The caravan ground to a halt. After putting the truck into neutral and setting the brake, Angela turned to Hawk, cocked her finger, and aimed it at him. "I wonder what Mrs. Avery would think of her sweet, gentle neighbor if she knew everything you've done to me."
"Mrs. Avery is a smart woman, Angel." Hawk's gaze traveled from her finger to her eyes. "She'd know I'd never hurt you."
"I wasn't talking about the way you go around threatening, drowning, or otherwise torturing innocent women, Hawk." Leading with her finger, she leaned across the console until her fingertip touched his lips. "I was referring to the wild, untamed man who made love to me in the shower. Isn't he a little at odds with the man Mrs. Avery knows as Bob?"
"Mrs. Avery is a smart, not to mention very pragmatic, woman." His tongue darted out to leave a damp trail down her finger, and she shivered in response.
"Which means what exactly?"
"Just that if we get a little loud when I make love to you in my apartment, she won't call the police to report a disturbance." His mouth closed around her finger and he began to suck. Her breasts tingled and arrows of heat and wanting were shooting through her as he added, "If I know Mrs. Avery, she'll probably just turn up the television and pat herself on the back for finding me the ideal mate."
SIXTEEN
It was early evening when the caravan pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store that was about a mile from Hawk's apartment. Peter got out of the vehicle next to them and handed over Mrs. Avery's telephone number, which he'd gotten from directory service. Sitting with the door open so Peter could listen at least to one end of the conversation, Hawk and Angela put their heads together with the phone snug between them.
He had decided to ask Mrs. Avery to look after his apartment for a while, as he'd been called out of town unexpectedly and didn't know when he would return. If anything unusual had happened in his absence, that would give her the opportunity to tell him about it. When he showed up at her doorstep soon after to retrieve the video, he would have to do a better job of explaining things. Pulling up her floorboards wasn't something she'd be likely to miss.
Mrs. Avery was delighted to hear from Bob and said she would, of course, be very pleased to watch over things. His African violet would need watering—if it wasn't already dead, her tone implied—and she'd begun collecting the newspapers for him. As for everything else, well, a lot had happened since he'd been gone.
The postman had screwed in the new lightbulb Mrs. Avery had bought for the front entrance. She'd made a big batch of the apricot nut cookies Bob favored, and had given them to the grocery delivery boy two days after Bob had disappeared. She would, of course, make another batch when he returned. In the meantime Mr. Tompkins had told her he was thinking of looking for another apartment, one on the ground floor. But he'd also brought her flowers and asked her out for a meal. She was pretty certain she knew which apartment he had in mind.
When Mrs. Avery ran out of news, Hawk thanked her, gave her the number of the cellular phone in case she needed to reach him, then disconnected.
"Mr. Tompkins's days as a bachelor are numbered," Angela said.
"Remind me not to vacate my apartment right away." Hawk grinned and put the phone on the dash. "Heaven only knows what would happen if Mr. Tompkins had to choose betwen marriage and a ground-floor apartment."
"One favor deserves another?" she asked, laughing.
"Something like that." Hawk turned to Peter. "If anyone is watching the building, they're keeping their distance."
Peter nodded in agreement. "Even so, we need to proceed with caution. I'll have the men check the area before you go in."
"Mrs. Avery will probably spot them."
"Since you'll be on their heels, it won't matter." Peter turned away and gave the men their final instructions. They'd spent the afternoon studying the map Hawk had drawn of the local area, so they were already familiar with the neighborhood. Three got behind the wheels of trucks and left to scout the vicinity while six others set off on foot. Not counting Peter, Hawk, and Angela, that left two trucks and three men—all with nothing to do except wait. Hawk and Angela sat in the truck, holding hands but not speaking because they'd already said it all.
When Hawk's cellular phone rang a few minutes later, Angela assumed it was one of the men reporting in. She kicked it up and was passing it to Peter when Hawk stopped er.
"Give it to me, Angel."
It rang again as she handed it over, but it took Peter's worried frown for her to realize something wasn't right. "What's wrong?"
