Undercover Blues

by Undercover Blues (lit)

  The people were a sympathetic lot and she felt sure she’d be able to make a place for herself in the community once she was ready to seek company. For now, though, she needed time alone. She was still reeling from the blow of losing her job. Her identity. Her life.

  And what hurt the most.

  Losing Frank.

  She sighed, filling her lungs with crisp autumn air. One good thing about Vermont was the fresh air and open spaces. She had time to think. To evaluate her losses and what she wanted from life. At one time, all she had wanted was revenge. For her parents’ death. For her lonely teenage years. For her loss of a normal life. But she’d spent her whole adult life trying to wreak that vengeance. It was time to let go.

  Every time she walked into town and saw the children in the playground, saw couples walking through the park holding hands, families in the grocery store shopping together, she realized that most of the worthwhile things in life that had nothing to do with the mob or law enforcement. She could choose other ways to live her life.

  If only she could live hers with Frank. Her life was so empty without him.

  Angel knew Frank hadn’t really gone over to the mob. The belief had burrowed so deeply within her that she didn’t even question it any more. Hal wouldn’t tell her anything about the case, or Frank, but she knew. If she’d had any doubts at all, finding that gun in the bathroom had squelched them. Frank had planted it there for her to find so she could escape. He’d needed to blow her cover to keep his own intact so he could continue the case — and to keep them both alive. Given that she’d been caught snooping in Carlos’ office, she’d already blown her own. It had been a calculated risk on Frank’s part, but the professional in her admired him for it. And the woman in her understood the necessity. Now she hoped and prayed that once he finished the case, he’d find her. Until then, all she could do was wait.

  Angel grabbed her mail from the mailbox at the end of her driveway, then strolled up her front walk with a wide smile, leaves crunching under her feet. She opened the front door and kicked off her shoes. Her mail and purse landed on the dining room table with a thunk. She went into the kitchen and laid her sack on the counter, then filled the kettle with water to make a pot of tea. After putting away her groceries, she tossed an Earl Grey tea bag into the white china pot graced with blue flowers. The kettle whistled cheerily and she filled the pot, then covered it with a thick wool tea cozy she’d knit herself.

  The doorbell rang and she turned, startled. She wasn’t used to getting visitors, at least not since that first week. She was getting out more now, but people still respected her desire for privacy. She padded over to the door and tugged it open.

  The sight of a tall man wearing a well-cut wool suit startled her. Then her gaze settled on his face.

  "Frank! What are you doing here?" She was flabbergasted. Both elation and caution trilled through her as she noted his taut expression.

  "Are you going to ask me in?" His voice was subdued.

  This wasn’t how she’d imagined this meeting between them. In all her dreams of this moment, he held his arms open and she threw herself into his embrace, then their lips met and…

  "Well?" His gaze swept along the street. He seemed edgy.

  "Uh, of course." She stepped aside and he strode into the room, glancing around. She closed the door and spun back to see him staring at her, his expression unreadable.

  "Frank?" Why wasn’t he throwing his arms around her, explaining to her, kissing her? "Are you finished the case? Did you catch the informant?" she hazarded.

  "Angel, I can’t talk about that. Not yet."

  "Then why—" It came out a croak so she tried again. "Why are you here?"

  Frank glanced sharply at the window. Angel thought she heard a car pull up. It sounded like her driveway, but it must have been the neighbour’s.

  Frank slid a gun out of a chest holster. "There’s a little problem I have to take care of." He stared at her, the gun angled toward the floor.

  She backed away. Good Lord, he meant to kill her. "No." Her voice came out a hoarse whisper. Could she have been wrong about him? Had her certainty that he loved her, that he’d never betray her, been just wishful thinking on her part? She spun around and bolted for the door.

  Frank tackled her, throwing them both toward the wall beside the door. Her hands shot up to take the impact, then Frank collided with her back.

  "Angel, for God’s sake!"

