by The Witness
The Witness by Ginna Gray
In the blink of an eye, Lauren Brownly's life changed forever. Late one night the concert pianist witnessed a grisly murder, and with it came a devastating truth: Her career had been financed by crime lord Carlo Giovessi. Now Lauren's testimony against him could finally bring him down.
Terrified and utterly alone, Lauren must trust in one man -- Sam Grey Wolf Rawlins. She is powerfully drawn to the rugged FBI agent who took her into protective custody, but Wolf cannot dismiss the shocking allegations about Lauren's personal involvement with the mobster.
Their traitorous emotions -- and their survival skills -- are put to the ultimate test when their plane crashes during a blizzard. Now they are stranded in the mountains with hit men hot on their trail, and danger is closing in on Lauren and Wolf. There's a traitor in the ranks of the FBI and Wolf knows there is nowhere safe to hide -- except in a world he left behind long ago....
"C'mon, lady. Do you really think after what you saw and heard that you can just waltz out of here and no harm will come to you?" Special Agent Sam Rawlins asked.
"But...if he's locked up—"
"Look, Carlo Giovessi knows that without your testimony we won't have much of a case. Killing you is going to be his number one priority."
Lauren felt the blood drain from her face. "But...if that's true...won't his goons still be after me, even after he's sent to prison?"
"Yes. After the trial you'll go into the witness protection program."
"What!" He said it so matter-of-factly, as though it were no big deal. It was to her. "What if I refuse to testify?"
"He'll kill you anyway. Look, you can walk out of here, but if you do you won't last an hour. Or you can testify and we'll do all we can to protect you. So what's it going to be?"
Lauren had sworn that she would never again allow herself to be dependent on someone else. Now she had to put herself totally in someone else's hands. Again. "Put that way, what choice do I have? I don't want to die...."
THE WITNESS
Copyright © 2001 by Ginna Gray
ISBN 1-55166-832-7
MIRA Books, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
Visit us at www.mirabooks.com
Printed in U.S.A.
One
The shots came from just beyond the door—two sharp pops in rapid succession.
Lauren Brownley's head jerked up. She stared at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her eyes were so wide they seemed to fill her ashen face. The only gunfire she had ever heard before had been on television or in the movies, but she recognized the sound instantly, and it sent a chill down her spine.
Her first instinct was to run. She shut off the faucet and darted a frantic look around the ladies' rest room for an escape route, but other than the high window that opened onto the alley, there was none.
Out in the lounge someone cried out in agony. Lauren's scalp crawled. She stared at the door, gripping the edge of the counter behind her with wet hands. It was after hours. Except for her boss, Carlo Giovessi, who had retreated to his office when they had parted company ten minutes ago, the Club Classico was supposed to be empty.
Dear God, had he encountered a burglar? If so, which one of them had been shot?
After casting another desperate look around, Lauren swallowed hard and crept across the tile floor to the entrance. She reached out to push the door open but at the last instant jerked her hand back. Her heart beat double-time when she realized the mistake she had almost made. If there was a burglar out there with a gun the last thing she wanted to do was reveal her presence.
The moaning on the other side of the door hit another crescendo that made Lauren jump and flick the light switch off. In the darkness, she pressed her lips together and eased the door open a crack.
Lauren caught her breath. Three men stood on the dance floor near the piano. Two of them she had seen around the nightclub, but she had no idea who they were. The third man—the one with the gun in his hand—was Carlo.
At his feet a man writhed on the floor clutching his bloodied legs with both hands. Lauren nearly gagged when she realized that he had been shot in both kneecaps.
Groaning and gasping, the man rolled onto his side, facing her. Surprise shot through Lauren. It was Frank Pappano!
Two months ago, when she had first started playing the piano in the lounge, Carlo had introduced Frank as a business associate. Since then she had seen him around the club frequently, but she didn't know him. Nor did she want to.
