Downright Dangerous

by Beverly Barton

  "And Mayor Wright isn't Cassie's only steady John," Kate continued.

  Silence permeated the room. Rafe knew that Elsa was afraid the prostitute's other regular client would turn out to be Harry Colburn.

  "Ellison Mays is more than a regular," Kate said. "It seems he's her number-one client. He even provides her a place to live, which allows her to be an independent op­erator, so to speak."

  "Well, that answers one question about old Ellison," Troy said. When all eyes turned to him, he shrugged and laughed. "Some of us guys wondered if he was gay."

  "Ellison's ties to Honey Town run deeper than his as­sociation with Cassie Dover," Frank said. "It seems that Mr. Mays owns half the property in Honey Town, although ownership is set up through several dummy organiza­tions."

  "So, the guy's a slumlord, huh?" Rafe sent Elsa a what-do-you-think-about-that? look.

  "Then Ellison profits from keeping Honey Town the way it is, doesn't he?" Elsa asked.

  Frank nodded. "And there are rumors—unsub-stantiated rumors—that Mays is in bed with some rather unsavory types."

  "The Dixie Mafia?" Troy asked.

  "Hmm." Frank glanced at Rafe. "No proof. Just spec­ulation."

  Rafe eyed the fourth folder on the desk. "So, we've got three major citizens linked to Honey Town and one in particular rumored to have mob connections. Is there a fourth?" He knew what Frank would say before he lifted the folder and opened it. Rafe's gut instincts seldom steered him wrong, and he'd gotten negative vibes from the guy since the first minute they met. He'd tried to chalk it up to nothing more than jealousy, but it had been more. A lot more.

  "Harry Colburn—"

  "No, not Harry!" Elsa jumped to her feet.

  "What have you got on Colburn?" Rafe asked, ignoring Elsa's outburst.

  Kate lifted the final file, stood and walked over to Elsa. "Here, read it for yourself." She handed Elsa the folder. "On the surface he appears to be clean as a whistle, but—"

  Grasping the folder, Elsa glared at it, then lifted her gaze to meet Kate's. "But what?"

  "There are too many unknowns in Harry Colburn's life. He seems to be what he appears to be. A wealthy, sophis­ticated, successful entrepreneur. But Harry was born poor, in Honey Town. His mother was unmarried and he grew up with nothing but a determination to improve himself."

  "And he did," Elsa said, then swiped Rafe with a side­long glance that dared him to make a negative comment about Harry. "There's no crime in being born poor and struggling to better yourself. If that was a crime, I'd be in jail myself."

  "And if we tracked your career from childhood to the present, my guess is there wouldn't be any doubt as to how you got your first break and climbed the ladder of success," Frank said. "Nobody seems to know who gave Colburn his big break, who supplied him with the capital for his first business venture. There is no paper trail leading back to a bank loan or a loan from an individual. The big mystery seems to be who backed Colburn in the begin­ning?"

  "If you're implying—" Elsa huffed. "Do you have any proof that Harry is connected to anything or anyone ille­gal?"

  "No proof," Kate said. "Just a lot of unanswered ques­tions."

  "So, the bottom line is that we have four respected Maysville citizens who might or might not have something to do with the threats against me. No real proof. Just con­jecture."

  Kate and Frank exchanged what-do-we-say-now? glances, then looked to Rafe, who spoke for the Dundee agents.

  "This investigation has just begun," Rafe said. "We have four possible suspects, but that doesn't mean there aren't more or that any one of the four is guilty. But we'd be fools to dismiss any of them as potentially guilty par­ties. Dundee's is going to dig deeper, until we do have proof, but in the meantime, you're going to have to make some decisions, Elsa."

  "About what? About Ellison Mays and Harry Colburn? About who I should and shouldn't date? About who I can and can't trust?"

  "Yeah, to begin with." Rafe walked over and stood in front of Elsa. He understood that right now he wasn't her favorite person. He'd unsuccessfully tried to seduce her this morning and now his team of investigators had just thrown suspicion on her boyfriend. "You're also going to have to decide how to precede from this point. We've got agents guarding each of your siblings now and I'm with you twenty-four/seven. But that doesn't mean whoever's out to separate you from the MGS and end your influence over the townspeople won't keep coming after you. . .or Troy or your sisters."

