue demands.

  “Rogue, there’s really no reason for him to apologize. He’s just worried about you. He doesn’t know me from Adam. For all he knows, I could be some world-class scammer. I’m not, but he doesn’t know that. He doesn’t know I routinely work on projects with the Department of Homeland Security and the Secret Service, or that I have the highest level of security clearance that exists outside of the president’s detail. I’m not going to jeopardize that just to mess with all of you.”

  “Well, La-Dee-Da, Mr. Super-Secret-Spy-Guy,” Marcus snarls. “What are you doing with the likes of us?”

  “I’m trying to help solve a mystery,” I respond quietly.

  “Why would you take on a case like Rogue? She’s got no money for you to drain.”

  The corner of my mouth quirks up at the audaciousness of his suggestion. This statement even earns a strangled giggle from Rogue. She sighs as she cautions, “Seriously, Marc. Just stop. You’re digging yourself a really big hole here. Tristan is on our side. Please just try to listen without marking me up like a fire hydrant.”

  Marcus makes a face as he responds, “That’s disgusting Ro.”

  “Yeah? Then I suggest you sit your butt down and hear us out Macho Boy,” she commands as she scowls and points to a chair.

  Reluctantly, Marcus lets go of my shirt and sits back down in his chair. He takes a long drink of his Red Bull, before setting it back on the table and scooting it away. He picks up the picture and studies it again. “You’re right. Whoever this is, it isn’t Rogue. This person has a scar over her left eyebrow.”

  I’m impressed. I looked at those pictures for almost three weeks and didn’t notice the tiny discrepancy.

  “So, who is this mystery woman?” Marcus asks impatiently.

  “We think she’s probably my twin,” Rogue announces with more clarity than I expected.

  Marcus looks at me with skepticism as he probes, “You think or you know? Because as far as I know, Rogue isn’t even adopted. This could all be some elaborate identity theft.”

  I can’t help but smile at the irony of his accusation. It seems as if we’ve now come full circle. “Funny you should say that, because that’s exactly the puzzle Ivy asked me to figure out. She was trying to determine whether Rogue was trying to steal her identity,” I explain.

  Marcus’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline and his jaw drops to the floor. “What?” he exclaims. “That’s insane! Rogue is the most honest person I know. She would never do anything like that.”

  “I don’t believe that Ivy Montclair would either. We think that they were victims of a weird twin telepathic phenomenon which resulted in a computer glitch. This caused their dating profiles to merge online. If it weren’t for that bizarre coincidence, they might not have ever found out about the existence of the other,” I clarify.

  “So, does this Ivy know about Rogue?” Marcus asks.

  “Rogue and I just put those pieces of the puzzle together a few minutes ago based on additional information she gave me. I haven’t had a chance to tell Ivy. I think that’s something I should do in person,” I say, as I straighten the papers in the file.

  “I think I should be there…in case she wants to meet me,” Rogue suggests as she squeezes my hand.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a great idea,” I caution. “This news might come as a huge shock and she may not be ready to meet with you yet. I don’t want you to be disappointed. I do a fair amount of skip tracing and adoption reunions, and the one thing I can predict is that they’re always unpredictable. They are often emotionally charged and volatile—especially if she’s not expecting you to be there.”

  Rogue turns in her chair so she’s completely facing me. She grabs my other hand and looks directly at me as she pleads, “I don’t know how to explain this, but, I have to be there when you tell her. I’ll bring Marcus for emotional support so you can focus on taking care of Ivy. Now that I know she’s out there, I can’t ignore her existence. I’ve got to see tangible proof of that connection. I know you don’t understand, and right now I can’t adequately explain myself. It’s just something I’ve always felt.”

  I’ve got my own reasons for completely understanding where she’s coming from, so I merely nod and ask her, “Does Saturday work for you?”

  THE TEXT FROM TRISTAN COMES in right as I’m leaving my Accounting exam. For a brief second I deb
ate if I should just ignore it. I’m having major regrets about whether I should’ve contacted him. After I thought about it for a while, I decided that I’ve probably just been pranked. It’s likely somebody from high school who still holds a grudge against me for something related to cheerleading or soccer.

