Mistaken Identity: Identity Duet, #1

By Evelyn Jeannie Hall

My instincts tell me she's innocent. The evidence says otherwise.

HANNAH
Even in my worst nightmares, I never would've imagined being arrested by the FBI. And for transporting heroin from Mexico to the U.S., no less? I've never touched the stuff or left the country. This must all be some egregious mistake.

Yet when photographs show someone resembling me committing that precise act—and my DNA even winds up at the scene—I'm even more terrified. I didn't do it, but there's no way I can prove it. Who'll believe me now?

IAN
I've been a sheriff's deputy for years, and I know better than most how often criminals lie. But something about this case feels off to me.

On instinct alone, I decide to remove Hannah from the FBI field office, even though it's the riskiest move I've ever made. Our lives are in jeopardy, so I secret her away to my cabin in the snowy woods. I've done this to protect her, but now, I see her in a different light. A passion I never anticipated boils up between us, making the stakes even higher.

How will I untangle this complex web and vindicate Hannah before we both end up in someone's crosshairs?
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn Jeannie Hall
• Release date: Jun 3, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223929727

Book preview

Mistaken Identity

Identity Duet: Book One

Evelyn Jeannie Hall

Mi Alma Publishing

Copyright

Copyright © 2022 by Evelyn Jeannie Hall

Parts of this manuscript were originally written under the title of A Midnight Clear © 2016 by Jeannie Hall

Photo credit Alexander Krivitskiy on Unsplash

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, duplicated, or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage or retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any and all references to actual places, events, or locations are only intended for the purposes of storytelling. Any and all references to organizations, products, or brands with trademarks are used for purposes of realism within the story only and are used fictitiously. No infringement of the owner’s trademarks is intended.

Copyright © 2022 Evelyn Jeannie Hall

All rights reserved.

Dedication:

To my husband, the man who makes things just as good in real life as they are in fiction.

Contents

Mistaken Identity

Copyright

Dedication:

Author’s Note:

Acknowledgements:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Author’s Note

Another Epilogue

Author’s Note:

Author’s Note:

This story is intended for readers 18 and older only. Parts of it were originally written in 2016 as a novella entitled A Midnight Clear but have been rewritten and the novella extended into a full-length novel. This book is a romantic suspense/thriller and contains dark themes including human trafficking, kidnapping, drug running, and explicit violence.

Discussions around prostitution/nonconsensual sex, adoption, and mental illness are prevalent. There is also my usual penchant for using profanity and more than a couple of graphic sex scenes. But, despite all I just told you, there will also be an HEA for Hannah and Ian, the primary couple. I hope you enjoy their story.

Thanks for reading,

Evelyn Jeannie Hall

Acknowledgements:

Iwould like to extend my great appreciation to my Spanish translator and sensitivity reader, Andrea Gonzalez. Your assistance is always invaluable, and I know my books are better due to your insights and feedback. Thanks so much for gifting me your precious time.

Also, to Paola (Jamie) Magallon, for correcting my Spanish back when this was just a novella. Thank you for keeping me from tripping and falling on one of my first real outings as a published author. I will be forever grateful.

One

HANNAH: DECEMBER 12 th

The handcuffs bit into my wrists, making them twinge in discomfort. Shivering, I blinked at the gray utilitarian wall of the interrogation room as the coldness of the metal chair seeped through the thin fabric of my business slacks. One minute I’d been at work in my insurance office daydreaming about the possibility of a white Christmas, and the next I’d been deposited in the back of an unmarked black sedan.

How long were they going to keep me here?

Though the two men who’d come to apprehend me had flashed badges spelling out Federal Bureau of Investigation, I must’ve stared at them uncomprehending for a full minute. Why would the FBI want to arrest me? I’d asked this question so many times I lost count, but my queries and confusion fell on deaf ears.

Never in my life had I felt so blindsided. 

I had to close my eyes to ward off the irritation and hysteria threatening to burst out. This all must be some ridiculous, terrible mistake. A nightmare. I pinched my arm, trying to wake up. Any minute now, I would turn over in my comfy warm bed and laugh at myself and my overactive imagination. Any minute now...

Two people entered the tiny room, a man and a woman. Immediately, I renewed my plea.

Can one of you please tell me why—

But the woman cut me off.

You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I’ve read to you?

The man, tall and possibly of Latin descent with medium brown skin and black hair, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the furthest wall, his posture stiff. I glanced over at him hoping for some help, but he didn’t meet my gaze.