  A pained expression darkened Elsa's brown eyes to al­most black. Rafe could sense her anger, which was stronger than her fear. "You're asking me if I'm going to run or if I'm going to stand and fight."

  "Don't run, sis," Troy said. "You should tell the son of a bitch, whoever he is, that Elsa Leone doesn't run scared. Tell him you're going to stand your ground and fight him to the bitter end. And you're going to win."

  Elsa swallowed, then nodded. "I'm not running. I'm going on WJMM and make an announcement. Tonight."

  Rafe's gut tightened. The protective part of his nature wanted to see Elsa out of harm's way. But he'd known all along that she was the type who'd stand and fight. Hadn't she done her best to fend off a couple of young hoods back in St. Camille who'd tried to rob and rape her? Elsa was a scrapper. She was no quitter. And damn it all, he was proud of her.

  WJMM's station manager went on the air during the Saturday six o'clock newscast to issue a declaration of war. Against the evils that existed in Honey Town. And specifically against the person who had threatened her and her family.

  "Whoever you are, you can't hide forever," Elsa said, looking boldly into the camera. "We're going to find out who you are and stop you. Whatever crimes you've com­mitted, you'll pay for in prison. I'm not leaving Maysville and I'm not stepping down as the president of the Mays­ville Good Samaritans. We will continue to work diligently along with local law enforcement to clean up Honey Town and give that area of our city back to its law-abiding cit­izens.

  "So consider yourself warned, mister. Neither I nor the good people of Maysville can be intimidated. You haven't scared me off. You haven't stopped me. I am more com­mitted than ever to do the job at hand." She pointed her finger at the camera. "You're the one who needs to be running scared. . .because we're coming after you!"

  He punched the Off button on the remote control and turned his back on the television in his den. Damn stub­born bitch. She had just signed her own death warrant. Why couldn't she have made this easy on everyone—on herself, her family, the town and on him? He didn't want to order her death, but she'd given him no choice.

  He lifted the receiver and dialed the number for the pro­fessional he'd been using, a man who would do anything for the right price.

  "I need your services again," he said.

  "Another scare tactic or—"

  "No, the scare tactics aren't working."

  "Then you want her eliminated."

  "Yes. And I'd prefer you make it appear to be an ac­cident. At least something that people will never know for sure about one way or the other."

  "What if innocent bystanders are in the way?" the hired assassin asked.

  "That's not my concern. Just do it. And if anyone else gets hurt, too bad."

  "When? I'm out-of-state right now, but I can be there by tomorrow."

  "That's soon enough. Just take the time you need to make sure you do the job right. Plan it down to the nth degree."

  "Don't tell me how to do my job. You're paying me for my expertise. Trust me to do the job right."

  "You'd better be worth your price," he said. "Other­wise you'll be in trouble, not only with me, but with my associates, too."

  "Believe me, Elsa Leone is as good as dead."

  Chapter 12

  The coast is clear, as you Yanks say." Geoff Monday motioned to Troy, who'd been waiting impatiently at the end of the hallway. "Her father has gone home for the night, and you've got close to an hour before the eleven o'clock shift change."

  "Hey, you
'd better not use the word Yank here in Mis­sissippi." Troy smiled at his partner in crime. "I know it's what you Brits call all Americans, but here in the South, we don't think of ourselves as Yanks."

  "Sorry, laddie. I've already been warned about using the term Yank so freely. Several of the Dundee agents in Atlanta explained the particulars of the American Civil War." Ever vigilant, keeping an eye out for anyone who might object to their presence in the hospital at nearly ten o'clock, Geoff Monday crept down the hall, Troy directly behind him.

  Keeping his voice low, Troy said, "I understand the Irish and Scottish people have some leftover animosity to­ward the English, although they share similar heritages. That's how it is here in America."

  "I know that fact better than most," Geoff said. "My father was English and my mum was Scottish. I spent as much time in Scotland as I did England." Geoff slowed his pace, scanned the area and grinned at Troy. "Here we are. Room 210. I'll keep a watch out and alert you when it's time to leave."

  Troy's heartbeat accelerated as his hand gripped the knob to Alyssa's closed door. He glanced back at Monday. "Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me."

