Deadly Identity. Lindsay McKenna
On instinct, she pulled out of his grip, strands of her hair still in his fist.
“Bitch! You’re gonna die!”
Everything became slow motion for Susan. Somehow, she found the strength to rise, her hand across her belly where her baby lay. The pain was far too intense but she had to get away. She grabbed the handle of the black iron skillet and swung it at Dirk as he launched himself at her once again. Her entire arm vibrated from the sudden impact with his skull.
To her disbelief, he fell like a pile of rags on the floor. He had a huge gash across his brow, but at least she’d stopped him. Maybe forever. Tears splattered from her eyes. Tears of pain. She could have stood there for hours but for the sudden ripping sensation through her abdomen.
Please don’t let me lose my baby! A baby she’d wanted all her twenty-three years of life. Susan had endured Dirk’s beatings just to bring this beautiful, clean, innocent baby into the world.
Gasping, Susan saw everything begin to gray before her eyes. She had to escape! She had to get out of here before Dirk woke up! When he did, he’d kill her and her baby. Something raw and primal surged through her. Susan staggered forward, both hands covering her belly. Though she prayed to God that He would save her baby, Susan felt she might die.
Sobbing for breath, Susan tried as best as she could to get out of the five-million-dollar Miami estate that had been her home for all of seven months. Why hadn’t she realized sooner that Dirk was a drug dealer with the Mexican cartel? That he was beyond dangerous? She’d come from a small Iowa cattle farm so what did she know? Now she was running for her life.
Warmth flowed between her legs. She knew it was blood or worse, the fluid surrounding her baby. Save my baby…save my baby… Susan wove unsteadily past the palm trees at the front of the house. Her world began tilting, and more fluid flowed down her legs. Sobbing, Susan ran as if drunk toward the sidewalk below. She nearly fell but she made it to the concrete walkways of the rich community. Help! She could never go back into the estate that reminded her of a prison. She had to escape Dirk! She had to save her baby girl that she’d named Sarah.
Cars slowed down, and drivers gawked at her. Susan wove on rubbery legs, her hands stretched outward to keep herself upright. Gasps and sobs exploded out of her mouth as the pain made her hunch over. Help!
Susan knew no one in Miami. Dirk had kept her inside that mausoleum, not allowing her to make friends with anyone. Her strange marriage went against her grain. At home in the small community of Greenfield, Iowa, people knew each other. They were a tight-knit community. They supported and helped one another. Susan hated Miami, hated that she’d made the stupid decision to marry Dirk Payson. At eighteen years old, when she’d fallen in love with him, she’d thought she knew everything. Against her parents’ wishes, she’d run off and married him. How she regretted her choice now.
Everything had gone wrong. Susan bent over, her hands cupping her belly. Suddenly, she heard the screech of tires nearby. Looking up, Susan noticed a dark blue car stop and a man running toward her. Susan didn’t know who he was, but she sank to her knees. She was too weak to stand, too weak to see if he was friend or foe. Yet, the look in his green eyes told her he was there to help her.
Then, as if someone had lowered a black curtain across her vision, Susan crumpled to the sidewalk. She knew nothing more.
Five years later…
“SUSAN, SOMETHING has happened,” FBI agent Brenda Wilkins said, gesturing for her to sit down in a chair within an enclosed glass office.
“Oh?” Susan frowned and, automatically, her heart began to beat harder. It was snowing outside and getting to this building in six inches of snow had taken a long time. After pulling off her black wool coat and removing her red scarf, Susan placed them on a nearby hook.
The news had to be about Dirk. She had lost Sarah, her baby, and nearly her own life thanks to her ex-husband. When she’d awakened in the hospital, Brenda Wilkins had been at her bedside. The red-haired woman, in her forties, with thick glasses perched on her large nose, told Susan that the FBI needed her help. For the past five years, Susan Donovan had no longer existed.
After testifying against Dirk, she’d entered the federal witness protection program and become Susan Johnson.
Brenda offered her some water from a pitcher. Palms sweaty, Susan took the glass and murmured her thanks.
“What’s wrong? You seem upset,” Susan said. As she looked around the small, spare office, she noticed instantly that all the blinds had been drawn except at the front door. Brenda was meeting her in a special FBI front that sported another name: Garrison & Sons Life Insurance Agency.
Brenda had literally saved Susan’s life. Indeed, the FBI agent had been her gateway to a life without fear of being hunted down and killed by Dirk’s Mexican drug-cartel connections, even though he was in prison. Oh, there was no question in Susan’s mind that Dirk had sent out hit men to find her. So far, he hadn’t succeeded.
The first thing Susan had done was to dye her hair from its original blond color to sable. And she trimmed it to shoulder-length to add more change. Brenda gave her a new name, social security number and all the rest to complete the transfer to begin living a normal life of sorts. All these things ran through Susan’s mind as she studied her handler. Brenda’s red mouth was pursed. Adrenaline started to pour through Susan.
“Dirk escaped,” Brenda said bluntly.
“What?” The word exploded from Susan’s lips.
She was on her feet with nowhere to go. The panic came back with a vengeance. “What? How could that be?”
“I know, I know. Come sit down, Susan. Please…” Brenda waved toward the chair.
Susan couldn’t calm down. Dirk had sworn to kill her. He had promised to track her down and finish the job he’d started at their Miami home five years ago. Grabbing the arms of the wooden chair, Susan felt her knees weaken. She sat down before she fell down. Beads of perspiration dotted her wrinkled brow, her gaze burrowing into the FBI agent’s eyes. “How could this have happened? Do they know where he is? Are they going to recapture him?” Her mind flew like a tornado around the possibilities.
“Take some slow, deep breaths, Susan. Please. You’re looking pale and I don’t want you to faint on me.” Brenda reached over and gripped the hand that was clenched on the arm of the chair. “Come on now…breathe, breathe…”
Gulping convulsively, Susan tried. She was gasping, her breaths shallow and rapid. Just the steadying touch of Brenda’s hand helped her focus. Oh, God, no! The very worst nightmare that had dogged her heels all these years had finally come true. Dirk would be looking for her. Even though he didn’t know where she was or what she looked like, Susan knew he’d stalk and find her. Fear of dying made her choke. She coughed violently several times, her hand pressed against her constricted throat.
“Come on,” Brenda muttered, holding the glass of water toward her. “Sip this. You’re hyperventilating. You’ve got to settle down, Susan. Not everything is lost.” Brenda sat back down, her hands folded, her red nails shining against her dark green suit.
The water was cool and soothing. Susan took several gulps. Her tightened throat began to relax, but her heart pounded like a freight train in her chest. “Tell me what happened.”
Frowning, Brenda picked up the report. “Dirk escaped. No one knows how. Guards suspect he was taken out in a laundry bag to the laundry truck, and he took off from there. No witnesses, though. This is all possibility, not fact. He had to have help. His cell buddies are being interrogated as I speak. And his visitors are being questioned.”
“What does this mean for me?” Susan whispered. “I have a new name, a new identity. He doesn’t know I’m living here in New York City.” It was a long way from Miami, Florida. Dirk hated the northeast because of the cold winters.
Lips twisting, Brenda said, “Hon, I know you’ve made a great life for yourself as a nanny here, and you’re doing well in art school.