DADDY WITH A BADGE

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  Rafe heard that big "we" and the knot in his gut eased off a fraction. Feeling Seth's gaze boring into his back, he turned to shrug.

  "We know where he plans to come at you, so we can scout it out in advance, see if there's enough cover, maybe construct some kind of blind if we have to. Our people would have to be in place before first light on Saturday, just in case."

  He heard Linc blow out air, a sign that he was thinking. Linc tended to think aloud, one of the few habits of his mentor Rafe had never adopted.

  More intuitive than linear in his thinking, he was more comfortable working everything out in private first. The few times he'd thought about it, he figured it was because he couldn't afford to make mistakes like his brothers and sisters who blurted out the first thing that came to mind. But they knew they were keepers. Him, he'd figured he was only a part of the family as long as he didn't piss anyone off. As it turned out, he'd been dead right.

  "I agree, it's workable, but only if he shows up with a weapon," Linc summed up. "Even if he's armed to the teeth, you have to catch him in the act of pointing his weapon at someone before we have something the prosecuting attorney can use."

  "I know him, Linc. He's pulled off so many cons without taking a fall he's got himself convinced he's smarter than God. Certainly smarter than the dumb cops. Way I see it, he'll not only pull his weapon, he'll grandstand long enough for our guys to take him down."

  "Only if he thinks he's totally safe. The way you have this set up, everything depends on a twelve-year-old girl playing her part perfectly. Any hint that it's a setup, the whole thing explodes. A witness under our protection gets hurt—or God forbid, killed—and the Service will take a bad PR hit. Not to mention what it will do to us personally."

  Linc was only saying out loud what Rafe had agonized over for most of the night. "Lyssa's young, but she's got a warrior's soul."

  "You'd better be right about that, old son, because your life—and hers—depends on it."

  "I'll work with her. She'll stay frosty."

  "About that, I'll have to defer to your judgment."

  Triumph cascading through him, Rafe turned to give Seth a nod. His partner pumped his fist and grinned. "About personnel," Linc continued briskly, "do you have the people you need out there or do you want to name your team?"

  "I was thinking of the guys who worked the MacGregor case with me. They have a stake in putting Folsom away, too."

  "Good idea. I'll pull the list and cut the orders. They'll be in Portland by tonight. Anything else?"

  Rafe rubbed his hand over his chest. "Yeah. I'd like you to run the show on Saturday personally. From the field."

  The silence was deafening. Then Linc cleared his throat. "Margie will likely skin me alive if she finds out, but given the fact she just flat turns me on when she's spitting mad, why the hell not?"

  It took Rafe a moment to pull in the emotion that had closed his throat. "I owe you one, boss."

  "You can repay me by staying alive."

  * * *

  Folsom had told Lyssa to expect his call on Thursday night to go over the final plans one more time. Her door was open a crack when Rafe went upstairs at ten forty-five under the pretext of taking a shower. Seth had challenged Danni to a game of Scrabble in order to keep her from coming upstairs too soon.

  He knocked, then nudged the door open at her invitation. Dressed in that same green shirt, she sat cross-legged on her bed clutching a stuffed Tigger with one missing eye and a ragged ear.

  "Scared?" he asked as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

  She nodded. "A little."

  "Remember he expects you to be excited, not scared, because you want your mom and him to get back together again."

  Her gaze skittered away from his. "I guess you think I'm pretty dumb, believing him like I did," she muttered, tugging on the tiger's ear with nervous fingers.

  He took her hand pressed it between his. "Not even close, niña. In fact, I think you're pretty terrific. I even bragged on you to my boss who said to tell you he can't wait to meet you."

  Her mouth softened. "Really?"

  "Really." He kissed her hand before letting her go. "The best thing to do is let him do most of the talking. It's okay if you sound worried. Tell him you're afraid I'll get mad at you if that would help."

  Dropping her gaze again, she played with Tigger's long tail. "Rafe, do you still want to marry my mom?"