  "I've got a good idea. I was a young lad once myself, you know. And I recall a certain pretty little bird I fancied myself in love with when I was about your age."

  Troy nodded understanding, then opened the door and entered the quiet, semi-dark hospital room. After a couple of minutes, his eyes adjusted to the dim light and he was able to make out Alyssa's slender form lying in the bed. Her eyes were closed. She lay there still as death. For a split second his irrational fear took control and he rushed toward the bed. When he got closer, he saw the steady rise and fall of her chest and breathed a sigh of relief.

  She looked so peaceful that he hated to wake her, but they had at most an hour to be together before the night nurses would check Alyssa's vital signs and at the very least probably kick him out of her room. And at the worst, call her father. He hovered over the bed, watching her while she slept. Even with her face bruised and swollen, she was beautiful. God, how he loved her. She was every­thing to him.

  "Alyssa," he said softly.

  Her eyelids fluttered.

  "Alyssa, honey, it's me."

  Her eyes opened and closed sleepily, then she looked up at him and smiled weakly.

  "Hey, beautiful. I've been trying to get in to see you—“

  "Daddy?"

  Troy reached down, grasped Alyssa's small, delicate hand and lifted it as he leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Yeah, your father wouldn't let me see you. But he's gone home and a, er, a buddy of mine is keeping guard at the door."

  "Oh, Troy, I. . .I. . .lost the baby." Tears welled up in her golden eyes.

  "Hush, now. Don't think about it. You can have other babies someday." He squeezed her hand.

  "Do you still love me?"

  "Of course I do." Troy sat down on the side of the bed, then brushed the tears from her cheeks. "I won't ever love anyone else the way I love you. You've got to know that."

  "Daddy says he's going to send me away—far away from Maysville and you. He's so angry with me. I think he hates me."

  "He hates me," Troy said. "Not you."

  "I don't want to leave you." She reached out for him.

  Troy lifted her into his arms, as careful with her as if she were made of spun glass. "You're eighteen. He can't make you do anything. We can still get married. That way he'll have no say in what you do."

  "Oh, Troy, hold me. I'm so scared. I'm afraid I'll lose you, too. And I couldn't bear it."

  He stroked her back lovingly, doing his best to comfort and reassure her. "Nobody is going to break us up. I prom­ise you that."

  Troy knew at that very moment he meant what he'd said and he accepted the promise he'd made Alyssa as a solemn vow. Maybe marriage right now wasn't the solution. But he wasn't going to let Dr. Alden keep him away from Alyssa. Not ever again.

  As the minutes ticked by, Troy held Alyssa, who clung to him and finally went to sleep in his arms. About forty-five minutes later, Geoff Monday opened the door and stuck his head in.

  "Nurse headed this way," Geoff said. "Hate for you to have to end it, but—"

  "It's okay," Troy said as he eased Alyssa down into the bed. "She's asleep." He covered her with the crisp white sheet and knit blanket, then stood up and walked to the door. "I'm coming back to see her tomorrow whether her father likes it or not. He doesn't have the right to keep us apart."

  "Young love." Geoff shook his head.

  Once Troy stepped out into the hall, Geoff closed the door and urged him into a brisk walk down the hall. As they passed a nurse, she glared at them inquiringly but said nothing.

  With her weekend nights off from WJMM, Leenie usu­ally took advantage of being able to have dinner dates both nights, but tonight she'd turned down several engage­ments, on the off chance Frank Latimer might show up on her doorstep. Or at least give her a call.

  Since their incredible one-night stand, he'd called her several times, and they'd even shared a quick bite together at the station one night. But he was knee-deep in the in­vestigation that had brought him to Maysville and he didn't have much free time. Of course he could be using work as an excuse, but why should he? It wasn't that she'd asked anything of him. No declarations of love or demands that she be his one and only.

  She'd never been the clinging-vine type and the few times she'd become possessive about a guy, he'd run the other way as fast as he could. Why was it that she was always attracted to the guys who were allergic to com­mitment? It wasn't that marriage had been one of her top priorities in the past. She'd used her time wisely to pursue an education and a career. But she was scaring forty to death and if she ever intended to marry and have a kid or two, she needed to stop wasting her time on dead-end re­lationships. Case in point—her first one-night stand at the age of thirty-eight.