  Team related activities can be so cutthroat. During my sophomore year, one of my teammates who wanted to be on the varsity team wanted my position, so she purposefully stomped on my ankle with her cleats and broke it in two spots. I had to have a stupid pin put in my ankle and they took me completely off of the soccer team. Fortunately, my cheerleading coach let me stay on as choreographer so I was able to letter in cheerleading at least.

  As I reread the text, it becomes clear that there’s been some sort of important development in the case and Tristan wants to meet face-to-face. My heart starts to race and my palms grow sweaty. I’m suddenly terrified about what he might have found. What if this person wants to do me harm?

  Crap! He’s not available until Saturday. Then I remember that he told me he was going to be presenting at an out-of-town cyber-security conference all week. Glancing at the clock I realize that it’s only eighty-thirty California time, so I take a gamble and give him a call.

  I’m relieved when he picks up on the second ring.

  “Identity Bank, this is Tristan,” he answers in a professional tone.

  “Hi Tristan, this is Ivy.” I reply.

  “Hello Ivy, what can I do for you?” he responds.

  “I just got your text and I’m freaking out a little,” I admit.

  “Sorry about that,” he says apologetically, “that was not my intent.”

  “Does this text mean I’m in any danger?” I ask, voicing my fears.

  “Certainly not. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression,” he assures me. “It’s just that the update on your case is a bit complex and I’d rather tell you about it in person in case you have any questions.”

  “You don’t think I have any reason to be worried?” I ask anxiously.

  “No, I don’t have any reason to think you’re in any danger,” Tristan confirms. “Does Saturday work for you? It’s the first day that I’ll be back in town.”

  “Yes, that will be fine. Is it all right if I bring my roommate to the meeting? She might think of questions that I forget,” I say, repeating Jessica’s suggestion. It was the perfect solution because when I’m stressed out, I tend to forget things. It’ll be good for her to be there to take notes. I’m so worried about what Tristan might have found that I will probably completely space out everything that he says at the meeting.

  “Of course she can accompany you. Is it all right if I bring some people too as long as they sign confidentiality agreements?”

  For a moment his request stuns me, but then I remember the location’s proximity to the university and I assume that he probably has interns working in his office.

  “I guess as long as things stay confidential, it wouldn’t bother me to have other people observe our conversations,” I concede.

  “If at any time you change your mind, just let me know and I’ll have them leave,” he states firmly.

  “Where should we meet?” I ask.

  “Just text me your favorite restaurant and what time works for you and it’ll be my treat,” he offers.

  “It’s a deal. I’ll see you on Saturday. Have a good week,” I say, as I hang up the phone and bellow for Jessica. Less than a week is not long to prep for a simulated date like this. I know it’s a business meeting, but it’s the closest thing I’ve had to a date in what seems like forever.

  I fidget in my sundress. It’s unseasonably warm for August, even for Florida. This dress seems overly revealing for a business meeting but Jessica says that the vintage style is perfectly appropriate. I guess I’m still used to the more conservative styles in Vermont.

  “Jessica, what time is it?” I ask, checking my cell phone.

  Jessica rolls her eyes at me as she sarcastically responds, “About two minutes after the last time you asked me and exactly the same time it says on your phone.”

  “I wonder why they’re late?” I fret.

  “Ivy, will you chill? Technically, if they arrived this very second, they would still be four minutes early,” Jessica’s scolds. Abruptly, she swings her head around to watch something through the window. “Did you say that Tristan is about 6 foot with short wavy hair and piercing blue eyes?”

  “Yeah, I don’t remember telling you that, but that’s him,” I say in a hushed voice.

  “Well, don’t have an apoplexy but he’s headed this way, and I don’t know if that cute guy is with him, but I kind of hope he is,” Jessica comments like a play-by-play announcer.

  “Oh Lord! What did I get myself in to?” I moan.

  “Ivy, put your big girl panties on,” Jessica cajoles. “It’s too late to fall apart now. You can do that later. For now, you’ve got to be strong.”

  “I know there’s a reason you’re my best friend. You’re right; it’s better to know than to wonder about it. It can’t be worse than all the scenarios running through my head. Did I tell you that last night I dreamt there was a serial killer stalking me?” I admit. “It can’t be worse than that, right?”

  “Do you have any revengeful exes that I need to be aware of?”

