Covert Cowboy

by Harper Allen

  “Burke set me up and you were part of it, damn you! I thought I made it clear the last time I saw you that nobody plays me for a fool and gets away with it, but it looks like you need another lesson. Move!”

  Even as Corso grunted out the furious command he released her. Marilyn stumbled, and before she could securely regain her balance she saw his hand blurring toward her.

  She tried to dodge the blow. It caught her high on one cheekbone, with a heavy, smashing force that couldn’t have come from his fist alone. She fell to her knees on the concrete floor.

  Pain, like the jaws of some terrible beast, seemed to take her in its jaws and crush violently down. The first wave rippled all through her body, and then a second, greater wave of pain seemed to race back until it was concentrated once more on the place where he’d hit her. Marilyn’s hand flew to her cheekbone. It came away dotted with blood.

  “Ever been pistol-whipped, Ice Queen?”

  Tony’s voice was thick with rage—rage, she noted fearfully, and a sickeningly obvious arousal. Her skin felt suddenly as if there were dozens of loathsome bugs crawling over it, and she fought against the nausea that rose in her.

  “Please—” She gasped the entreaty out. “My baby. You can’t want to do this to a pregnant woman, Ton—”

  “Burke’s unborn brat?” Corso reached down impatiently. He jerked her to her feet. “You don’t think that’s a freakin’ bonus, as far as I’m concerned? My car’s over there. You and I are going for a little joyride, Marilyn.”

  He shoved her in front of him, and this time she kept her balance. Tony jerked his head toward a corner of the garage and she turned her stumbling steps in that direction.

  As soon as he got her into his car her and her baby’s chances of survival would take a sharp downward turn, she thought in terror. She had to stall for time and pray that Con was already on his way down here.

  “What—what does Helio intend to do with the virus you stole from M & G?” she asked shakily, risking a quick glance over her shoulder at him. She saw the flicker of disconcertion that passed over his fleshy features and pressed her advantage. “He’s going to release it just before the election, isn’t he? That’s mass murder, for God’s—”

  “Shut up.” Unlike his previous command, this one held an edge of angry desperation. “There’s nothing to prove I was responsible for the theft of that stock and even if there was, once I handed it over my part in this was finished. I don’t know what it’s going to be used for. I don’t want to know.”

  “That defence isn’t going to get you off at trial.” They’d reached his car. Marilyn turned to face him, her back against the vehicle. “And they are going to catch you and put you on trial, Tony—don’t you see that? You’ll be considered an accessory to terrorism. The authorities will never stop looking for you.”

  “Then I’ll just have to start covering my tracks as of now, won’t I?”

  She’d pushed him too far, Marilyn realized, dread slicing through her as she saw his face contort in fury and the gun in his hand start to come up. Her frantic gaze swung past him, hoping against hope to see—

  “Con!”

  Even as she saw him burst through the service door from the stairs near the elevator, gun in hand and his features so grimly carved they were almost unrecognizable, in front of her Tony spun around, his finger tightening on the trigger of his own gun.

  “Get down, ch—”

  As Marilyn fell to her knees the rest of Con’s hoarse shout was obliterated by the explosion that echoed deafeningly through the underground garage—the double explosion, she realized a heart-stopping moment later. She saw Tony slam backward against his car in the very spot where she’d just been standing, saw the still-smoking gun fly from his hand to clatter across the concrete, saw but at first didn’t fully comprehend the meaning of the red smear on the white paintwork of his vehicle as his body slid slowly and gracelessly sideways.

  With shocking abruptness, he suddenly fell the last few feet onto the oil-stained concrete. Only then did she realize he was dead.

  “Cher’! Cher’, are you hurt?” Con’s arms were around her, his embrace crushing. Almost immediately he put her slightly away from him, and his strained eyes searched her face. Devastation shattered his gaze. “Your face, heart.” His voice was a rasp. “He hit you, damn him. We’ve got to get you to the hosp—”

  “So Tony won’t be beating up on women anymore. I’m glad about that.”