  She twisted around. Face to face, the length of their bodies pressed together, they both gulped air in great gasps. The look in his eyes confused her. Dark and dangerous and yet surging with emotion. Not the dead calm of a killer. He shifted slightly and her body, vividly aware of his heat, responded with an intense stirring of desire.

  Oh, God. She must be insane. Too many nights dreaming of him, of being in his arms, had thrown her over the edge.

  His arm slid around her. "Angel—" Her name came out a low, ragged murmur. With two fingers, he pushed a loose strand of hair off her face. How could such a gentle touch send violent shock waves raging through her? "Oh, God, Angel." Suddenly, his fingers hooked around her nape and he dragged her into an explosive kiss.

  She wanted to give herself over to the burning desire, wanted to kiss him back as she had every night in her dreams — but she couldn’t. She had to find out why he was here. She pressed her hands against his chest and pushed. He eased away slightly, releasing her lips, but holding her with his intent gaze. As he searched her face, she saw his expression tighten. Had he thought the kiss would erase all her doubts?

  "Don’t you understand? You’re in danger."

  "From you, Frank?"

  "What?" He looked incredulous. "You can’t really believe… My God, you think I came here to kill you." He turned away from her, raking his hand through his hair. "Christ, who am I kidding? Why should you think anything else? The last time we were together —"

  A knock at the door caused Frank to spin back around, his gaze shooting to the door. He strode toward it and peered out the peephole. He swung back to face her, his expression tense.

  "It’s Hal." He spoke in a low, purposeful voice. "Look, Angel. I know this is asking a lot, but…" He grasped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. "I need you to trust me."

  Frank dragged her into his arms. Cradled against his hard chest, she could barely breathe. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t feel. Nothing made sense. Unless…

  The knock sounded again.

  "Answer it. I’ll be in the other room." He grabbed the gun from the table where he had tossed it before going after her.

  Shaken, Angel watched as Frank slipped into the hall. He wanted her to trust him? Could she do that? The memory of his cold words and even colder eyes the night he’d blown her cover haunted her. She’d believed in his kisses before. How could she possibly believe in them again?

  Frank stood against the wall, holding his gun poised. He gestured toward the door, nodding, then stepped out of sight. My God, if it was Hal at the door, why was Frank hiding? A queasy sensation wriggled through her stomach. Had Frank gone renegade after all? She walked on teetering legs to the front door and pulled it open.

  "Hal. What are you doing here?"

  She wanted to shove him back and fly out after him, then race for freedom, but she knew Frank had them in the sights of his gun. She couldn’t risk Hal getting hurt.

  "We need to talk," Hal said, staring past her as though checking if she had company.

  She hesitated, wondering if she could talk him into leaving, suggesting they meet somewhere later. At least that would keep Hal out of danger.

  "Um, it’s not really a good time. Why don’t I meet you over at —"

  "Nonsense. We’re old friends, aren’t we?" He pushed past her. "Come on, you haven’t seen me in a dog’s age and you don’t even invite me in. What’s the matter with you, Cindy?"

  "Nothing." She closed the door behind him. He was here now. All she could do was try and act as natural as possible a
nd hope he left before Frank got antsy. "I just didn’t want you to see the mess."

  It wasn’t a very good excuse, since she’d done a thorough cleaning this morning, but, being a man, maybe Hal wouldn’t notice.

  "I don’t care about that." He marched into the living room. Angel flicked a quick glance at the hall, but didn’t see Frank. She knew he wouldn’t let her out of his sight, though. She tried to intercept Hal before he settled into the chair that faced the hallway, but she was too late. Angel had wanted that position. This way, Hal might catch sight of Frank, forcing Frank to take some kind of action.

  "The new name’s Jacqueline, remember?"

  "Yeah, right."

  "Do you want some tea or something?" she asked weakly, forcing herself to act as normal as possible. He shook his head and nodded toward the love seat opposite him.

  "Sit down. This won’t take long."

  She licked her lips nervously, feeling a drop of perspiration trickle down between her breasts. "You said you wanted to talk to me. Is it something about the case?" If he’d come here to update her, she’d have to make sure he didn’t give anything important away.