  While she rummaged around in the refrigerator and pulled out ingredients for a salad, she sipped leisurely on a glass of white wine. She had spent the past few hours doing girly stuff: taking a bubble bath, using a mud pack on her face, painting her toenails and fingernails and in­dulging in a chick-flick video. And all the while she kept hoping Frank would ring her doorbell.

  As she tore the lettuce apart and dumped the pieces into a colander, she tapped her foot to the beat of a Faith Hill song blaring from the radio. WJMM-FM was a country music station. More than one person had told her there was a resemblance between her and the gorgeous singer. Slim, blond, pretty. Leenie had never doubted her sex ap­peal or her intelligence. So why was it that a smart, at­tractive, successful lady was spending Saturday night alone?

  She heard a ringing sound, but with the loud music and her musings, it took her a couple of seconds to realize it was the doorbell. Her heart fluttered. She turned off the water running into the sink, wiped her hands on a paper towel and rushed out of the kitchen. When she reached the front door, she skidded to a halt. Breathless, flushed, charged with anticipation, she peeked through the window in the door, saw Frank Latimer on her porch and all but ripped the door from its hinges as she opened it. "Hi, there, Slim."

  "Hi, yourself." How could a man, who looked as if he slept in his clothes, who had unsightly beard stubble and whose hair looked as if he'd combed it with an egg beater, be so damn appealing? Leenie asked herself.

  "I guess I should have called since it's nearly eleven." Bracing himself with one hand on the doorframe, Frank leaned toward her. He looked her up and down. "You weren't in bed."

  "No, I was still up." And all alone. On a Saturday night. She certainly didn't want him to think she'd stayed home waiting for him. "I just got in a few minutes ago. We made an early night of it."

  He eyed her jeans and oversize gold silk blouse, then glanced down at her bare feet. "Must have been a casual date."

  She grinned. "Well, are you coming in or not?"

  When he moved to come inside, she stepped back to allow him entrance, then closed the door
behind him. Standing there in the foyer, they stared at each other.

  "Are you the kind of gal who can handle two dates in one night?" he asked.

  "I could handle three or four dates in one night, if need be," she told him. "But I don't make a habit of it. And I never have sex with more than one guy per night." Let him make of that what he would.

  "In that case, maybe I should find out if your first date was the lucky guy or if I am."

  Leenie laughed. "You know damn well that I didn't have a date tonight, that I've been home all evening wait­ing and wondering, hoping you'd come by."

  Frank eased her up against the wall, leaned down and kissed her. She closed her eyes and sighed. And kissed him back. This guy was lethal, even in small doses. When he ended the kiss and lifted his head, she looked up at him and smiled.

  "And you knew damn well that I'd show up, didn't you?" Frank ran the back of his big hand down her cheek.

  She slipped her hand into his. "You're going to stay all night, aren't you?"

  "If you'll let me."

  "I'll let you. What about all day tomorrow. It's Sun­day."

  "I'm meeting Kate at ten in the morning. We're nar­rowing down some important leads."

  She tugged on his hand. "Then come on. We don't want to waste any more time talking."

  Elsa slipped into the silk gown and matching robe she'd bought herself for Christmas. Floor length. Pale lavender. With matching house slippers. As a child she'd seldom had any decent clothes, mostly things her mother picked up at yard sales or secondhand items kind neighbors had given her. And after she'd gotten a job, she hadn't had any spare money to indulge herself. But now that she was fairly successful, her yearly income afforded her a comfortable lifestyle, even after paying Troy's tuition at Maysville Community College and keeping Milly at the Bauer Acad­emy. She had spent so many years taking care of her sib­lings that even now she often felt guilty when she splurged on expensive clothes.

  The guilt went deeper than concern over superficial things, like clothes. Here she was the target of some mad­man, her life on the line, now more so than ever since she'd issued him a challenge tonight on WJMM, and her greatest concern was her brother and sisters. The first thing she'd done when she and Rafe arrived home was call Milly and then Sherrie. Both were fine. And knowing a Dundee agent guarded each of them gave her great peace of mind.