  Talk about a no-bull lady, that was Lyssa. He tucked his amusement behind the poker face that twenty years of practice had perfected until it was second nature. "It's not a question of wanting, Lys," he navigated carefully. "It's more like bad timing."

  She glanced up. "What do you mean?"

  What was it with females anyway? Always asking the tough questions at the worst possible time. Stifling a sigh, he glanced at his watch. It was nearly eleven. Still, he took a moment to think of the best way to lay it out so she would understand.

  "When your mom married your dad, I felt so bad that I'd lost her that I had to make myself stop loving her or go crazy. It took a while, but I finally did it." He hated remembering the brooding, bad tempered jerk he'd been then.

  "Did Mom love you, too?"

  That was a question he'd had to stop asking. "I don't know, Lys. What I do know is that she loved your dad a lot. That kind of love never dies."

  Unhappiness settled over her like a veil. "When she called me from Acapulco, she said she'd fallen in love with a wonderful man and that I would love him, too."

  Was she simply doing what her mother told her? he wondered. "Men like him are like chameleons, honey. First they figure out what kind of man appeals to the woman they want to impress, and they make themselves seem like that man."

  She hugged the tiger closer. "Maybe he knew I wanted a dad and so he pretended that's what he wanted, too, only he didn't really."

  He nodded. "You're one smart cookie, you know that? Probably end up with a bunch of letters behind your name like your mom."

  She struggled not to look too pleased, but finally gave up and grinned. "I want to be a lawyer, like Daddy. I—"

  The phone rang, and panic splintered the smile in her eyes. "Don't leave, okay?" she begged as she scrambled to find the phone under her pillow.

  "Don't worry, I'll be right with you all the way. You can count on it."

  The phone rang again. Looking pale, but determined, she took a deep breath—and answered.

  * * *

  By Friday night Danni was worn out.

  During the last month, the baby had managed to get her days and nights mixed. While Danni was awake, she slept. As soon as Danni dropped off, she came away, kicking and tumbling around for hours at a time.

  Grateful that it was Seth's turn to make dinner, she'd retired to the den for another disheartening session of bill paying. Or lack of same, she thought as she signed her name to the pitifully small check to Oregon Health Sciences University Hospital.

  She had just slit open the next envelope in the stack when Rafe came in carrying what looked exactly like two bulletproof vests.

  "No way," she declared as he dropped them on to the couch as he passed.

  "Non-negotiable, honey," he said before bending to kiss her.

  Desire raged through her like a fever she was reluctant to cool. Every time he touched her it was better than the last. When she wasn't with him, she was thinking about him. When he smiled at her, she felt giddy. When they made love, which had been every afternoon this week, it had been magical. Though it was galling to admit, she had developed a serious addiction to Rafe Cardoza.

  "Those things look hot and heavy," she said when he drew back. "And they're ugly."

  "They're all three, and you'll hate wearing it. But you will, or you'll stay home."

  He shoved aside a stack of bills before angling one lean hip over the corner of the desk. Beneath his threadbare jeans, his thigh muscle bunched, testing the seams. Her palm itched to stroke all that wonderful power. Because she knew she would
want more, she busied herself opening envelopes.

  "I'm not your prisoner, Rafe. You can't make me stay home," she declared, glancing up to add emphasis to her words.

  "I can and I will." His tone was mild, but the look in his eyes told her he meant every word. Worse, he had absolutely no doubt he would win any contest between them.

  Pride had her shifting to glare at him. "Don't pull that caveman stuff with me, Cardoza. I'm not some wilting violet who faints whenever you go into your 'Me Tarzan, you Jane,' act."

  His eyebrows shot upward, and his eyes crinkled. "I counted three metaphors in that statement, honey. Maybe we should call Guinness, see if that's a world record."

  It wouldn't do any good to lose her temper since a tirade would only serve to put her at a disadvantage. Worse, she suspected he would actually laugh. "Is that where you were last night, picking up flak jackets at Army surplus?"

  "Miss me, did you?" He lifted a hand to toy with a lock of her hair. She refused to jerk away, but she'd be damned if she would lean into his touch.