  "Yes, you could say that."

  "Do you… do you know who the informant is?"

  He stared at her grimly. "As a matter of fact I do."

  Her gaze, which had been straying nervously, settled on his face. "Who is it?"

  "You, Cindy. Or should I say, Angel?"

  She almost corrected him with Jacqueline again, but what he’d said started to sink in. Her brows pulled together in confusion.

  "What do you mean, me?" As she returned his intent stare, her jaw crept open in disbelief. "Do you really think I’m the one?"

  He raised a hand and ticked points off on his fingers. "Since you’ve been gone, there haven’t been any leaks. No one else even comes close to having the opportunity. And we have a recording of you spilling secrets to a voice messaging system that Vendetti is known to call on a regular basis. Your voice is disguised with that electronic gizmo, but the call traces back to your house in New York — and we’ve been able to match your voice print with the message by using computers to delete the effect of the scrambler."

  Her eyes widened. "But —"

  "I’d say there’s enough evidence to hang you."

  She clasped her hand to her chest. "Hal, it’s not me. Someone’s pinning it on me. I don’t know how or why but —" She bit her lip. "God, Hal. You’ve got to believe me. You’ve known me forever. You can’t possibly believe —"

  "I don’t."

  She stared at him, trying to focus through the haze of anger and fear engulfing her. "But you just said—"

  "Yes, I said it was you. Because I’m going to make sure that’s what everyone believes."

  Angel jumped to her feet. "What?" I’ve been betrayed by the only two men I’ve ever trusted. This can’t be happening. But it was. As she’d always known deep down inside, the only person she could ever really trust was herself.

  "So it’s been you all along, Hal." Her voice sounded cool, composed, in control to her own ears and she marveled at how easily she slipped into her act. "Why did you do it?"

  "About a year ago I realized retirement was looming ahead of me and I had little in the bank. I’ve never been much of a saver and, let’s face it, we don’t make that much to start with. I see these guys we put away living in luxury and I figure, why shouldn’t I have a piece of that?"

  "But, Hal, you’ve spent your whole life fighting organized crime. How could you—"

  He sighed heavily and dragged his hand across his thinning hairline. "Look, Cindy, for me it was just a job. Not all of us build our lives around it like you did."

  For the first time since his confession, he looked her straight in the eye. "I didn’t mean it to end like this, Cindy. I really do like you. I figured I’d drop a few pieces of information, nothing that would really hurt anyone. But then they wanted more and the payoffs got bigger."

  "More addictive you mean."

  "Something like that."

  "But why pin it on me?"

  "Because it was so easy. You only had access to information I gave you and I only told them things you’d been told. No one but me knew you were the mob operative, but any information I gave you was on the record."

  A sharp pain twisted through her stomach as she realized he’d been using her as a decoy for a long time, setting her up to take the fall. This couldn’t really be happening.

  "If you’ve got me so neatly tied up, why the gun?"

  "I don’t believe in taking chances. These west coast guys have screwed me up in a big way. I brought in a computer hacker a while back to track what information they were requesting and to tie your phone to Vendetti’s voice message box. Dennis is pretty well convinced and he’ll be coming here any day to drag you off, but I can’t take the chance you’ll convince them you’re innocent. Especially Frank. I know that guy’s hung up on you."

  She ignored his speculations about Frank, ignored the flicker of hope it ignited. Her professional instincts kicked in and she knew she had to stall him long enough to reach the gun inside her purse.

  "So you’re just going to shoot me now? That’s it. After all we’ve been through together?" She continued to back away slowly towards the dining room table, arms hanging at her sides, hands stiffly clenched.

  "I really am sorry about this."

  She felt the table behind her and discreetly slid one hand behind her back and tried to snap open the purse. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, Hal?" Her hand slid inside, but Hal darted past her in a blur of motion and grabbed her wrist, twisting it around in front of her. He wrenched the purse from her grasp and riffled around inside until he found the small revolver.