Frank was considerably younger than Carlo, somewhere in his mid-thirties, and handsome enough, if you liked the swarthy type. On several occasions he had tried to flirt with her, but she had pretended not to notice. There was something cold and soulless about Frank that made her skin crawl.
Even so, he didn't deserve to be shot. She couldn't believe Carlo had done such a thing.
Lauren leaned her forehead against the door frame and closed her eyes. Dear God, what a fool she'd been. She had read the allegations in the newspaper and heard the talk, and since coming to work at the Club Classico she'd noticed the rough characters going in and out of Carlo's office, but she had blocked it all out. Like an ostrich with its head in the sand, she thought with disgust.
Granted, deep down she had felt uneasy, but she'd refused to examine the matter. After all Carlo had done for her, merely having suspicions had made her feel disloyal.
And now just look at what your blindness has done for you.
Oh God, she couldn't believe this!
"You shot me! Jesus Christ, Carlo! Why? Ahhhh, shit, my knees! My knees!"
Carlo Giovessi's shock of white hair and distinguished face gave him the look of a stern patriarch even when he was enjoying himself, which made his slow smile even more chilling. "Don't play games with me, Frank. You know why. You stole from me. I can't allow that."
Without taking his gaze from Frank, Carlo snapped his fingers, and one of the other men handed him a square, plastic-wrapped bundle. He opened the package, picked up some of the contents and trickled white powder down on Frank. "This last load of coke you picked up for me is mostly sugar." He hefted the package experimentally and pursed his lips. "Too bad you got greedy. It might've worked if you hadn't skimmed off so much. That was stupid, Frank."
His demeanor changed in a blink, and he delivered a vicious kick to Frank's leg. Frank's scream made the hairs on Lauren's neck stand on end.
"You little prick," Carlo snarled. "Did you really think you could steal almost half my coke and get away with it?"
"No, Carlo. I didn't skim. Swear to God, man! It...it must've been those damned suppliers! They're the ones ch-cheating you. Not me. You know I wouldn't do that! Ahhh, Christ, my knees!"
"I'm running out of patience, Frank. And you're running out of time."
Even in the dim light, Lauren saw Frank's face pale.
"I'm doing you a favor. You know I don't soil my hands with this sort of thing anymore. But this...this is personal. Because it's you, I decided to handle this myself. I owe you that much."
Frank's groans turned to blubbery weeping. "Jesus, Carlo, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, man. Please. Please, don't kill me."
"You've worked for me a lotta years, Frank. I took you off the streets when you were just a kid. I trained you. Christ, I treated you like a son, you fucking scumbag."
"Please, Carlo, don't kill me. Don't kill me. Please! Please, man! I'm beggin' you! It'll never happen again! Swear to God! I'll do anything! Anything! Just don't kill me!" He rolled on the floor, clutching his knees, his contorted face streaming sweat. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
"Save your breath, Frank. You were a dead man the first time you stole from me. Now it's just a question of when and how you die, and that's up to you.
You tell me where you stashed my goods and I'll kill you quick. Stall, and you'll soon be begging me to kill you."
"Christ, man, if you'll just listen—"
"Those are your only choices, Franco," Carlo said with deadly calm. "And I warn you, lie to me, and I'll kill your family, too.
"I don't want to do that. You know how fond I am of Maria and little Frank and Mario. It always distresses me to kill women and children, but you know I don't make idle threats.
"So, unless you want that pretty little wife and those boys of yours to suffer, too, then you'd better not lie." Carlo leaned forward and smiled. "Now then, Frank, you got three seconds. Either you tell me where I can find my goods or the next shot is going into your balls."
Lauren watched the scene unfold with disbelief and horror, her fist pressed against her chest. She saw Frank shudder and squeeze his eyes shut. He muttered something under his breath and crossed himself, then drew a deep breath. "It's...it's in a warehouse on...on Patton and East Third."
The words had barely left his lips when another loud pop exploded and an obscene hole appeared in the center of Frank's forehead.