  "Of course," she declared smugly. "Without you landing on Park Place every third turn, I had to actually work to beat Seth and Lys."

  "I'm just lulling you into a sense of false security."

  "That is so patently wrong it boggles the mind."

  "Now that sounds real promising, sweetheart." He flashed her a grin so ripe with sensual meaning it made her weak inside. "Since you have to strip down to try on the vest anyway, how about getting all the way naked together?"

  "There are children in the house," she reminded him, but the corners of her mouth kept wanting to turn up.

  "Yeah, but Seth has to learn the facts of life someday. Might as well be now."

  "I meant Lyssa and her baby sister." She rubbed her tummy for emphasis.

  "Her sister has been listening to us get it on for weeks, honey. Who knows, she might even have a real up close and personal view."

  She fought not to laugh. "You're terrible, you know that?"

  "Yeah, but you're crazy about me anyway, aren't you?" Though he was teasing, she sensed another emotion mixed in with the humor.

  Suddenly her heart was pounding. "Absolutely, utterly besotted," she said with a resigned sigh. "It's horribly embarrassing, but what can I say? I'm a sucker for green eyes and dimples."

  He stood suddenly and spun her chair until it faced him. "We can build on that," he said, one of those dimples winking at her. This time he pulled her up against him before he kissed her.

  * * *

  Since it was a five-hour drive from Portland to the area of the vineyard near the California border, Rafe and Linc decided to have the team spend the night in Ashland. At 0600 they assembled next to the van in the parking lot of the motel. Five steely-eyed men in forest camouflage, all expert marksmen, well-trained, well-armed, each with a score to settle.

  Linc had taken them through every possible contingency. By 0630 they would be in position. It would be a long day. As Linc zipped up the windbreaker with SECRET SERVICE imprinted on the front and back, he checked the sky.

  The weather forecast was for morning overcast followed by clearing. It was supposed to be in the mid-seventies and sunny. A perfect day to bag a killer. Or a terrible day for a friend to die.

  * * *

  His bags were already stowed in the back of the Bronco, his cash in a money belt beneath his loose-fitting sports shirt. His passport and ID in the name of Michael Carlyle were locked in the glove box. Anything that would identify him as Jacob Folsom had already been mailed to the postal box he'd rented in the name of M. Carlyle in Vancouver, BC.

  He'd parked on the shoulder a half mile south.

  Now he waited, seated on a beach chair inside the round metal culvert next to a paved pullout on a narrow county road exactly six point four miles from the main gate of the Mancini Vineyard.

  It was a little past noon, and he had just finished the salad and cold chicken sandwich he'd picked up in Ashland on his way through. He was alone except for a couple of noisy crows.

  The place was perfect for an ambush. If he'd designed it himself, it couldn't have been better. Backed by the foothills of Mount Ashland, the area was mostly scrub trees and brush. Though the pullout was paved, the surrounding area was overgrown with thick salal bushes and blackberry canes. Even if someone were to drive past, he would be screened from view until their vehicle drew abreast. The few drivers who'd passed hadn't even glanced his way.

  During the last week he'd made three trial runs, parking for an hour the first time, longer during the second and third trips. While keeping careful note of the number and kind of vehicles that passed, he went over the plan again and again in his mind.

  According to Lyssa, they usually left the vineyard around four in order to make it back to Portland by nine. As soon as she spotted mile marker seventeen, she was to complain of stomach cramps. As soon as the pullout came into view one mile later, she was to shout for Cardoza or whoever was driving to stop the car. Pretending that she was going to vomit, she was to jerk open the door and stumble to the edge of the pullout. Naturally her doting mother would run to help her. Like a trained dog Cardoza was sure to follow.

  It was five running strides up the incline leading from the culvert to the level. He'd timed himself three times. Less than a second, and he would be face-to-face with Cardoza.

  He'd toyed with the idea of shooting from cover. But that would spoil his enjoyment. Almost as much as he wanted Daniela and her brat dead, he wanted to see the shock come into the SOB's eyes when he shoved the Beretta into his gut.

