Dangerous Impostor Read online

  “I didn't kill him!”

  On a business trip to Las Vegas, Lauren Bradley discovers her coworker’s dead body in the hotel room next door. With a shaky alibi and evidence mounting against her, Lauren becomes the number one suspect. No one believes she’s being framed. Except her new boss, Brent Emerson. But the secret she’s keeping from her handsome protector threatens to destroy everything. In a city full of dangerous impostors, deception and murder, Brent and Lauren have to ferret out the real killer before Lauren is arrested—or becomes the next victim.

  Brent looked more closely at Lauren.

  What was it about this young woman that had aroused the detective’s suspicions? To Brent, she looked like a lovely and highly vulnerable young woman who was caught in a nightmare situation over which she had no control.

  But Brent had a weakness for women in distress. The knight-in-shining-armor syndrome. Always charging in to rescue someone, and getting wounded in the process.

  Still, Lauren was his employee. It was his job, his responsibility, to help her.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “The detective may be offensive, but he seems good at his job. He’ll get to the bottom of this, find out who killed Frank, and it’ll all work out. In the meantime, we’ll both hang around here. Find out what we can.”

  Hope sprang into her face. “You’ll stay in Vegas with me? I really appreciate that.” She gave a hesitant smile. “Thank you, Brent. I feel better already.”

  The sound of his whispered name stirred up an odd feeling in his stomach. Oh, yeah. He needed to move cautiously here.

  Books by Virginia Smith

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Murder by Mushroom

  Bluegrass Peril

  A Taste of Murder

  Murder at Eagle Summit

  Scent of Murder

  Into the Deep

  A Deadly Game

  *Dangerous Impostor

  *Falsely Accused

  Love Inspired

  A Daughter’s Legacy

  VIRGINIA SMITH

  A lifelong lover of books, Virginia Smith has always enjoyed immersing herself in fiction. In her mid-twenties, she wrote her first story and discovered that writing well is harder than it looks; it took many years to produce a book worthy of publication. During the daylight hours, she steadily climbed the corporate ladder and stole time to write late at night after the kids were in bed. With the publication of her first novel, she left her twenty-year corporate profession to devote her energy to her passion—writing stories that honor God and bring a smile to the faces of her readers. When she isn’t writing, Ginny and her husband, Ted, enjoy exploring the extremes of nature—skiing in the mountains of Utah, motorcycle riding on the curvy roads of central Kentucky and scuba diving in the warm waters of the Caribbean. Visit her online at www.virginiasmith.org.

  Virginia Smith

  Dangerous Imposter

  Those who seek my life set their traps…

  Come quickly to help me, O Lord my Savior.

  —Psalms 38:12, 22

  This book is dedicated to my uncle, Rick Waits.

  Thank you for always being there for me.

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks so much to my husband, Ted, who is my favorite research partner, and who suffered through multiple trips to Las Vegas to help me get the atmosphere just right. (It’s so hard being married to a writer!) I’m grateful to Wendy Lawton, agent extraordinaire. And thanks a HUGE amount to my editor, Tina James, who helped me brainstorm the idea for the Falsely Accused Support Team. And of course I wouldn’t be doing any of this without the grace and mercy of my Lord.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Questions for Discussion

  ONE

  A thud from the hallway outside her hotel room wrenched Lauren Bradley out of a light sleep. The ominous echo of it filled the dark room. Sleepy tendrils of a vague dream evacuated her mind in an instant, and she lay beneath the thick bedspread straining to hear past her pounding heart and the sound of the air conditioner.

  A slow, muffled scraping froze the blood in her veins. That noise didn’t sound like it came from the hallway. It sounded closer. Was someone in the room with her?

  Don’t panic. Officer Smith said it’s important to stay calm.

  Lessons from the self-defense class she had taken earlier this year flashed through her mind. If she was on her feet she would know exactly where to aim a crippling blow, but Officer Smith hadn’t told her what to do if she was caught lying down. She drew her feet up toward her chest, preparing to defend herself against an attacker with a swift upward kick. Her ears strained to pinpoint the intruder’s exact location in the unfamiliar room.

  Another sound reached her ears, and this time she was easily able to locate the source. The handle of the connecting doorway to the adjoining hotel room gave a soft metallic click as someone attempted to twist the knob from the other side.

  Her fear evaporated, replaced by a wave of disgust. That was no intruder inside her hotel room. That was Frank in the room next door.

  Lauren threw the comforter off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. When they’d checked into the hotel earlier, her obnoxious coworker had wagged his eyebrows when he’d seen that door.

  “You know what they say, Lauren.” He’d given a suggestive wink. “What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

  Well, nothing was happening in Vegas this week. At least, nothing involving her. Even if she were to indulge in an office romance—a colossal mistake the first time, and one she did not intend to repeat ever again—Frank Labetti would be the last person on the face of the earth she would choose. She had barely been able to stomach sitting beside him on the plane, listening to his arrogant know-it-all chatter during the four-hour flight from Atlanta.

  She stomped across the carpet in bare feet and slapped a palm against the thick wood.