  The toneless comment came from a woman standing a few feet away. As Con lifted Marilyn to her feet and moved so that the front of the white car blocked her view of Tony’s lifeless body, Crystal gave her former companion one last glance.

  “He was a sadistic bastard. I think he hated women.” She shrugged emotionlessly. “Maybe because he saw them as a reminder that he wasn’t fully a man, to his way of thinking, but all I care about is that I don’t have to be afraid of him anymore.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The blonde’s shoulders lifted. “The son-of-a-bitch shot blanks, honey. He couldn’t have kids. He saw that as being less than a man.” Her laugh was bitter. “It didn’t occur to him that hitting women was what made him that.”

  She walked away and Marilyn didn’t stop her. She turned to Con in agitation. “That means he couldn’t have been Sky’s—”

  “I nearly lost you.” His interruption was harsh. “Dammit, cher’, I nearly got you killed.”

  His tone was sharp with self-accusation, but her attention was fixed on something else. Her eyes darkened in horror as she saw the stain of crimson on his shirt, half-hidden under his jacket.

  “Con, you’re bleeding!” She recalled the sound of the double explosion, and her voice rose. “He shot you, Con. How bad is it?” Her trembling fingers tried to push aside his jacket, but he caught her hand with his.

  “Flesh wound,” he said tightly. “It should have been straight through my heart, for allowing you to be put in danger tonight, che—”

  He didn’t complete the familiar endearment. His jaw clenched. At the back of his eyes Marilyn saw something flicker and die.

  “Like you said, I don’t have the right to call you that anymore,” he said leadenly. “Maybe I never did. I’m calling Colleen Wellesley and telling her to send a bodyguard from ICU over here immediately.”

  He released her hand and took a step away from her. “I came down here with my mind made up to walk away from this case like you wanted me to, heart.” His smile was bereft. “You were right—I can’t go after DeMarco and still hold on to you. But now I realize I’d rather lose you than live with the possibility he might come after you to revenge himself on me for Tony’s death.”

  He reached out and touched her hair. His hand fell to his side.

  “I let myself hope this wasn’t the way the cards were going to play out, sugar,” he said softly. “But I think I knew from the start I wouldn’t walk away a winner from this one.”

  THE MORNING after Con had walked out of her life the bruise on her cheek had bloomed into an ugly saffron-and-purple swelling that had seemed to take up half of her face. Marilyn looked into the mirror. It had been four days now and the swelling had disappeared, as had most of the livid purple, although there was still a large, sallow mark where Tony had hit her with the butt of his gun.

  She could touch her cheek now without flinching, but the pain in her heart was still as fresh as it had been that night. Today was the day she was going to do something about that.

  If she could shake Lexy Kanin, the ICU agent assigned to watch over her, she told herself in frustration as she walked out of the bathroom.

  “Nearly ready, Mair?”

  Lexy was the type who shortened names. She was a hearty, husky young woman of about twenty-five, and although undoubtedly extremely qualified for her job with ICU, her personality was like one long fingernail-scratch down a blackboard, Marilyn thought tiredly. The woman alternately behaved as if Marilyn was a none-too-intelligent child who’d been
entrusted into her care, or brightly expressed admiration for the fact that she’d risked pregnancy at her age.

  “Just about.” Marilyn stifled her annoyance as Lexy followed her into her bedroom. “I hope this doesn’t seem terribly frivolous to you, but I have to get out of the apartment today,” she went on, collecting her jacket from the bed and putting it on. It was a below hip-length black boucle, cut in a swing style and with roomy slash pockets. She’d chosen it last night as being the best suited for her mission today.

  “An afternoon of window-shopping?” Lexy wrinkled her freckled nose. “I pretty much live in slacks and shirts myself, but I usually have a pretty good idea of what looks good on my friends. Who knows, I might just save you from walking out with something that doesn’t suit you.”

  She gave a jolly laugh. “Like those boots you’re wearing,” she pointed out kindly. “I guess they’re in fashion right now, but how practical are they, with those teetery little heels?”