Though Lauren had known the shot was coming, she jumped. Her hand flew to her mouth but she was not quick enough to stifle the gasp that burst from her.
Frank jerked, then slumped on the floor. Frozen in place, Lauren stared at the dead man, and felt bile rise in her throat. The hideous black hole in his forehead seemed to blossom as blood began to ooze from it.
"What was that?" Carlo's gaze shot around the lounge and came to rest on the rest rooms, zeroing in first on the men's then the ladies'.
Lauren flinched and stepped farther back into the darkness as terror overtook shock. Dear God, she had just witnessed a cold-blooded murder! She had to get out of there! Now, before they discovered her.
She glanced toward the window, where a faint glow seeped in from the streetlight at the end of the alley. Even if she could hoist herself up that high, she would never make it out before they got there. Panic welled, but she fought it back. There had to be a way. There had to be! Think! Think!
"What was what? I didn't hear nothing, boss."
"Were there any cars in the parking lot when you came in?"
"I dunno. Me'n Tony, we brought Frank in through the back like you told us."
"Go outside and check. Tony, you check out the rest rooms. I'll search the rest of the place."
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Wringing her hands, Lauren cast a frantic look at the toilet stalls, but she dismissed the idea of hiding in there. That would be the first place Carlo's thug would look.
A crash from the other side of the wall made her jump. Seconds later the noise sounded again, then again. Lauren realized that she had been right; at that very moment that Tony person was in the men's room kicking open the stall doors.
Lauren hesitated only a second before running to the window. She unlocked it, shoved it open as far as she could reach and raced back to the sink. Grabbing her purse off the counter, she opened the door to the tiny cabinet beneath, hiked up her long evening gown and scrambled inside. Extra rolls of toilet tissue and plumbing almost filled the interior, but she scrunched up into a ball and wedged herself in, grateful, for the first time in her life, for her small stature.
She barely managed to pull the door shut behind her before the rest room door opened a few inches.
Carlo's henchman reached inside and flipped the switch. Light flooded the bathroom, glaring off the black-and-white tiles. A thin line of light at the edge of the cabinet door sliced into Lauren's hiding spot. She caught her breath and pressed back as far as she could. Through the crack, she watched the man Carlo had called Tony peer around the edge of the door, then ease into the room, gun drawn.
He reminded her of a snake, moving with sinister smoothness, his cold eyes darting constantly.
Lauren's heart began to thud so hard she was certain he would hear it, but he moved past the cabinet and out of her line of sight. An instant later the first stall door banged open, then the second and the third. She pressed her lips together to keep from crying out and flinched with each crash.
"Find anything, Tony?"
"No, nothing, Mr. Giovessi." The evil-looking man reappeared in her field of vision. "If there was anyone in here, looks like they climbed out the window. It's wide-open."
"Shit!"
Lauren's heart almost stopped when Carlo appeared in the bathroom doorway. He looked at the open window, then motioned with the barrel of his gun. "Go outside and see what's keeping Leo."
"I'm here, boss. There's one car in the parking lot. A red Lexus."
"Damn. That's Lauren's."
"That classy little auburn-haired chick that plays the piano?"
"Yeah. I thought she'd left fifteen minutes ago. She must have come back inside to use the rest room." Carlo sighed "What a shame. Talent like hers is a priceless gift."
"Whadda you want us to do, boss?"
"First, get Frank out of here. And clean up that mess. When you're done, get that car out of the parking lot. Tony, you go check out Miss Brownley's apartment. She was running scared when she bailed out of that window. A scared rabbit usually heads for his hole. Odds are she'll try to grab a few of her things and disappear. But she's a smart girl. Once she's had a chance to think clearly she may decide to go to the cops. I want you to find her first."
"Whadda you want me to do with her, boss?"
Carlo stared at the man for several seconds. "Kill her."
Lauren clamped her hand over her mouth and shrank deeper into her hidey-hole.