  He held it up in front of her. "Looking for this, Cindy?"

  He stuffed it in his pocket. She struggled out of his grip and lunged away. Hal snatched a gun from under his coat and pointed it at her. She kicked her foot high, aiming for the gun in his hand.

  * * * *

  As soon as Frank heard Hal’s confession, he smiled in relief. They had what they needed. Now he had to get Angel out of here. Dennis and his men would be here any minute, having heard everything over the wire Frank wore, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He wanted Angel unscathed.

  When he saw Angel backing away from Hal, he glanced to the table and saw her purse lying there. She must be going for her gun. Damn it all, was she trying to get herself killed? She kept talking to divert Hal’s attention, but as soon as she reached her goal, Hal snatched her wrist forward and grabbed the purse. He pocketed her gun and Angel started to twist sharply, struggling to free herself. Frank tried to set his sights on Hal but with Angel’s fierce movements he couldn’t fire without the risk of hitting her.

  A risk he wouldn’t take.

  Angel lurched free, then spun around and kicked up her leg. Frank heard the blast of a revolver and, in shock, watched Angel crumple into a heap on the floor. He catapulted into the room and lunged at Hal, knocking the gun out of his hand and across the floor. His hands fastened around the man’s neck, squeezing as Hal grasped his wrists, in a futile effort to release himself from the death grip.

  Dennis and his two backups flew into the house.

  "Frank!" Dennis and another agent dragged him off his victim. "He’s not worth it."

  Hal stood up sputtering, and Dennis’ two men handcuffed him and escorted him from the room.

  Frank gathered Angel in his arms and held her against his chest. A ragged crimson stain spread on her white sweatshirt and he pressed his hand to the base of her neck, finding a faintly beating pulse. He buried his face in her hair.

  "Oh, God, Angel. Please be all right."

  She lay limp and fragile-looking, her face deathly pale. Fear settled into the pit of his stomach like a lump of dry ice. So cold it burned.

  Dennis crouched down beside him. "An ambulance will be here in a few moments, Frank."

  An ambulance? Cold
fire spread through his veins, anger following in its wake. The last half hour had been hell. As soon as he’d walked in here, he’d wanted to drag her into his arms, to kiss her senseless and tell her how much he loved her. And now, he might never get that chance.

  Frank glared at Dennis. "Did you get what you needed?"

  "Yes. We got every word on tape… thanks to you. Because of you, she’s in the clear."

  Frank laughed bitterly. "Great. How much good’s that going to do if she’s dead?"

  Dennis placed a hand on Frank’s shoulder. "She’ll be okay."

  Frank brushed a loose hair off Angel’s face. Her skin felt cold. Unnaturally cold. He cradled her close to his body, trying to infuse her with warmth, but his own heat seemed to be ebbing rapidly.

  "If she isn’t, I’ll hold you to blame." His words came out angry and unforgiving.

  He stroked her hair, haunted by the fear in her eyes when she thought he was going to kill her. For the second time. "If I could have explained to her…" The thought that she believed him capable of hurting her corkscrewed through his gut.

  "Explained what? That she and Hal were both suspects. That Hal would be arriving soon and we were desperately hoping he’d let something drop in the conversation?" Dennis stood up, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Frank, we had to do it this way. I couldn’t let you hand confidential information over to a suspect. You know that."

  "Confidential information? Like the fact that I wasn’t here to kill her?"

  "She jumped to that conclusion on her own, Frank."

  "What else could she believe?"

  "Frank, if you hadn’t come in here wired and gotten Hal’s confession on tape, Angel would have been convicted. It was the only way to save her."

  Frank looked down at her blood-drenched top. "You call this saving her?"

  Dennis’ fingers tightened on Frank’s shoulder. "I told you, she’s going to be okay. She’s got you in her corner."

  * * * *

  From deep within the darkness she heard his voice and it became a beacon in the black night that engulfed her. She focused on it and reached toward it through the fog. "Frank?" she murmured weakly.