Before The Fall

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Daddy,” DeeDee whispered frantically, “you didn’t get this one pregnant, did you?”

  “Of course not, baby,” he reassured her, patting her hand. With a steely expression aimed at Angela, he said, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  “Then neither am L” Angela raised the volume a notch, hoping the possibility of embarrassing his daughter would make Mariscano fold.

  “Oh, yes, you are,” came a deep-timbred voice as a large hand gripped her upper arm and spun her around.

  Angela widened her eyes the second they connected with the mirrored sunglasses topping her by several inches. “You!” she gasped. Another of Mariscano’s bodyguards?

  “C’mon.” He tugged on her arm. “Don’t make a scene or you’ll be sorry.”

  The threat fueled Angela’s easily ignited temper. She wasn’t about to go anywhere with him. Digging in, she ordered, “Take your hand off my arm!”

  “Okay.”

  But no sooner did he release his firm grip than he dipped his head and butted his right shoulder into her solar plexus, knocking the breath out of her. His arms wrapped around the back of her legs and he straightened. In a flash, her world turned upside down.

  Using a fireman’s carry, the stranger hauled her away from the stage.

  Chapter Two

  Angela was so stunned at his audacity that for a moment she couldn’t react. The blackguard had her halfway toward the exit before she demanded, “Put me down!” and, for emphasis, whacked him in the middle of the back.

  “I wouldn’t do that again,” he warned.

  Angela took the challenge. She whacked him a second time, then went speechless when he responded in kind, her derriere being his target. Considering how strong he was—she was definitely no lightweight, and, besides, she’d noted his impressive musculature in the lobby earlier—she was thankful for the protective padding provided by the full bustle.

  Determined to free herself before he could get her alone, she struggled, but the elaborate wedding dress held her nearly as fast as his arms. If she could only get down to her feet, she could handle herself using what she’d learned in her college self-defense class. Of course, more than a decade had since slipped by, but she was confident the moves would all come back to her. It would be just like riding a bicycle—no one ever forgot how to do that. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t budge him.

  Adding insult to injury, people on both sides of the aisle found her predicament amusing. Nervous coughs and snickers set her further on edge. Undoubtedly, they assumed this travesty was all part of the fashion show.

  “Someone help me!” she demanded, lifting her head and glaring through the double layer of veil that had flopped over her face. “I don’t even know this man!” When someone laughed outright, she flushed with humiliation. “Go ahead and amuse yourselves. For all you know, he could be a killer!” The words flew from her lips unbidden.

  Titters followed them straight out the door.

  And still he didn’t let her down.

  Rather than turning toward the lobby, he headed in the opposite direction, away from the crowd. Killer echoed through her mind. What if he was? A few people lingered in the hallway. Surely someone would take her seriously. But when she pleaded for help next, a trio of women merely stared openmouthed. And farther along, a grandfatherly type issued encouragement to her abductor.

  “That’s it, bucko,” he called after them with a chuckle. “Show her who’s boss before the wedding.”

  “This is no joke!” she shouted, only to see the bozo nearly collapse with laughter.

  That’s when she noticed they were exiting through a rear door meant for use by the trades. They were in a stairwell, and her captor was shooting down the metal steps. Realizing this was a great place to commit murder without anyone being the wiser, Angela tried not to panic. Surely if Joey Mariscano had wanted her dead, he would have hired someone in Nevada to rub her out rather than set her up.

  But that was before she’d made a scene in front of his precious DeeDee….

  Spotting an exposed pipe, she latched on to it and hung on for dear life. Her abductor merely paused, grunted and put extra might into his next step.

  Angela yelped when her hands ripped free. Her fingers burned as if he’d set them on fire. And, pummeled by his shoulder, her stomach ached. Hanging topsy-turvy while descending the stairs generated a queasy sensation and a light head. She was not in top form.

  “You’d better put me down before I throw up all over you,” she threatened.

