“Just about?” he repeated.
“I do have standards.”
“Nice to know that I meet them.”
Not having a ready response, Angela swallowed hard.
This was one game she was no damn good at—making promises for favors, especially sexual ones, that she had no intention of fulfilling. Her style was straightforward. Normally, she shot from the hip and worried about consequences later.
She had to keep in mind that these weren’t normal circumstances.
And that going to prison would kill her.
Humiliated once again…her pride shattered…she might as well be dead.
Not having a suicidal bone in her body, however, Angela renewed her determination to finish what she’d started. With no faith in the justice system that had impoverished an innocent wife who’d had three kids to support while her husband served time, no trust in her fellow man except for her mother and siblings, she had no choice but to do whatever was necessary to save herself.
A lesson she’d learned all too young.
The Thunderbird drifted into the left lane, turned west, then sped away from the lake. And Angela suddenly awoke from her self-pitying stupor and realized where they were headed. The Hilton Hotel loomed before them on Michigan Avenue. Surely Kaminsky didn’t take her nebulous offer as an agreement…surely he didn’t mean to take her directly to the hotel to collect….
Holding her breath, Angela wondered how she was going to get herself out of this fix.
IT TOOK A LOT to leave Angela Dragon tongue-tied—Micah would give her that. Sliding the sunglasses back down to the bridge of his nose, he thanked the gods for the respite, temporary as it might be. He’d put his fatigue at bay to come after her, but his hold on energy was becoming more tenuous each moment he spent in the woman’s exhausting company.
She suddenly broke the tranquillity with a belligerent “I didn’t agree to anything yet.”
Was that a warning tone he caught in her words? “Who said you did?”
“So don’t get carried away.”
When he realized her attention was focused on the hotel ahead, he almost laughed out loud. He’d merely been trying to get to Angela with the remark about her being the price…though the concept had its merits. No question that she was beautiful. Sexy. Spirited. He’d bet she’d be as much of a dragon lady in bed as she was out. She’d never let him get any respite.
Dragonlady.
Though the description fit, he figured she wouldn’t see that. What’s more, she would probably be furious if she knew what he was thinking.
With knowledge came a grin that he couldn’t repress even as they shot across Michigan Avenue and put distance between themselves and the hotel. And he swallowed a grin at her smothered sigh of relief. Angela Dragon might be tough in most situations, but she hadn’t learned to protect her vulnerable middle. Now he had her number and, if necessary, would use the knowledge to his advantage.
“You never did give me a straight answer,” she said a few blocks later as Union Station came into view.
“About?”
“Whether or not you could be…persuaded…to let me finish what I came for.”
Tempted to continue the game, Micah chose to save his trump card. Besides, he needed his wits about him if he meant to get her on that train with a minimum of fuss.
“You’d be wasting your time,” he said instead.
“That’s not for you to say.”
“And you’d get yourself into hot water for sure.”
“Not if I’m careful.”
He gave her a look. “Like you were at the fashion show?”
“What could Mariscano have done to me with all those people around?”
At the reminder, he checked his mirrors, but as far as he could tell, the coast was clear. “I didn’t see anyone trying to stop me from hauling you off.”
“Put it down to unusual circumstances. People get light-headed about weddings.”
“And you don’t?”
“God forbid.”
She’d mumbled the last, making Micah wonder what she had against weddings, especially since she specialized in them. Maybe being in the business numbed her to the magic. From the privacy of his sunglasses he gave her a thorough once-over. She’d make one hell of a spectacle on her own wedding day, assuming anyone would ever be brave enough—or nuts enough—to take her on. Even disheveled and with her hair all mussed, she made his groin tighten.
“So what about it?” she pressed.
“I have a mission,” he finally said, “and you’re it.”
“You’re saying you can’t be bribed?”
“Let’s say letting you loose wouldn’t be in my best interests.”
She sank into a black silence, glaring out the side window. He could practically hear her mental wheels turning, but he hadn’t a clue what was going on in her head.
Nothing good for him, he was certain.
West of Canal, he pulled in to a Self-Park and prepared for a fight. Man, he didn’t need this. He didn’t have the heart for it—or the stamina. Energywise, he was running low. What he did need was more coffee to stay alert. Mainlining would be a good idea at this point. Truth be told, if only he had a choice, he’d dump Angela Dragon and leave her to her own devices. Maybe she’d earn those cement overshoes.
Even as he thought it, the notion bothered him more than it should.
“How about making a pact?” he suggested as he guided the car into an empty slot. “You come along quietly, and you won’t have any more aching body parts or bruises than you do now.”
