“Good-bye, Tamara,” he said. And he banged the receiver in her ear before she could do the same to him.
Made her skin burn hot, remembering.
When she told Vonda about the test results, she got the advice she expected: let it end right there. Good advice, too—for most women. You dodge a bullet, the smart thing is to chalk it up to experience and get on with your life. Only she wasn’t made that way. He’d used her, scared her, made her feel bad about herself just when she’d been starting to get her stuff together again; she was entitled to one last shot at him.
She called Mama’s number again, and this time it was no longer in service. That didn’t stop her. She knew where Lucas worked and she had his home address, or thought she did, because back when they first hooked up she’d run a superficial background check on him, out of curiosity and because he’d said some things that made her wonder if maybe it wasn’t his mother he lived with but a wife. Tamara probably wouldn’t have done it if their relationship had been the kind that might turn serious, the kind built on caring and trust, but they’d both made it plain from the get-go that their only interest in each other was what went on between the sheets.
The b.g. check had reassured her . . . then. Lucas Zeller had a clean record. Squeaky clean, in fact. Thirty-four, unmarried, worked as a salesman for an electronics company in the East Bay, lived here in the city, had never been arrested or in trouble of any kind. The only mark against him, or so she’d thought then, was that he was a mama’s boy.
So if she couldn’t get him on the phone, then she’d confront him in person. Company he worked for was Dale Electronics in El Cerrito. He’d told her he spent a lot of his time on the road, but he happened to be in his office the day she went over there. She expected to have some trouble getting in to see him, but that didn’t happen. She just walked right in.
Yeah. Like walking into a wall.
She’d never seen the man at the desk before.
Different guy. The real Lucas Zeller.
Superficial resemblance, nothing more. Dark skinned, where her man had been light skinned and claimed to have white blood—a fudge swirl. Round head instead of blocky, straight nose instead of hooked, all his hair instead of a receding hairline, and a smaller, neater mustache.
He looked at her business card, looked at her, flashed a thin, hopeful smile, and said, “Are you here about the theft?”
“Theft?”
“My wallet and briefcase. A month ago.”
That put an end to her surprise. Tight-mouthed, she asked him where the theft had happened.
“Bertolini’s, in the city. That’s not why you’re here?”
“Not exactly.”
“Damn. I keep hoping at least the briefcase will turn up. I had some important papers in there.”
“You see who took it?”
“No. I was there for drinks after work with some business associates . . . they didn’t see anything, either. Must have happened while I was in the bathroom. I didn’t even miss it until we were ready to leave.” Heavy sigh. “I should’ve watched it more carefully. My wallet was in there, too.” He added ruefully, “I thought it’d be safer than in my coat pocket.”
“Lose much money?”
“There wasn’t much in the wallet. But the thief made two ATM withdrawals from my checking account before I could close it. Six hundred dollars.” He sighed again. “I had my PIN number in the wallet, too, because I keep forgetting it.”
“Credit card charges?”
“No, thank God. I got them all canceled in time.”
Tamara gave him a detailed description of the phony Lucas. “You know that man, Mr. Zeller?”
“No.”
“See anybody looks like him the night your briefcase was stolen?”
“No, I’m sure I didn’t. You think he’s the thief?”
“Probably. He’s the man I’m looking for, not you.”
“I don’t understand. . . .”
“He’s been posing as you, using your name.”
“What? Why would he do that?”
“Keep his own identity secret. Some other reason, too, maybe.”
“Such as what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“A scam? Oh, Christ, my job, my reputation . . .”
“You report the theft to the police?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Then you don’t need to worry. He’d expect you to, and he knows you closed your bank account and canceled your credit cards. All he’s doing is using is your name, and maybe your driver’s license if he needs to show ID. He looks enough like you to pass.”