And she had ignored the fact that their truck hadn’t had a Nebraska plate on the front when they arrived. Maybe they did hit the DMV office like they’d said. And the weird feeling that Charles had lied when she questioned him about his knowledge of Cuban sandwiches.
And what about Charles? Was he lying the same way Ken was?
What else had they lied about?
Who’s to say what they might lie to me about?
It felt like a block of ice now resided where her heart had strongly beat for the men.
And I was stupid enough to fall in love with them.
She stepped out of the aisle and into a different one to get herself under control. She’d sworn she wouldn’t do it, that she wouldn’t lose her heart to them. That it would be about fun and sex and getting some help in the shop in the bargain and extra money to help pay the bills every month.
But that she wouldn’t fall in love with the men. Either of them.
As hot tears threatened to sting her eyes, she knew that was exactly what she had done—fallen in love.
With both of them. On Halloween night, the first time they’d made love to her, she’d lost her heart to them even though she wouldn’t open herself to more pain by admitting it to them.
How fucking stupid am I?
After a few minutes of deep breaths to calm her shaky nerves, she returned to the aisle where he was and found him alone, looking over the pen selections as if he hadn’t just had another woman in his arms.
Two can play that game.
She dumped her stuff in the cart.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’m fine. Let’s get this done and over with.”
192 Tymber
Dalton
They got the rest of the items on her list. Any time he spoke to her, she kept her answers short, monosyllabic when possible. Staying in front of him the entire way, she swiped her credit card at the register and let him deal with loading the bags in the cart. Then she briskly marched in front of him all the way to the car, waiting while he unlocked the door for her and let her in. He rounded the car to pop the trunk and start the car so the heater would run for her.
Libbie pressed her lips tightly together to keep the scream locked inside her throat. If she started, she feared she might not be able to stop.
They might have shattered her trust, but they wouldn’t take her dignity from her. She’d wait until she was home and alone and safely locked behind a closed door before breaking down and crying.
She heard Ken close the trunk. When he walked around to the driver’s door and got in, she turned to the passenger window, unable to look at him.
He didn’t put the car in gear. Despite the heavy silence, she kept her eyes fixed on the bank building at the far end of the parking lot.
“What’s wrong?” he softly asked.
She shook her head, still not trusting her voice.
She felt him touch the back of her left hand and forced herself not to flinch. “Libbie, talk to me, sweetheart. What happened? What’s going on? Something happened in the store, and I want you to tell me what.”
With pain building inside her chest, she finally let go of it and allowed it to burst from her. “I saw you. I saw you with that woman in there. I saw her all over you and saw her kiss you. And I heard her call you Allan. Take me home. Now.”
“Libbie, listen to—”
“I’m done listening. You guys aren’t gay. You aren’t from Nebraska, either, probably. You have a girl. The lies stop here and now. I’m done. I—”
“Libbie!”
It’s a Sweet Life
193
She jumped at the force and depth of his voice. Her head involuntarily swung around, her eyes meeting his. She thought he was going to say something else, but instead, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he laid it in her lap without a sound.
The badge cast a shine in the late afternoon sunlight. Blinking, she looked up and stared at him.
“Go ahead,” he quietly said. “Then we can talk. It’s time you know it all, I guess. We never planned to get involved with you. We didn’t want to put anyone at risk.”
With her fingers trembling, she silently read the inscription on the badge. Miami-Dade. She flipped past that and saw another driver’s license. The picture with Ken’s blue eyes, but with shaggy, dark hair and his face covered with a dark beard and moustache.
Benjamin Donohue, with a Miami address.
A Florida concealed carry permit, with the same picture and name. A photo ID from the Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Office.
She flipped through it. Credit cards, a bank card, Social Security card, voter registration card.
All in the name of Benjamin Donohue.
Trying to catch her breath, she slowly looked at him. Both his hands rested on the top of the steering wheel, his gaze transfixed somewhere out in the distance ahead of them.
“Who are you really?” she whispered.
Without looking at her, his voice sounding tired and drawn, he softly said, “Detective Benjamin Donohue, Miami-Dade Sheriff’s Office. I spent three years in deep undercover to bring down the Bianco crime family.”
She looked back at his wallet, once again flipped open to the badge. “Why are you here?”
“We’re in hiding.”
“We?” She closed her eyes. “Duh. You and Charles.”
“Allan,” he softly corrected.
194 Tymber
Dalton
She felt her heart clench. “That woman in there called you Allan.”
He slowly nodded, then finally looked at her. “We’re not cousins.
We’re identical twins. Allan is an assistant state’s attorney on the team prosecuting the case. She thought I was him because when we went into hiding I made myself look like him and made him totally change his appearance.”
Her mind swam with questions. She suddenly remembered the night she’d heard Charles… Allan, call Ken… dammit…Ben “bro”
while they were making love to her.
The only word she could give voice to was, “Why?”
He released the steering wheel and she allowed him to carefully take her hands in his. He brought them up to his chest and tucked them into his jacket. Beneath his shirt, she felt his heart pounding.
“Let’s get the groceries home and I promise I’ll tell you everything.
Okay? No more lies. The whole truth.”
She nodded, not understanding why he now sounded so sad.
And worried what it meant.
Despite the countless questions swirling through her mind, Libbie kept herself quiet all the way home. When they got there, Ken— Ben, she reminded herself—helped her upstairs to her apartment before going back for the groceries.
When he got everything put away, he went to his apartment and brought back a laptop. Settling next to her on her couch, he brought up The Miami Herald’s website, keyed in a search, then handed the laptop to her.
BIANCO FAMILY TRIAL TO PROCEED read the headline. The story, a Sunday feature piece from several months earlier, detailed how undercover detectives had gathered enough evidence to make an arrest of a mob family member, which led to even more charges on the state and federal level. While Ben wasn’t mentioned in the article, It’s a Sweet Life 195
it did have a picture of one of the lead prosecutors in the case.
And while he looked like Ben, she could tell from the expression in his eyes it wasn’t, that it was Charles. Or Allan, or whatever his real name was. The cutline under the picture identified him as Allan Donohue.