"The men wouldn't use this number." Hawk let it ring once more, hoping against hope that it was something simple like Mrs. Avery not being able to find her key to his apartment. His gut told him otherwise. Turning so he didn't have to see the worry and apprehension on Angela's face, he flipped the phone open and held it to his ear.
"Yes."
"Hello, Bob," said a voice from his past, one he'd not heard since that night eight months ago. "I stopped by to see if you'd left anything interesting lying around, and your neighbor told me she'd just spoken with you. I have to admit I was rather surprised."
Hawk mouthed "Marchand" to Peter, who immediately ran over to the other truck and began sending out warnings via phone to the men in the field.
"I want to speak with Mrs. Avery," Hawk said, checking his watch. The men on foot wouldn't have had time to get to his street yet. Mrs. Avery was on her own.
"Not right now," Marchand answered. "I'm more interested in what happened to my friend Constantine. I heard rumors that something went wrong. Hard to get any real information, though. The Coast Guard isn't giving anything away."
"Probably because they don't know anything. The Sea Charmer resembled a pile of jigsaw-puzzle pieces when I last saw it." Hawk put his thumb over the mouthpiece as Peter leaned inside and whispered that one of their trucks had done a drive-by. Unless Marchand had someone inside with him, he'd come alone. The streets appeared clear of any backup, and his men were taking close positions.
"Mrs. Avery and I would like for you to join us here," Marchand said. "I'm assuming, of course, that you're very close. I don't think you would have called just to ask her to watch your apartment, which leaves me to believe you wanted to make sure I wasn't hanging around."
Hawk thought about denying it, but knew that would place his neighbor in even greater danger. Marchand would have no compunction about knocking her out or otherwise hurting her so that he'd be free to search Hawk's apartment. Angela chose that moment to put her head next to his so she could listen in. He couldn't bring himself to push her away, so he made a motion for her to keep her mouth shut and angled the phone between them.
"I can be there in five minutes," he said. "If you hurt Mrs. Avery—"
"Yes, yes," Marchand interrupted. "I'm familiar with your protective instincts. Speaking of which, why don't you bring the woman with you? Angela, I believe her name is."
Hawk squeezed the phone so tightly, he wouldn't have been surprised if it shattered in his hand. "She's not—"
Marchand cut in again, and he was a lot more impatient this time. "Constantine had her on the Sea Charmer. He had you as well. If you survived, I have to believe she did too. I know you too well, Hawk. Bring her—no, send her along first. Give us a couple minutes to get to know each other."
"She won't come."
"She will, or the old lady will pay for it."
"How do I know you'll let any of us go once you have what you want?" Hawk asked. He didn't expect a guarantee, but not asking would raise Marchand's suspicions.
"I've decided to get out before things blow up in my face. With all the money Constantine funneled my direction, there's enough for me to retire and live very well indeed. Unfortunately, the country I've chosen for that purpose will overlook almost anything—except drugs. They're rather straitlaced about that particular vice. If the video were to surface, things would get very ugly indeed."
"So you'll let all of us go?"
"After a suitable delay. I wouldn't want you fouling my getaway. Ten minutes, Hawk. The woman first." Marchand disconnected.
Hawk turned his head to find Angela looking at him, dismay pooling in her eyes.
"It's my fault," she said. "If I hadn't suggested that you call first—"
"If you hadn't done that, I would have walked right into him. This way I've been warned." He cupped the side of her face. "You aren't coming with me, Angel."
"But I have to," she protested, pushing her hair back over her shoulder with an impatient hand. "He said—"
"Marchand won't hurt her, not if he wants to get his hands on that video."
"Maybe, maybe not." Angela grabbed his wrist and dug her fingers into it, not hurting him but definitely getting his attention. "I'm not going to take that chance. At least if I go, it will be two against one."
"It's already two to one," he said. "Mrs. Avery is no slouch."
"I'm not joking."
"Neither am I." Gently, he pried her fingers from his wrist and transferred her grip to the steering wheel in front of her. "If I let you go anywhere near Marchand, I'd be too worried about you to do what I have to." He looked across her to Peter, who stood just outside the driver's window. "We go now, before he has time to get nervous. Leave two men here with Angela.
