Assumed Identity

“I’m an actor. We’re making a movie in town. My character’s name is Victor Grant. I’m so used to responding to that name I. . If I’m into my character that much, I ought to win an Oscar.”

“What kind of movie is it, sir?”

“Did you ever see The Big Easy? ”

“Of course, sir. I see all the films made in New Orleans.”

“Well, this is the sequel.”

“I have it now, sir. Brendan Buchanan. Room twelve fourteen. And no, there aren’t any messages.”

“Could I have my key, please?”

The clerk complied. “What other movies have you been in?”

“None. Until now, I’ve worked on the stage. This is my big break. Thanks.”

Buchanan walked toward the elevator. He pressed the button and gazed straight ahead, waiting for the doors to open, certain that the clerk was staring toward him. Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

Victor Grant? You’re losing it, buddy. When you left the hospital, you made the same mistake. You told the nurse you were. .

No. That was a different mistake. You told the nurse you were Peter Lang. Now you say you’re. .

You can’t even keep the names consistent.

His head ached. It wouldn’t stop aching.

The doors at last opened. Inside, alone, as the elevator rose, Buchanan sagged against a wall, wiping sweat from his forehead, wondering if he was going to be sick.

Can’t. I have to keep moving.

He had no intention of going to his room. The only reason he’d approached the desk clerk was that he needed to find out if he’d received any messages. The fact that at the start of the conversation he hadn’t been able to recall his room number terrified him.

Two floors above his own, he got off the elevator and used the key that Holly had given him to open Ted’s door. It took him less than five minutes to find the gun and Victor Grant’s passport where Ted had hidden them under the mattress.

Victor Grant. Buchanan stared at the photograph in the passport. He was tempted to tear the document to pieces and burn it in the sink. That would solve one problem. There’d be one less piece of evidence linking him to a past identity. But what he’d told Holly was true. He’d hung on to the passport in case he needed to get out of the country. And the way things were developing, he might still have a need to do that.

Victor Grant.

Peter Lang.

Brendan Buchanan.

Pick one, damn it. Be consistent.

What are you here for?

Juana.

Where was she last night? Why did somebody stab me? Was somebody trying to stop me from helping. .?

Pay attention. What are you going to do?

Hell, who am I going to be?

Holly. He still had to deal with. .

He looked in a closet and found a brown sport coat that Ted had left. Although Ted had broader shoulders, the garment fit Buchanan better than he expected. He shoved the passport into one of its pockets and the gun behind his belt, at the spine, making sure that the jacket covered it. When he left the room, no one noticed.

Now for Holly’s room.

It was two doors down, and as Buchanan approached it, he kept thinking about the man in the seersucker suit in the lobby. If they staked out the hotel, isn’t it logical that they’d put someone in Holly’s room to grab her when she came in? Maybe I ought to stay out of this. Maybe the smart thing to do is keep walking toward the elevator. Let Holly check herself out of the hotel, or let Ted do it for her. Now that I’ve got the gun and the passport, why should I care about. .?

Buchanan slowed, thinking, The longer Holly waits, the greater the odds that someone will be in her room when she comes back.

So what? That still isn’t your concern. If something happened to her, it’d be one less thing for you to worry about. One less. .

He pivoted, knocked on her door, announced, “Hotel housekeeping,” knocked again, and unlocked the door.

The room was empty. It took him even less time to pack her things than it had for him to find the gun and the passport in Ted’s room. He took care only when he put her underwear into her suitcase. What Holly had said was true. It was expensive, and it did have lace. He liked the feel of it.

She would have been required to leave a credit-card number when she checked in. He found an early- checkout form on the counter beside the television, filled it out, and left it on the bed, pleased that she hadn’t brought much luggage as he carried the two bags down the fire stairs and out a service exit, all the while thinking of the lace on the underwear he’d packed. It had been a long time since he’d felt intimate with a woman. Not had sex with but felt intimate with. As long as six years ago.

And Juana.

8

Exertion, combined with the glaring sun, squeezed sweat from him. The stitches in his right side, the tenderness of his wound, required him to carry one bag in his left hand, the other wedged under his left arm. Exhaust fumes from passing cars aggravated his headache and made him nauseous.

At least the taxi was waiting as promised. When the driver saw that Buchanan was having trouble with the bags, he got out. “Here, let me help, suh.”

“Thanks.” Buchanan gave him ten dollars, then turned his attention toward Holly and someone else sitting in the backseat.

He frowned.

While the driver carried the bags toward the trunk, Buchanan got in the backseat, next to a square-faced man who was built like a college football player gone to seed. “Well, Ted, long time no see.”

From the opposite side, Holly leaned forward. “I figured he might as well travel with us instead of keep following in another taxi. We picked him up while you were gone.”

“Ted, I appreciate the help with the bags.”

“What help?”

“My point exactly.”

“You should have asked.”

“I shouldn’t have needed to.”

“Just like you didn’t feel you needed to ask my permission to go into my room. I don’t like the idea of someone rummaging through my stuff. And that’s my jacket you’re wearing.”

“Very observant. So what do you think, Ted? Doesn’t fit me too bad, huh? Here’s your key back.”

Holly tried to distract them. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“Right away. Ted isn’t very good at this.”

“Hey,” Ted said.

“All right, I can understand why you’re angry,” Holly said. “When I saw you coming, I should have helped with the bags. I knew you’d just been released from the hospital. I’d have gotten out to help a friend.”

“Well, this guy isn’t a friend,” Ted said.

“Ted,” Holly said in warning. She turned to Buchanan. “Look, I’m sorry. Remember, it was your idea to check