  “You do, and I’ll put you down, all right. I’ll drop you on your head.”

  Uttering a raw sound of frustration, Angela went for his head, the automatic response reminiscent of childhood fights with Benedict. Both hands filled with her abductor’s hair, she pulled as hard as she could…considering her awkward position and the hindrance caused by the wedding dress and too-tight corset beneath. She’d tear his damn hair out by the roots if she could!

  All she got for her valiant effort was a low grunt. Having reached the next landing, he opened the door to the outside. She let go. Several strands of golden brown hair clung to her fingers. She shook them away in distaste.

  Once more, Angela tried to save herself by hooking on to the edge of the steel panel. An ineffectual effort. Even as her hands popped free, a breeze fluttered the lace veil into the door’s hardware. Though she heard a slight tearing sound, the material held fast. Her abductor kept going, and she imagined her own hair being ripped from her scalp.

  “Wait a minute. Stop! Ouch!” she shrieked, the veil finally freeing itself from her head, a dark curl still attached to the lace via a bobby pin. “Oh, my God, my hair!” Frantically she searched for the bare patch as he swung around for a look.

  Then he snorted. “Serves you right for trying to pull out mine.”

  Damn him! He loses a few strands of hair and for that she’s rewarded with a bald spot. Actually, the area was half the size of a dime, but it felt like a crater to her trembling fingers. Seeing-red angry, she sought revenge.

  For the next hundred feet or so, she used every point of attack she could think of to free herself. She kicked at him, but his grip around her thighs was so tight she couldn’t get enough leverage to make more than surface contact. When she clawed at his back, he wormed around as if she were scratching an itch for him. She aimed for his face, but he caught her already abused fingers firmly between his teeth.

  Clenching her jaw so she wouldn’t cry out, Angela waited for the pain. When none came, she shrewdly pulled her hand away.

  “Are you done?” he asked so calmly that she wanted to scream.

  “Are you? If so, you can release me.” She waited a beat and asked, “What are your plans for me?”

  He chose not to answer, making her very, very nervous.

  Maybe Mariscano had had a change of heart and wanted her dead.

  She gazed around at the sea of cars for other people. Not everyone would take her abduction as a joke. But the parking lot was free of pedestrians, and her hopes for outside assistance shattered. As usual, she had to rely on herself. She took a big, calming breath and tried to dredge up some of those self-defense techniques. The blackguard would have to set her down eventually, and she wanted to be ready to take him on.

  Suddenly he stopped.

  Not having counted on her head going light when he righted her, a disoriented Angela swayed and fought to find her bearings. She had hardly got a glimpse of the midnight blue car—the same dark vehicle that had been following her, no doubt—when he propelled her inside.

  Landing in the lumpy passenger seat of the old Thunderbird, she protested, “Oh, no, you don’t!”

  “I already have.”

  She tried to make a break, but her legs tangled in the yards and yards of her skirt. The rusty bottom of the door slammed on the train, leaving a trail of material outside the car. Horrified, she gaped, but quickly found her wits. While her abductor jogged around to the other side, she grabbed the
door handle. The latch lifted but nothing happened.

  He slid into the driver’s seat. “Try all you want. You won’t get out unless I release your lock.”

  “What? You do this sort of thing frequently enough to have the equipment modified?”

  “Let’s say I appreciate all aspects of security.” He started the engine. “Buckle up.”

  Knowing she was stuck, Angela pulled the belt across her chest and fastened it. Force hadn’t freed her. Maybe calm logic would.

  If he responded to logic. He wasn’t like any man she’d ever known. He seemed uncivilized yet absolutely focused. Intense and a little scary.

  She stole a sideways glance, noting that everything about him seemed larger than life. Her gaze slid from shoulders to arms to the hands gripping the steering wheel. The hands presented a puzzling contradiction in and of themselves. While they appeared as powerful as the rest of him, the fingers were long and tapered like the tools of a musician or an artist rather than those of a thug or killer.