  “My only serious high school boyfriend was killed in a drunk driving accident during his freshman year of college,” I admit.

  “Oh wow!” exclaims Jessica. “That explains why you’re so anal about everyone having designated drivers. I’m sorry for your loss.”“Thank you. His death was tragic because he was a good guy, but we broke up several months before the accident. The planet is a little less shiny without him in it.”

  Just then, I feel Tristan’s presence over my shoulder. “Good afternoon ladies, may I join you?” he greets us politely.

  Jessica smiles widely as she responds, “Please do before Ivy blows a gasket.”

  I nudge her with my elbow as I respond, “Geez Jessica, way to throw me under the bus.”

  Jessica winks at me as she shrugs, “Well, that’s what you get for pestering me for the last half an hour,” she retorts with absolutely no remorse.

  Tristan chuckles. “That’s okay, I’ve been pretty antsy about our meeting too. I’m sorry I had to delay it for so long.”

  My stomach sinks to my toes as I watch him pull out a thick folder with several parts.

  “You’re sure this isn’t bad news?” I ask, swallowing hard.

  “Actually, I can’t really promise that,” Tristan replies as he opens the file and pulls a legal pad out of his briefcase. “I don’t think you’re in danger, if that’s what you’re asking. You might even construe it as good news. At any rate, I’m pretty sure that what I’m about to share will be life-changing news.”

  I suck in a deep breath at his somber tone. I’m not sure that I want to hear this, but if I don’t—I’ll always have the mystery hanging out there and I’m not sure what would be worse. I’m still lost in my head and weighing the options when Jessica jerks me out of my thoughts with her excited chatter, “Girl! What are you waiting for? This is like one of those detective shows on steroids! If it were me I’d be ripping that file out of his hands? Aren’t you even curious? This stuff only happens on TV…”

  “Jessica! Put a lid on it.” I order. “I’m just trying to wrap my brain around the fact he said my whole life is going to change. I kind of like my life the way it is. I’m not sure I want my whole life to change.”

  Jessica narrows her eyes at me and tilts her head as she observes, “With all due respect, I don’t think you really like your life all that much now, ‘Miss-I-hate-every-business-class-I’ve-ever-taken’.”

  “Touché,” I respond as I give her a mock salute. “You’re right, I need to talk to my dad. I just don’t want to break his heart.”

  Jessica softens her tone as she responds, “Honey, I don’t think you’re giving your dad enough credit. I thi
nk he would be more heartbroken if you chose a career that made you unhappy just to please him.”

  Tristan clears his throat softly as he interjects, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to butt in here, but I think your friend is right. When I was growing up, my dad owned a construction business. He was very old school about it. He didn’t know a thing about computers. He used to call them expensive paperweights. He thought I was crazy spending all those hours in my room programming them. He always dreamed that I would go into the business with him. One of the most difficult conversations I ever had with him was when I told him that I wasn’t going to go to trade school to become an electrician. After I told him why my dreams were so important to me, he became one of my biggest supporters.”

  My nerves get the best of me and I start tearing the napkin in front of me up into small pieces of confetti. As the pile in front of me grows, out of the corner of my eye, I catch the expression of the cute guy with messy hair and dimples. At first he looks surprised. I watch as his expression turns to fascination, and then to amusement. He’s clearly studying me, so I’m not really sure what I could possibly be doing to elicit all of those emotions.

  Jessica notices my sudden distraction. “Earth to Ivy, did you suddenly leave our conversation? What in the world are you watching?” she asks as she follows my gaze. As she spots my target, she comments, “Ooh yummy! Never mind. I’d be watching that too. But can we please get back to the reason Tristan is here? My curiosity is about to kill me.” She sighs dramatically and taps her toe.

  I take a moment to work out the kinks in my neck and shoulders and lift my heavy hair off of my neck. Finally, I decide to trust my gut. I wouldn’t have decided to bring Tristan in on the case if I hadn’t wanted to get to the bottom of what was happening. Anyway, it wouldn’t really be fair to ask Tristan to drop his case in the middle since he has already done so much work. I owe it to him to hear him out, even if I’m scared of the outcome.

  I swallow hard as I announce, “I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I hope that I don’t regret this.”