The two men who picked me up already read me my rights. My voice sounded much more courageous than I felt. To keep from giving myself away, I purposely sat up taller in my seat. Why am I here?

The woman’s demeanor—one I recognized as one hundred percent ballbuster—didn’t alter. She settled her narrow ass into the chair opposite me, eyeing me with clear disdain before speaking up again in a hard, clipped voice.

Do you understand the rights I read to you? Her eyes drew into snake-like slits as each and every word sharpened further.

And that was just rude.

Yes, yes, I understand, but—

Agent Rudeness flopped a file folder on the table, then opened it. Your name is Hannah Grace Barker, is it not?

Aggravated and doing my best to maintain my bravado in the face of pure condescension, I didn’t answer. Instead, I studied these two players in this frighteningly surreal experience of mine for some sort—any sort—of clue.

The guy’s charcoal gray police uniform contrasted with the vivid azure blue of the woman’s designer skirt suit. Her red hair, rich and bright as a flame, was at least four shades brassier than my own strawberry blonde, and she gave off an air of frostiness that bordered on aggression. She wore her makeup dark and smoky, and her slim build would’ve made any runway model proud. Pursing my lips, I peeked down at my oversized chest and hips, hating feeling so inadequate in comparison.

"Miss?" Rudeness barked, and I jumped. Quiet Dude over in the corner threw his partner a warning look but didn’t intercede.

With my nerves at an all-time high, I couldn’t hold out any longer. Yes, that’s my name.

And you reside at 4447 Colony Lane, Deer Creek, Arkansas?

Yes.

Rudeness flipped a page with an exaggerated flourish. Background reports show you recently traveled to Burbank, California.

Yes, I got to be part of the live audience for the Word Scrambler game show.

We know about that. Where else did you go, Ms. Barker? The redhead’s eyes, a cold milky green, bored into me like a drill.

Disneyland. Had they brought me here because I went on vacation? I’d never been so my cousin took me.

Which cousin?

Tiffany. I suppose you’ll want her social security number, fingerprints, and mother’s maiden name, too? Nerves tended to bring out my sarcastic side, much to my regret right now.

Rudeness, however, didn’t react to my tone. Instead, she nodded at the man, who then stepped out.

It’s a good cover, Leigh Ann, it truly is.

Leigh Ann?

My name’s not—

Get seen in a public arena so the heat’s taken off. Make sure it’s all under an alias. How long did you spend in Mexico?

What?

I’ve never been to Mexico.

The man reentered and handed his partner a file folder.

Tijuana, this time, though we know that’s not your typical haunt. Rudeness pulled an eight-by-ten photo out and tossed it at me. Carrying heroin again or something less offensive, like cocaine?

I have no idea what you’re—

So you deny the woman in the picture, Leigh Ann Prentiss, is you?

Crinkling my brows, I glanced down at a glossy black and white photograph. There, near a building saturated in shadows, stood someone who bared a passing resemblance to me. The image looked somewhat grainy, but it might explain why they’d captured me. Rudeness tossed me a second photo, and apprehensively, I picked it up. This one was in color and of better quality.

This picture showed someone with the same strawberry shade of hair as mine but cut in a shorter style. While the woman’s face had been displayed only in profile, the shape of her nose and mouth was definitely similar to my own. Similar enough that I did a doubletake. The woman had on the type of low-cut t-shirt and skintight blue jeans I would never wear, but other than the clothing, this woman’s appearance and my own seemed eerily alike.

Wh-who is this? I stammered out. Damn, I hadn’t stuttered in years. My speech therapist’s advice came back to me, how she told me to picture a slow-moving river, ebbing ever forward. This visualization usually calmed me, but not this time.

Not today.

"This is you, Leigh Ann, Rudeness snapped, snatching both photos from my grasp. You can stop lying. After your game show and trip to Disney, you took a little excursion south of the border. These are of you crossing into Mexico and then back to California. We know you have direct ties to one of the most insidious drug cartels on the continent. Are you actually going to sit there and act all innocent now?"

My hands trembled beyond my control, so I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, hoping to disguise my trepidation.

Listen to me, please. I don’t know who this woman is, but she’s not me. I don’t do drugs, I don’t sell drugs, and I certainly don’t work for a cartel. I’ve never been to Mexico or anywhere else outside the country. I don’t understand what’s going on. I swallowed, relieved I didn’t stumble over my words.