  Then again, the man himself presented yet another puzzling contradiction. He didn’t come off as unintelligent…or as someone who would take orders without question. Not like his counterpart Adolpho.

  Try logic, definitely, she told herself, and said, “Mariscano’s overreacting.”

  “To what?”

  “To my simply wanting to talk to him.”

  He pulled out of the parking space and headed the vehicle toward the exit. “Talk? You were ordering him around. Seems to come naturally to you.”

  Angela swallowed hard and told herself to keep her temper in check. “He wasn’t taking my request seriously.” She put on an ingenuous face. “He’ll regret this later, so it doesn’t make sense to act rashly now. I didn’t mean him any harm,” she fibbed. Unless she was mistaken about Mariscano’s involvement, she meant to see the crooked businessman’s butt behind bars, and he would definitely consider a stretch in the pen a threat to his mental health. “Really.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, if you say so.”

  “Then you’ll let me go?”

  “Nope.”

  “Why not? Where are you taking me? What are you going to do to me? Did Mariscano give you orders to fit me with a pair of cement overshoes?”

  She shot her questions at him in rapid fire without bothering to hide her sarcasm.

  His mirrored gaze traveled over her. Slowly.

  “Cement shoes wouldn’t go with the party dress.”

  For a moment his biting return stiffened Angela’s spine. Then she realized she was in hot water for yet another infraction.

  The bridal gown!

  Angela glanced down to where the train was caught in the door. “Oh, my god, Vida will have a fit if she doesn’t get this back. I hope it isn’t ruined.” She could imagine the delicate material shredding as it swept the street. “Do you have any idea what this designer original is worth?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “More than you’re making for whatever it is you plan to do with me.”

  As he turned the car onto Lake Shore Drive, he said, “I’m making sure you get back to Las Vegas.”

  “Pardon me?” After the way he’d manhandled her, she could hardly believe he didn’t have more dastardly plans in mind. “That’s all Mariscano asked you to do? To see that I get on a plane headed for home?”

  “A train.”

  “Train?” she echoed, suddenly puzzled.

  “And I’m escorting you all the way.”

  The thought of remaining in the brute’s company for however long it took to get cross-country—at least a whole day, she was certain—was unsettling. “I don’t get it.”

  “Seems there’s a lot you don’t get,” he said wryly. “I’m not a hit man. And I would never work for the likes of Joey Mariscano.”

  The last stopped her cold. So she’d been wrong, but what else was she to have assumed? Who then had sent him chasing after her? The person who’d set her up…as in someone other than Mariscano? Angela wondered if she could worm the information out of him.

  “So what’s your interest?” she asked.

  “You skipped a state line.”

  The unexpected answer startled her. She pulled a face. “You’re a bounty hunter?”

  “Micah Kaminsky,” he said, with a tip of his head.

  Great! Now she was in big trouble. The law was involved.

  How had this happened? she wondered as they raced along Lake Michigan, museums straight ahead reaching out into the waters. Who’d figured out where she was headed? And for that matter, how could anyone have known for certain that she’d skipped out of town?

  Someone must have been keeping an eye on her.

  And she would be in trouble whenever she returned. It wouldn’t be now, though, not without putting up a fight. She was sticking with her Mariscano theory, and Mariscano was here. Physically exhausted, however, she didn’t see how she could win any struggle against Kaminsky’s strength.

  Angela stared openly at the bounty hunter’s Eastern European profile, especially the pronounced nose, slightly flattened cheeks and strong jawline. Under other circumstances, she might think him mildly attractive rather than brutish. But he was her captor, she reminded herself. Her jailer.

  Back to business—scrutinizing him for some sign of weakness.

  At first sight in the lobby, she’d thought him sleep rumpled. Closer inspection prompted a reevaluation. Beneath the beard stubble his face was drawn, especially at the corners of the wide mouth that framed so many annoying comments. He appeared tired. Exhausted, even. If so, he couldn’t be all that sharp mentally.