  Marilyn counted to ten. “You’re probably right,” she said with assumed mildness when she trusted herself to speak. She slipped off the kitten-heeled Italian ankle boots, replacing them with a chunky pair of flat zip-ups she’d never liked. “Heavens, if you and I were in a foot-race I’d come off a pretty poor second wearing those, wouldn’t I?”

  She forced herself to add her own peel of laughter to Lexy’s hearty amusement, but as they left the apartment and drove to the Tabor Center, she closed her ears to the other woman’s steady stream of conversation, her mind racing.

  He’d said he’d decided to walk away from the case. Recalling Con’s words, her heart gave the same foolish little somersault of joy it had performed that night in the garage, and then began the same downward plunge it had taken at his following sentence.

  “I’d rather lose you than live with the possibility he might come after you to revenge himself on me for Tony’s death….”

  None of her arguments had been able to sway him, Marilyn remembered unhappily—not her insistence that Colorado Confidential would eventually find DeMarco and put him behind bars, nor her desperate assertion that she would take every precaution, follow any rule he and ColCon might deem prudent to ensure a situation like the one that had just taken place with Tony could never happen again.

  “You don’t know him,” Con had answered, his tone splintered. “I don’t think Wellesley’s crew even realize just how far he’ll go to accomplish what he wants. Remember I told you he was like a gator?”

  She’d nodded, and he’d gone on. “I saw one once that was said to have killed at least three men. It was the prime attraction in a little swampside private zoo some smart Cajun had rigged up next to his gas station. That gator’s eyes had the same cold, dead look in them that DeMarco’s have. If he has to bide his time for five years or ten years, he will, but one day he might decide to come after you, and I just can’t let that happen.”

  She hadn’t had a chance to tell him her greatest fear—that Helio’s cold eyes would more likely be fixed on the man who had actually killed his nephew than the woman who’d been incidental to the occurrence. She’d lain awake for hours that night, coming up with and discarding a dozen insane schemes to bring Helio to justice without involving Con.

  Her only hope had been that Colleen Wellesley would remove him from the case, but Lexy had dashed that possibility when she’d confided that the upcoming election had Colleen’s manpower strained to the limit. Heart-sick and fresh out of ideas, she’d been close to the breaking point when she had discovered the cell phone in her purse.

  She’d realized immediately that it wasn’t hers. It had taken a second’s further puzzled thought to figure out that it had to have been Tony’s, fallen from his jacket as he’d been shot and picked up in error by herself along with the spilled contents of her purse before she’d left the garage.

  She’d set it aside without interest, intending to inform Lexy about her discovery, but then an idea had struck her and she’d hurriedly grabbed the phone up again.

  He hadn’t been listed under “Helio” on the speed-dial feature, nor under “DeMarco” or even—by then she’d been clutching at straws—“uncle.” But when in frustration she’d scanned every listing and found an unidentifiable number under the letter X, she’d known with a little chill of excitement that it had to be the one she wanted. Before her suddenly failing courage could desert her completely, her trembling fingers had punched in the number.

  That conversation had been brief. The one she’d made immediately after had been longer, and at first more frustrating.

  Con had said that ninety-nine percent of the Denver police force was trustworthy, Marilyn recalled now as Lexy, still talking without seeming to require much in the way of a response from her, nosed the car into a parking slot on the upper level of the mall’s garage. She’d been determined not to tell her story to one of the few who might be in DeMarco’s pay, so she’d insisted on speaking with a higher-echelon officer. Only when she’d used the Langworthy name had she been transferred to a man who’d impatiently identified himself as Captain Breen and crisply asked her what she wanted.

  His impatience had dissipated with her first few sentences. His crispness had taken longer to fade.

  “From the start we’ve been shouldered aside in this investigation by the feds,” he’d grunted. “Corso’s shooting was on our turf, and yet the U.S. Marshalls—the Marshalls, for God’s sake—were on the crime scene by the time I got there. I’m gratified at least one member of the public has come to us for help, Ms. Langworthy.”