"I'll be back," he said to Angela, then kissed her hard and got out of the truck. There was no way he was taking her, and that was that. He slammed the door and had taken a couple steps away from the truck when he started thinking about how easily he'd gotten his way with her. Too easily, he mused as a wave of uneasiness coursed through him.
The dull thunk of door locks falling into place put him on alert, but it wasn't until he heard the truck's engine start that he turned around. By then it was too late; Angela was reversing out of the parking slot. Short of throwing himself onto the front hood—a dramatic but essentially ineffective maneuver—there wasn't anything they could do in the crowded parking lot except take the other truck and try to get there before her.
So Hawk and the rest jumped into the truck and gave chase. They would have succeeded in at least keeping up had it not been for the woman who came out of nowhere with a cartful of groceries and cut right in front of them. Rubber burned the parking lot as the driver jammed on the brakes and swerved. The woman swerved, too, but the cart's suspension wasn't up to it. Groceries spewed across the road as the cart went flying one way and the woman the other. Holding manfully on to his patience, Peter told one of the men to get out and help. He was out and gone before Peter finished speaking, but by the time they'd reversed the truck and gotten to the road, it was already too late.
Angela was long gone.
Hawk nodded in agreement as Peter advised the men in the field to watch out for her, but not to interfere. Their presence was the only leverage they had left, and showing their hand before Hawk got inside was a risk they couldn't afford.
A minute or so later Peter's men reported Angela's arrival at Hawk's apartment. She went up the walk just as the truck Hawk was riding in pulled to a stop a block away. Hawk handed Peter his gun because he knew Marchand would take it away, then got out of the truck and started walking.
As he went past the houses, duplexes, and cut-up Victorians that lined the street, he promised himself that when he got Angela out of this one last mess, he'd lock her in a room and refuse to let her out until she agreed to stop taking such huge risks.
Failing that, he'd take her to a deserted island and make love to her until she was too weak to spell the word risk, much less take one.
* * *
Angela's hands were trembling as she walked toward the house. Her defiance of Hawk was as much to blame for her shaken nerves as the coming encounter with Marchand, and she had to force herself not to look over her shoulder for the men she knew were somewhere near. Her affinity for detail had enabled her to determine the best route to Hawk's apartment, though she'd debated the entire way the consequences of her actions.
In the end, it came down to facts. Hawk didn't want her at the apartment because he didn't want her hurt. Marchand, on the other hand, wouldn't hesitate to harm Mrs. Avery if Angela didn't show. There was, Angela concluded, no other course of action. If she could convince Marchand to let the elderly woman go, so much the better.
That didn't make it any easier to climb the front steps, enter the building, and knock on the door on the right. An elderly woman with pink-hued hair and eyes as round as saucers opened it, then stood back for Angela to enter. It didn't take a genius to know Marchand was behind the door and probably pointing a gun at Mrs. Avery, so Angela went straight in without giving him cause for alarm.
She had gotten as far as the burgundy velvet sofa with antimacassars draped across the arms and back when the door slammed shut behind her. Turning, she saw a tall, gray-haired man wearing a short-sleeved pink shirt tucked into cream-colored chinos. He had a vaguely preppy look about him that reminded her of a popular Miami-based cop show, but she imagined it was the gun he was holding as much as his outfit that raised that particular image.
"I was certain Hawk wouldn't let you come," he said. He carelessly pushed Mrs. Avery into a nearby chair and came to stand so close to Angela, she could smell the bitter fragrance of aftershave gone sour. "He must be slipping."
"Don't push her around like that," Angela said sharply, ignoring his reference to Hawk. It was better, she thought, if he didn't know Hawk had been caught off guard. "She's old. You'll hurt her."
Taking Marchand by surprise, Angela ducked around the other side of a low marble-topped coffee table and knelt beside the older woman. "Mrs. Avery, are you all right?"
Angela got worried when Mrs. Avery just stared at her with her mouth open and the fingers of one hand covering it. Angela repeated her question. "Mrs. Avery, has this man hurt you?"