  He would destroy Cardoza's kneecaps first, to incapacitate him mostly, but also because his research had told him a shattered knee was incredibly painful. After that he would blow away the other Fed. Because he was a man who understood priorities, he would kill Daniela and her brat next.

  Cardoza would crawl before he died. On his belly, like a dog, dragging his crippled legs, begging to die.

  Oh yes, it was going to be sweet, he thought as he twisted the cap off a bottle of water. He could hardly wait.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  « ^ »

  She wore the darn vest.

  It wasn't quite as heavy as she'd expected, but it was miserably uncomfortable. The baby certainly didn't seem happy to find herself being squeezed by layers of bullet-proof "stuff."

  To her surprise, Lys had sided with Rafe. Chill, Mom, she'd ordered before slipping into hers with what seemed like astonishing familiarity—as though wearing a bullet-proof vest was something she did every day like brushing her teeth. For the first time the two men had worn vests as well. Standard procedure on a trip like this, Seth had tossed off between ravenous bites of Rafe's Spanish omelet.

  Now seated in the back seat of the silver Mercedes Rafe had requisitioned from the available vehicles especially for the trip he and Lyssa were huddled together, playing one of her video games while the frantic guitar riffs and screeching lyrics of Acid Aliens pumped through the rear speakers. She'd grown used to the atonal cacophony, but she'd expected Rafe to protest. When the first clanging notes had screamed through the sedan's elegant interior, he'd looked pained but hadn't said a word.

  It was turning out to be a day of surprises, she reflected as the familiar sights along the I-5 corridor from Portland to Ashland whizzed past the tinted windows.

  The most gratifying had been the presence of Rafe himself, looking very much like the boy she remembered in faded jeans and a faded blue work shirt rolled tight against his biceps. Stone-faced, and unapproachable, he'd simply climbed into the driver's seat, slipped on a pair of aviator sunglasses, and clicked his seat belt into place. Since then, he'd spoken in monosyllables—and only when asked a direct question.

  "I'm glad you decided to come," she said, looking his way. He flicked her an impatient look as he pulled onto the exit ramp for a rest area. "Don't blame me if this turns into a train wreck."

  She masked her own anxiety behind a teasing gri
n. "When did you get to be such a pessimist?"

  "Right about the time when your brother smashed his fist into my face."

  * * *

  Lying prone in a patch of buffalo grass that made his nose itch, Linc peered through his field glasses at the man half-hidden by a thicket of blackberry canes near the mouth of the culvert.

  It never failed to amaze him how false the public's perception of a vicious criminal could be sometimes. Jacob Folsom was a case in point. A man meeting him at a cocktail party would immediately peg him for an investment banker or maybe a midlevel diplomat, both of which he'd pretended to be during his various scams. Even now, seated in a filthy culvert, he was the picture of sophistication and confidence, occasionally drinking bottled water or getting up to stretch his legs.

  An angry knot formed between his graying brows as he thought back to the expression that had come over Folsom's handsome face when the judge in the MacGregor case had dismissed the charges against him for lack of evidence.

  That had been the real Jacob Folsom, Linc reflected. That vicious curl of a lip, the glint of pure malice in dead blue eyes, the quick burst of laughter as that fat toad Addison Tandy had shaken his hand.

  "Give my regards to Agent Cardoza," he'd said as they'd met in the hall a few minutes later. "Tell him no hard feelings."

  Linc knew better. Beneath the striking good looks and urbane manners was a stone-cold killer.

  * * *

  "Hey, that's the gate on the Mancini label," Seth said, leaning forward to peer between the bucket seats as Rafe drove under the ornate wrought-iron arch that perfectly framed the sprawling white house on the hill.

  Surprised by the pride she felt, Danni glanced over her shoulder to explain, "My father designed it himself on the back of a comic book when he was only ten. He claimed he always knew he'd been born to make wine and didn't see any need to waste time trying to be anything else."

  Grinning, Seth settled back against the butter-soft leather upholstery. "Sounds like my old man. He always knew he was going to be a filthy rich ne'er-do-well playboy like his father and grandfather before him. I doubt he wasted much time either."