  His tone had become thoughtful. “Here’s how I want to set this up. You’ll be fitted with a wire, naturally—that can be done just prior to your meet with DeMarco, and with it we can monitor the situation as it develops. If at any time we suspect there’s any imminent risk to you, of course, we’ll cut the operation short and get you out of there.”

  Breen had been more than willing to agree with her stipulation that the Marshalls—Con in particular—not be notified. Marilyn had realized his ready agreement stemmed more from his already-stated grievance over jurisdiction than any real desire to go along with her wishes, but as long as there was no chance of Con learning of her plan and putting a stop to it she didn’t care what Breen’s motives were.

  He’ll find out eventually, she told herself as she and Lexy entered the newly renovated Tabor Center mall and headed for the escalators. And he’s going to be furious with me. But when he realizes that I did it for us—for our future together—he’ll just have to see that it was all for the best.

  “I hope,” she muttered worriedly, stepping off the escalator and glancing at her watch.

  “You hope what?” Beside her Lexy’s unplucked brows arched curiously.

  “I hope there’s a washroom nearby,” Marilyn lied quickly. She gave the younger woman a rueful smile. “I guess you’re beginning to know me well enough by now to realize that’s never too far from my mind these days.”

  “Oh.” Lexy looked away, but not before Marilyn saw dull red mottle her complexion. “Well, if you need to find one right away I suppose we should check the mall directory.”

  She’d been counting on the ICU agent’s obvious embarrassment at anything remotely connected with the human plumbing system, Marilyn admitted to herself with a twinge of compunction. She had to give her bodyguard the slip to meet up with Breen. When they’d agreed that the Tabor mall, with its walk-through access to the hotel adjoining it, would serve as Marilyn’s rendezvous with the officers assigned to provide her with the wire she was to wear, this plan had immediately presented itself to her. But even Lexy’s shyness on the subject hadn’t prevented her from taking up her post outside a public ladies’ room on a previous outing. Something more was called for, Marilyn knew.

  And that something more would be my acting skills, she thought nervously. I’m no Meryl Streep but here goes, anyway.

  “No time for that.” She injected a note of desperate urgency into her voice and began making a beeli
ne for the nearest store. “I’ll ask if I can use the facilities here.”

  She saw Lexy’s flush turn a deeper red, and went on heartlessly. “If they try to tell me it’s just for staff use I’m going to make a scene, darn it. I’m sure if I kick up enough of a fuss they’ll give in.”

  “I’ll wait here, Mair.” The other woman cast a quickly professional eye at the glass storefront only feet away. “I’ll be able to see you as soon as you come out.”

  There’d been a plan B, just in case Lexy had overcome her squeamishness enough to accompany her, Marilyn thought as she sped into the store. But since plan A had worked, now all she had to do was to put the second part of it into motion.

  “Hi, Giselle.” The chic dark-haired young saleswoman who was already approaching her smiled with pleasure and recognition—as well she might, Marilyn thought, since up until three months ago she’d been one of the boutique’s best customers. “Giselle, I’ve got a problem.”

  “You need a dress for a function tonight?” Dark eyes looked dubiously at her figure. “I don’t think I have anything—”

  “No, I know Cavalli doesn’t design maternity clothes, Giselle.” Marilyn made a discreet gesture at the mall walkway where Lexy, arms folded and feet planted apart, was waiting like a security guard. “I’ve run into a friend of my half sister, Holly’s, and the woman’s the most crashing bore. She’s ruining my shopping day, and she hasn’t taken any of my hints that I don’t want her company. There’s a back passageway for store deliveries, isn’t there?”

  “Of course.” Giselle’s perfect nose wrinkled. “My God, she dresses like a lumberjack,” she said in distaste. “Follow me.”

  By now Lexy would be wondering what was taking her so long, Marilyn thought a few minutes later as she sped down the softly carpeted hotel hallway, her heart pounding. But if she’d gauged the agent’s reactions correctly, her ruse hadn’t been discovered yet.