For the first time, the male officer spoke up, his police badge gleaming on his chest. His deep voice lashed out as abruptly as Rudeness’s had. Agent Christie, can I see you outside a moment?

The man’s rigid posture and tight expression screamed suppressed fury. The two marched out, and my composure slipped as my whole body erupted in violent tremors. I couldn’t stop them any more than I could stop what the FBI had assumed about me. Those pictures changed everything. Even though I didn’t commit the crime, someone sharing too many aspects of my appearance to count must have.

Which left me in a world of hurt.

My brain buzzed with the words: heroin, cocaine, Tijuana, and drug cartel. Nothing made sense. I lost track of my heartbeat as its thumps raced at this breakneck speed I’d never felt before. Sweat broke out on my forehead and slicked the back of my neck. The almost chemical taste of panic made my tongue feel numb, somehow foreign in my mouth. I rubbed my knees with the palms of my hands, trying to settle down, trying to regulate my uneven breathing.

I did nothing but sell insurance for God’s sake. The wildest thing I did on a day-to-day basis was immerse myself in swoony romance novels. I lived a routine and uncomplicated life. A quiet life. So why of all people was this happening to me?

Then another notion slammed into my skull like a severe brain freeze.

My parents.

My mom and dad would be horrified to hear I might be spending Christmas—or maybe even years—locked away. Hell, with my mother’s heart condition, the news might literally kill her.

I wanted to discontinue that train of thought but couldn’t. Anxiety choked me. I couldn’t see a way out or even a glimmer of hope.

What was I going to do?

Two

IAN

I could’ve caved Christie’s skull in, Fed or no Fed. What the fuck was she up to? Arresting this insurance lady on a whim with no prints or conclusive DNA evidence whatsoever? It was goddamn madness. And if we’d falsely accused the wrong person, each of our asses would be in a sling.

What kind of shitstorm are you trying to brew? I demanded, as Special Agent Kiki—Kiki? Seriously?—Christie tapped her high heels in impatience. You just came right out and accused this woman of an international crime with evidence that’s nothing but circumstantial. What were you thinking?

Her cell chimed, and she glimpsed at the screen before winking at me, a wicked smile slicing her features like a serrated knife.

Here’s something more than circumstantial. Her rapid big-city accent echoed with notes of I told you so as she shoved the phone in my face. The hair follicle we found at the crime scene matches Hannah Barker perfectly. Can’t get any more damning than that.

I paused, taken aback by the sheer audacity of this woman. I knew the FBI had jurisdiction in this case, but as the chief deputy of the Dove Cove sheriff’s office, I still had to live and work here. As the brown guy with one hundred percent Colombian ancestry who’d always been careful to never stick a toe out of line, I had a reputation to protect. We don’t have any prints on Leigh Ann Prentiss.

The fingerprints won’t matter, Deputy Velez. Any court in the country will convict on DNA alone.

Shaking my head, I glared at her. While DNA might be the single greatest factor in bringing about a conviction, I couldn’t believe Christie had this woman carted in here prior to those results being in hand. It went against every established law enforcement procedure in the book.

This entire situation felt conspicuous to me.

But even though I had fifteen years’ worth of experience to back up my gut, the intel and labs supported Christie’s conclusions rather than mine. And technically, she could pull rank any time she wanted. A bone-splitting headache pulsed behind my left eye, confirming the fact this would be a suck-a-bag-of-dicks kind of day.

Awww, poor Velez. Don’t be such a sore loser. Christie slithered one of her flawlessly manicured talons down the middle of my chest and simpered through puckered lips. This suspect is the key to everything. This single capture will give our careers a huge boost, and the glory will go to us both. You shouldn’t be so grumpy.

Christ, I loathed her attempts to flirt. I hadn’t been interested three weeks ago, and I certainly wasn’t interested now. On one hand, it wouldn’t be professional and on the other, Christie emitted about as much warmth as a spitting viper. I stalked away from her, pretending not to hear her whoop of triumph.

I slowed when I came to the two-way mirror separating observers from the interrogation room. Agents had transported Hannah Barker twenty-five miles to be interviewed here at the Bureau’s satellite office. Her pretty reddish-blonde hair had been dulled by the bleak environment and artificial lighting, and her deep brown eyes had grown bloodshot, her porcelain complexion leeched of all color. While her file showed her age to be thirty-two, only three years younger than me, she seemed so meek. So unworldly.

I had a hard time believing she could be the lynchpin to busting the La Luna Centrica Drug Cartel.

I stormed out of the building, ready to yell at anyone who