  “Go to sleep, Frank.” Her angry shout sounded sharp in the empty room. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.”

  No sound from the other side of the door. When she’d left Frank downstairs last night, he’d already drunk so much at dinner that his words had been starting to slur and his voice had been even louder than normal. She’d headed for the elevator, and he’d veered toward the casino. Surely he wasn’t just getting back to his room. If he’d been down there drinking and gambling all night, no way he’d be up and ready to go to the conference at nine in the morning. Not that she’d mind attending conference sessions on her own—she’d prefer it, in fact—but tomorrow afternoon they had to team up and present a workshop on test tools for real-time IP networks, and she couldn’t do that alone. Frank might be obnoxious, but he was the technology expert in their company.

  “Frank, you’d better be sober and ready to go in the morning.” She loaded her voice with the threat of dire consequences if he wasn’t.

  A strangled moan sounded from th
e other side of the door. The sound tweaked a chord of concern in Lauren. Was he sick?

  “Frank, are you okay?”

  The only answer was a choking cough and a worrisome gurgle almost too faint to hear.

  Lauren closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door. Great. Just what I need. He’s probably given himself alcohol poisoning. Instead of going to the conference tomorrow I’m going to have to spend my first day in Las Vegas babysitting the thirty- year-old coworker I can’t stand.

  Maybe she should just go back to bed, let him sleep it off and emerge when he sobered up. That was probably the wisest course of action.

  Lauren started to turn away but stopped when a second cough came from the other side of the door, this one fainter. Her resolve weakened. What if he needed medical care? He might be a jerk, but she’d be a bigger one if she ignored a sick coworker.

  “Frank, are you okay?”

  No answer.

  Hesitant, she laid a hand on the doorknob. The other door, the one on Frank’s side, was probably closed and locked. She ought to call the front desk and tell them she was worried about odd noises coming from his room. But this hotel and casino was a big place. At two in the morning it would probably take a while for them to find someone to send upstairs. What if Frank was really sick and needed help now?

  Resigned, she drew on a pair of sweatpants and threw her jacket over her nightgown, unlocked the door and stepped back to swing it open.

  Something tumbled to the floor and landed with a thud at her feet. Frank. For the briefest of moments she thought he had passed out leaning against the door. But then she noticed the wet, sticky streaks on the inside of the wooden door and the blood that saturated his shirt.

  A scream ripped from her throat.

  Music invaded Brent Emerson’s dream, a familiar symphonic melody that pierced through his sleep-fogged brain. His cell phone. He cracked open one eye, and red numbers from the clock swam into view. Ten minutes past five.

  “Ugh.”

  For a moment he considered ignoring the call. The alarm would go off in another twenty minutes anyway. What could be important enough to rob him of the last few minutes of sleep?

  A list of people who would call his cell phone at this uncivilized hour paraded through his mind. His sister. Mom. The nursing home where Dad lived.

  Lord, no. Please keep my family safe.

  He snatched the phone off the nightstand and pushed the button to answer the call.

  “Hello?” Sleep made his words scratchy.

  “Is this Brent Emerson?” The voice on the other end sounded vaguely familiar. Female. Not Mom or his sister. A nurse, maybe? His pulse quickened, pumping a shot of adrenaline to his brain that chased away the last of the sleep. Had something happened to Dad?

  “Yes, this is Brent Emerson. Who is this?”

  “It’s Lauren. Lauren Bradley. From the office?”

  An image swam into focus in his mind. An attractive young business analyst, slender, mid-twenties with honey blond hair, delicate features and intriguing green eyes. He’d interviewed and hired her three, maybe four months ago, and had only seen her from a distance since. That wasn’t unusual; there weren’t too many reasons for the vice president of information technology to interact with an entry-level business analyst, especially in a department as large as his.

  Nor could he think of a reason for a business analyst to call him at home at five in the morning.

  He sat up in bed and reached for the lamp on the nightstand. “What’s up, Lauren?”

  “Umm, well. I—” She inhaled a shaky breath. “I’m in Las Vegas at the INTEROP conference.”

  Vegas? With the time difference, that meant it was ten after two there.

  “You’re up kind of late, aren’t you?”

  “Uh, well, there’s a problem. I thought I should call someone from the office. I got your cell-phone number from the departmental directory.”

  Her voice wavered on the last word. Was she crying? Light flooded Brent’s bedroom when he twisted the lamp’s knob. Crying women always stirred up emotions in him that he’d rather not deal with.

  “What’s the problem, Lauren?”

  “It’s Frank Labetti. You…you know Frank, right?”

  A sob choked off the last word. She was crying.

  He schooled his voice into a gentle tone. “Yes, I know Frank. He’s there with you at the conference?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Not anymore. He’s—he’s dead.”

  “What?” Brent was on his feet beside the bed before he realized he’d moved. “How did it happen?”

  “He was—he’s been—shot.” She was sobbing openly now, with no attempt to control it. “I found him in his hotel room a few minutes ago.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yes. They’re on their way. There’s…blood, so much blood.” She gave herself over to weeping.