For a time after the lights had gone out and the men's voices had faded away, Lauren remained hunched in the cabinet, shivering from head to toe. Only darkness and silence surrounded her. Her own breathing sounded harsh to her ears and her heart still pounded like a wild thing against her ribs.
She strained to detect the slightest sound or movement, but all she heard was the faint whir of the heating system. Still she did not budge. It could be a trick. Carlo could be out there in the darkened lounge, waiting for her to reveal her hiding place.
Inevitably, however, physical discomfort began to override hysteria. Lauren became aware of the cramping in her legs and it felt as though her hipbone were about to poke through her flesh where her side pressed against the back wall. It was also freezing, even though the heat was still on.
Lauren frowned, wondering how that could be. Then she realized that Carlo and his men had forgotten to close the window.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about that open window. It beckoned to her, teased her with the possibility of escape. The opening was small, but if she could somehow get up there she could squeeze through it, she was sure.
But if Carlo or one of his men was still out in the lounge they might hear her. Lauren gnawed at her lower lip. On the other hand, she couldn't stay hidden forever.
The debate went back and forth, but after a few moments she drew a deep breath and eased the cabinet door open, inch by inch.
Unfolding herself from the cramped space was excruciating, but finally she managed to roll out onto the cold tile floor onto her hands and knees. It took three tries to climb to her feet. Her muscles screamed in protest, and she had to clench her teeth to keep from moaning. She limped around the room several times, bending and stretching and twisting.
When the pain at last became bearable she peered through the darkness for something on which to stand. The only item in the room was the trash can beside the sink. Hip-high, it was made of metal and too heavy for her to lift, so she tipped it slightly and rolled it on its bottom edge to the window.
Glancing at the door every few seconds, Lauren grasped the windowsill, climbed up onto the can and stood with a foot braced on each side of the rim. When she threw one leg over the sill she lost a shoe and the can toppled out from under her. The crash against the tile floor set the cats in the alley to screeching and shot Lauren's adrenaline skyward.
She shimmied through the opening like a greased eel. She hit the ground hard, falling on all fours and scraping her palms and one knee, but she didn't feel the pain. Nor did she stop to find her shoe. Before the clatter in the rest room died away she lifted her long skirt and tore down the alley.
Two
Special Agent Sam Grey Wolf Rawlins knew something big was brewing the instant he walked into the office of the Senior Agent in Charge of the FBI's Denver Office, otherwise known as the SAC.
Harvey Weiss sat behind his desk fidgeting, while Sam's immediate boss, Charley Potter paced beside the window. Both men were puffing on cigarettes. So were Todd Berringer, David Owens and Roy O'Connor, the agents occupying three of the chairs arranged in a semicircle in front of Harvey's desk. Already a hazy blue cloud clung to the ceiling.
"Haven't any of you guys ever heard of lung cancer?"
Harvey looked up with a scowl. "It's about time you got here, Rawlins. Where the hell have you been?"
"Stuck behind a snowplow for the last thirty minutes. In case you haven't noticed, the storm dumped a foot of snow on Denver in the last few hours."
"If you didn't live up in that canyon in the middle of nowhere you'd be more accessible in situations like this." Harvey took in Sam's jeans and Stetson and scuffed cowboy boots, and his mouth pinched.
Sam ignored the comment and the look. If Harvey didn't like his living arrangements, tough. He couldn't survive in the city on a daily basis; he needed space to breathe. Anyway, he'd be damned if he was going to live in town just to make Harvey look good.
The SAC motioned toward the fourth chair in front of his desk. "We're wasting time. Take a seat."
Sam shrugged out of his parka and tossed it and his Stetson on the brass coatrack. "Thanks, but I'll stand. The air is cleaner over here." Leaning against the jamb of the open door, he fixed his gaze on the fresh cigarette Harvey was lighting off the butt of his last one.
Harvey squinted at him through the cloud of smoke he exhaled. "You nonsmokers are a pain in the ass. Besides, I don't know what you're complaining about. It was you Indians who introduced the white man to tobacco."