  Maybe she could convince him to delay their departure…tire him out even more…watch for him to let down his guard…then escape.

  Angela stared out at the lake longingly. If only she were skimming the surface on one of those boats whose sails filled with the wind. For that matter, a speedboat would do. Or any form of transportation that would take her as far away from Micah Kaminsky as was possible.

  “Would it make any difference if I told you I was innocent?” she asked.

  “That’s the beauty of our legal system—everyone’s innocent until proven guilty.”

  “And that’s what I’m trying to prevent from happening. Being found guilty.” She burned her gaze into him. “Someone set me up, most likely Joey Mariscano.”

  “And you simply wanted to talk to him about it.”

  “Exactly.”

  They were delayed by a red light. He turned toward her and gave her a pitying look. At least, she thought so—the sunglasses were still intact.

  “You figure some crook would spill his guts because a gorgeous woman bats her eyes at him?”

  “I never said it would be that easy. And I don’t eyebat,” she informed him, not deaf to the reference about her being gorgeous.

  She’d never stooped to using feminine wiles to get anything she wanted, either in her professional or in her personal life, and she wasn’t about to break that sterling record.

  “With a little quality time,” she continued, “I might have been able to get the truth out of him. I still might if I were free to take a stab at it.”

  “Right. And Mariscano would willingly turn himself in to the authorities to clear your name.”

  Having been so focused on wringing a confession out of the crook, she hadn’t planned her next step. But if she could only get confirmation that Mariscano wanted to take her down because she wouldn’t cooperate in his slimy deal, she’d find a way to prove it to the authorities.

  “I know you have a job to do, but try to see things from my perspective,” she said. “This might be my only chance to prove my innocence.”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  “I could make it your problem…rather…worth your while.”

  He slid the sunglasses into his hair and narrowed his gaze at her. Blue. Kaminsky’s eyes were piercing blue. Angela was mesmerized for a tiny moment…

  Until he asked, “Oh, yeah?
How much?”

  She blinked and took a deep breath to ease a vague sense of disappointment. “More than the reward for turning me in. How much would it take?”

  “What makes you think I can be bought?”

  Truth be known, life had taught her that almost anyone could be. “Name your price.”

  “What if it’s too high?”

  Money was certainly no object. “Try me.”

  “What if that’s my price…you?”

  Not expecting a solicitation for personal favors, she swallowed her immediate urge to tell him what he could do with himself. Betraying her true reaction wouldn’t earn her any Brownie points, and the last thing she needed was to put Kaminsky on the defensive. Then for sure he’d railroad her straight back to the authorities.

  But was he serious?

  Was this really a come-on?

  Inexplicably, a bizarre thrill shot through her, making her belly flutter and her throat tighten. Angela told herself that her physical reaction was one of revulsion added to a healthy dose of fear. And that she sincerely hoped the bounty hunter was merely playing games with her.

  For some reason, she couldn’t read Micah Kaminsky as easily as she could most men.

  Then again, she dealt with professionals on a daily basis. Men who got by on their brains instead of brawn. A logical choice after rejecting her father and everything that reminded her of the old way of life.

  The light turned green and he applied his concentration to the traffic that was moving again.

  Playing for time, Angela forced herself to say, “Uh, as to your price for helping me…perhaps we could work something out.”

  Her heart was pounding. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t even give a man like Kaminsky the time of day. No way would she actually sleep with him. But he didn’t have to know that.

  “I thought you didn’t eye-bat.”

  “I don’t.” The tight knot at the back of her throat made it difficult to sound natural. “And you weren’t even looking at me, anyway, so how would you know?”

  “I’ve got ears. That was some pretty clear verbal eyebatting if I ever heard it.”

  “So what if it was?” she returned. She quickly reminded him, “I am innocent. And I’d do just about anything to keep from going to prison.”