  A fierce protectiveness penetrated his shock-numbed brain. This was one of his employees, on a company business trip. His responsibility. Plus, she was a frightened young woman, all alone in a strange city.

  “Lauren, listen to me.” He poured strength into his voice. “You did the right thing calling me. What hotel are you staying in?”

  She gulped a noisy breath. “The Hollywood Hotel and Casino, right on the Strip.”

  “All right. I want you to keep your phone with you. I’m going to make some calls, and then I’ll call you back and let you know when I’m arriving.”

  “You’re coming here?”

  Hope flooded her voice, and something in his chest gave an odd lurch in response.

  “Of course I’m coming. You don’t think I’d leave you there to handle this alone, do you?”

  “Th—thank you.”

  “I’ll call you back.”

  He disconnected the call and immediately punched in the number for his administrative assistant’s cell phone. Rose was a pro when it came to finding flights. She’d either get him on the first flight from Atlanta to Vegas, or she’d know the right buttons to push to commandeer one of the company jets.

  While the call connected, he grabbed his travel bag from the closet. A list of people he needed to contact formed in his mind. Chuck, his boss and the president of the company. The director of the public relations department. His sister, to let her know he’d be out of town for a few days. He started throwing clothes and toiletries into the bag.

  Shock seemed to slow his movements. Who would have a reason to shoot Frank Labetti? It must have been someone he met up with in Vegas, someone who turned out to be bad news.

  Had Lauren been with them? Had she seen anything? Brent halted in the act of placing a T-shirt in the bag, his skin suddenly clammy at the thought. A pretty young woman in Las Vegas, alone and vulnerable, might be considered an easy target. Especially if she’d seen something incriminating.

  Hold on, Lauren. I’m coming as fast as I can.

  TWO

  “Surely you understand my questions, Ms. Bradley. That’s a very odd way for a coworker to behave.”

  Lauren forced herself not to shrink from the piercing eyes of Detective Victor Gaines. The thinly veiled accusation in his voice pounded like an insistent fist against a locked door. His questions, repeated over and over within the past couple of hours, made it sound as though he thought she and Frank had been romantically involved.

  The idea was repulsive on so many levels.

  She sat in one of two armchairs in the corner of her hotel room facing the detective, who had claimed the executive desk chair and swiveled it around to face her. His hands, folded casually in his lap, never moved, just as his expression never changed. The calm, confident mask he wore suggested that he knew her secrets, and it was just a matter of time before she admitted them all.

  Another camera flash from Frank’s hotel room distracted her from the detective’s face. The body had been removed a few minutes ago—thank goodness—but the room was still filled with investigators. She did her
best to ignore them, though her stomach churned with revulsion at the sight of the smeared wood and bloodstained carpet. Why couldn’t they close that door?

  She squeezed her folded arms tighter across her chest and answered as calmly as she could. “As I said before, I thought he was choking or something. I don’t think it’s odd at all for me to be concerned about a coworker who might have taken ill.”

  “But to enter the hotel room of a man you barely know wearing your pajamas.” His head shook back and forth, though his eyes never left her face. “At the least, that’s inappropriate. At the most, suspicious.”

  A flush threatened to heat her face. In retrospect, her actions did seem inappropriate, even though she’d only been trying to help. She could almost hear her father’s frequent admonition, Think with your head, Lauren, not with your heart. She steeled herself against a stab of regret that she hadn’t heeded that advice this time.

  “That’s why I put on my jacket and sweatpants,” she told the detective for the fifth or sixth time. “I didn’t bring a bathrobe, and from the sounds I heard through the door, I thought the situation might be urgent. I thought Frank might be…” She didn’t finish the sentence, appalled that her suspicion had proven true, though in a gruesome way she couldn’t have imagined.

  “Dying?” Gains provided, the word snapping with accusation.

  “Choking.”

  His lips twitched in an almost-smirk. “And what were you going to do? Apply the Heimlich maneuver?”

  Angry steel stiffened her spine. The man’s manner was starting to wear on her already thin nerves. “As a matter of fact, I do know the Heimlich maneuver.”

  Something passed across his face. Admiration, maybe? Or triumph, that he’d gotten a rise out of her? A thin smile replaced the smirk. “All right, Ms. Bradley. If you don’t mind, I’d like to go over your story one more time.”

  “It’s not a story!” The words exploded out of her mouth, fueled by the righteous anger buzzing in her ears. “It’s the truth. I’m not romantically involved with Frank Labetti. I met him three months ago when I was hired as a business analyst at Sterling Foods in Atlanta. The two of us flew to Las Vegas yesterday to attend a technology conference, checked into the hotel and had dinner in the restaurant downstairs where he drank four double bourbons.” She held Gaines’s eye as she repeated the details she’d already given him. “I drank iced tea. The last time I saw him was at seven-thirty when I came upstairs to my room and he was headed toward the casino. I have no idea what happened to him after that, until two this morning when I opened the door and found his—his—” She swallowed against a wave of revulsion that swept over her at the memory, and then drew in a fortifying breath. “His body.”