“Is that a threat?”
He sighed. “Call it a prediction.”
He could see she was still working on some new scheme—her dark, almond-shaped eyes gave her away.
But she said, “I’m not partial to aches and bruises.”
Neither an agreement nor a denial.
Micah figured that was the closest to a promise that he could expect to wring out of her. He left the car and took a careful look around to make certain no one was paying them any mind.
Reassured, he opened the passenger door with a last plea for sanity. “Don’t make this any harder on either of us than it has to be.”
For whatever it took, he would bring her back to Nevada, even if he had to drag her by the hair, kicking and screaming. Having given his word, he had no choice.
But she seemed relaxed, asking, “What’s with the train station instead of the airport?”
He should have known she wouldn’t leave it be. They crossed the street, his fingers lightly hooked around her upper arm, his gaze sharp on the surrounding area.
“You have something against riding the rails?”
“It isn’t the fastest way anywhere.”
“But it is safe,” he countered.
She arched both eyebrows. “For whom?”
He twinged inside but didn’t let it show. “I’m not the one in trouble.”
“And no one’s chasing me but you.”
“Hopefully.”
“What do you mean, hopefully?” She stopped directly before the station doors while the few midday passengers circled them. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”
“Nothing specific. A gut feeling.” One that prompted him to look over his shoulder yet again. “I’d rather err on the side of caution.”
“Than what?”
Tempted to gag her already, Micah wondered how he would put up with Angela’s company long distance without doing her bodily harm. He swung open the old brass-and-glass door and propelled her through the opening toward the staircase. The station’s pale-marble-anddark-wood lobby was visible below. Suddenly she stopped. He thought she was being stubborn, but at second glance he saw that the damned dress was responsible. The tail end of the gown’s train was caught in another door.
What a pain!
Irritated, he glared down its length. “How do you get rid of that thing?”
“Don’t even think about
it!” Angela warned him. “Getting this gown back to Vida intact is my responsibility.” With her free hand, she gathered the material waterfalling behind her. “The door…”
Which was logistically impossible to reach unless he let go of her. “Promise to behave?”
“I always behave.”
Angela seemed thoroughly caught up in protecting the dress from further damage. On guard, Micah reluctantly released her arm. She didn’t try a thing…until he moved back to the entrance, hunched over, one hand on the door, the other arm extended, reaching…
Then she bolted, yanking hard. The train popped free with a spray of pearls and crystals rolling across the smooth floor. Micah grabbed at the fluttering material, but it sailed right through his fingers. And when he lunged to his feet to go after her, he slipped and slid as if he were trying to run on ball bearings. He landed on one knee even as Angela flew straight down the stairs.
Back on his feet, Micah rushed to the rail, quickly assessing the situation below. Only a few people noticed the runaway bride. A couple of boys in blue, whose backs were to them, headed for the commuter waiting rooms. If Angela caught their attention, asked the cops for help, what then? She wouldn’t do it, he assured himself grimly, racing down the stairs after her. That wouldn’t help her get what she wanted—other than being rid of him.
But if Angela lied about her identity, got the cops to believe he was stalking her, chances were he’d be behind bars within the hour.
Having vowed never to become personally acquainted with another jail cell, Micah found good use for the adrenaline pumping through him. He intercepted Angela at the bottom of the stairs. She tried to dodge him, but he caught her by the waist and spun her around, then pulled her body tight to his for an intimate face-to-face. A low sound of frustration flew from her lips and he thought she was opening her mouth to scream.
For a foolish second, he thought to kiss her quiet….
All traces of good humor having fled at the sight of the cops, however, Micah couldn’t work up any enthusiasm for the notion.
He grimly said, “If I were you, I’d think very carefully about my next move.”
Angela’s mouth snapped shut. She was heaving for breath, her full breasts pulsing against his chest, a situation troubling Micah despite his good sense. Heat rose in an uncomfortable direction, a fact he attempted to ignore.
He set the sunglasses atop his head so she could see he was deadly serious when he said, “You’re going back to Nevada. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. I was hoping for easy.”
“We don’t always get what we want.”
A brief glimpse past the assured exterior tugged at him. Something in her eyes…
Damn it all!
So maybe she was innocent. Probably was innocent. That wasn’t for him to worry about. He had a simple assignment: get the lady back where she belonged. Leave her to the justice system.
Smothering a sudden surge of empathy the latter thought caused him, he said, “Let’s go.”
His fingers fastening like a manacle around her wrist, Micah turned her toward the ticket counter at the same moment that he heard the ping of a silenced bullet striking the rail between them.