"You're her," Mrs. Avery finally said. "The redhead Fiona told me about."
"I prefer to think of it as auburn, not red." She pushed a wave of the stuff over her shoulder, then winked at the woman. If she could just convince Marchand that Mrs. Avery was helpless, it would be a point in their favor. "You look pale. Are you sure you're all right? Is there anything I can do?" She winked again, and saw the moment Mrs. Avery got the message.
"My heart is a little fluttery, dear. This is all so distress-ing."
"How about some tea? You look like a cup would do you good."
"I didn't ask you here to make tea," Marchand said from behind her.
Angela got up and stood between the elderly woman and Marchand. "Mrs. Avery can make it. It will keep her from worrying."
"I don't want her out of sight."
"What do you think she's going to do? Hightail it down the back steps or come after you with a butcher knife?" Angela shook her head disparagingly. "Get real, Marchand. She's an old lady. Harmless. Just look at her." She stood aside and gestured dramatically at Mrs. Avery, who had somehow managed to age twenty years in the last twenty seconds. Shoulders that had been squared were now hunched, her blue-veined hands shook visibly, and she kept her eyes cast downward as though she were afraid to make eye contact.
"See what I mean?" Angela said. "Harmless."
A knock sounded at the door, but Marchand didn't let the distraction affect the direction in which his gun was pointing. "Go make tea, Mrs. Avery," he said. "Perhaps it would be better if I spoke with Hawk and Angela in private. Don't do anything stupid. I'll be listening, and I've got a gun pointed at this young lady."
Mrs. Avery got up and scurried out of the room before he could change his mind. Marchand made Angela open the front door, standing behind her with his hand fisted in her hair to hold her still and the barrel of his gun dug into her side.
Hawk stood with his hands at his sides and looked straight past her to Marchand. Angela had expected him to show at least a little anger, but he didn't and she realized he was probably saving it for later. The prospect of later was reassuring, and she turned her attention to the present difficulty.
<
br /> Hawk opened his jacket to show Marchand he was unarmed, then followed them into the apartment as Marchand drew Angela backward. He shut the door and leaned against it, his gaze searching the small living room before darting back to Marchand.
"Where's Mrs. Avery?"
"I sent her out to make tea," Angela said, then winced as Marchand tightened his grip in her hair. The clatter of china and silver reached them from the adjoining kitchen, and Angela realized Mrs. Avery was doing exactly as she'd been told. So long as she stayed out of the way, Angela thought Hawk would have a better chance at reversing the situation. It was why she'd sent her to the kitchen in the first place.
"Where's the tape, Hawk?" Marchand asked. "As much as I enjoy cuddling your lover, I don't want to waste any more time here than necessary. You know the story—things to do, places to go, people to see."
"About this unnamed country you're retiring to," Hawk said conversationally. "I assume they don't have an extradition treaty with the U.S." He crossed his arms on his chest and stared at the man holding Angela. The gun was now leveled on her shoulder and pointed at him, and he wished Angela knew enough to use that to their advantage. Unfortunately, she was untrained in close combat.
"It's one of the reasons I chose it," Marchand said. "That, excellent weather, and reasonable access to neighboring islands with accommodating banks." He brushed the barrel of his gun across Angela's cheek. "Don't worry, Hawk. Once I'm gone, I won't be back. You can come up with any story you want to explain your absence for the past eight months, and I won't care."
"Without the video, I won't have much of a job to go back to." He watched Angela cringe as the metal touched her cheek, and had to force back words of encouragement to her. It was bad enough that Marchand assumed Hawk and Angela were lovers. What Marchand would do if he discovered that Hawk had fallen head over heels in love with Angela didn't bear thinking about.
Marchand wasn't a nice man, and until Hawk was in a position to object, anything Marchand did to Angela would go unavenged.
Marchand sneered at him. "Your job is your problem, Hawk. I'm reassured by your concern, though. Obviously, you don't have any copies lying around to support any wild accusations you might make."
Night of the Hawk (LS 767) Page 20