Chapter Three
Torn between fighting and screaming for help in spite of spotting a couple of cops, Angela reeled when Kaminsky used his leverage on her wrist to whip her around 180 degrees. He started dragging her back up the stairs so rapidly that the awkward weight and bulk of the wedding gown nearly tripped her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, battling the material.
“Trying to keep you alive!”
About to demand further explanation, she was startled into silence by a soft pop to her right. The unfamiliar sound brought the fine hairs along her arms to attention…her imagination connecting the echo to a bullet inscribed with her name.
“Kaminsky, what in the—?”
“Not now!” Propelling her in front of him, he shoved at her backside to keep the momentum going.
And her finely honed instincts for self-preservation kept her from arguing. Questions could wait. Heart pounding, Angela lifted her skirts with both hands and scrambled up the staircase faster than she’d descended.
Even so, she chanced a peek over her shoulder.
Below, staring in their direction, a man in a broadbrimmed hat and sunglasses casually rose from a highbacked wooden bench. An open newspaper half-hid his lower body.
And a gun equipped with a silencer?
Her adrenaline pumping, Angela fled to the upper landing and burst through the door to the street, where her nemesis once more grabbed her by the arm. As if she needed encouragement to keep moving! When she came to an unexpected halt because the door again slammed on the damned train—this time through no fault of her own—she nearly shrieked in frustration.
“That’s it!” Kaminsky griped.
Without ceremony, he seized the fabric directly behind her bottom and yanked. She winced at the tearing sound and silently vowed to make this up to Vida. After all, how important was a ruined wedding gown when compared with a possible trip to the morgue?
Free of the encumbrance, she moved with much less effort as they raced into the street, dodging cars as they crossed. A parking lot had never seemed so welcome.
Another glance back assured Angela the ruined train was proving to be multipurpose—a somewhat odd blessing in disguise. In coming after them, the suspiciouslooking man had exited the same door. His mistake. His feet tangling in the discarded yardage sent him into a crazy dance, and he unsuccessfully fought for balance.
Down he went.
“Yes!” Angela shouted breathlessly.
Up came his arm, a wicked-looking gun clutched in his hand.
Not needing to see more, she sprinted past Kaminsky, forcing him to pick up speed to stay even with her. If more bullets whizzed by them, she hadn’t a clue, since the blood rushing through her head was far too loud.
The afternoon sun glinting off its midnight blue finish, the Thunderbird appeared larger than life, a beacon of safety.
This time when the bounty hunter opened the passenger door, she voluntarily jumped in and rubbernecked for a view through the rear window. Gasping for breath, she observed the would-be assassin approach the street and wave.
A black limousine crept forward and slid to a stop at the curb beside him.
A series of beeps and the engine starting seemingly on its own astonished Angela from her watch. Kaminsky was opening the driver’s door. He jumped inside and threw the car into Reverse practically before he settled behind the wheel.
“Do you have a thing for gadgets in general or only the ones you can load on your car?”
She was still trying to catch her breath. Silence his only answer, he shifted and the coupe jumped forward, her heart rate zooming with it.
“In case you didn’t notice,” she informed him, now craning out the side window, “the bastard’s not alone in the car.”
“I noticed.”
The villains had the edge—their vehicle was circling the parking lot, heading for the only exit. It didn’t take a genius to realize the limo would cut off their escape route.
“What are we going to do now?” she asked.
He slammed on the brakes. She flew forward, catching the sun-crisped dash with both hands.
“Seat belt!”
As he threw the car in Reverse and backed down the aisle at a dizzying speed, Angela followed the grimly issued order. A cloud of doom threatened to smother her. If the man with the gun didn’t finish her off, this driving might.
“Did I tell you I get carsick?”
“Open the window before you throw up.”
“Nice, Kaminsky,” she muttered. “Did you learn that in Sensitivity 101?”
At the end of the aisle he shifted direction so fast that Angela doubted the car came to a full stop in between. And she was certain they lurched around the corner on only two wheels. Her stomach roiled. Sh
e swallowed hard and strained for sight of the limo.
“It’s gone!”
“Not exactly.” He sounded even more grim. “How do you feel about a little game of chicken?”
Turning in her seat, she gaped. From the other end of the lot, the limo was heading straight at them and they weren’t slowing down.
“Are you crazy?”
“My legacy from Insanity 102,” he agreed, his foot pressing the accelerator, the engine revving with a grumbling roar.
Angela’s life flashed before her eyes. Like a dark avenging angel, the limo was bearing down on them. She briefly contemplated jumping from the moving vehicle, but that would undoubtedly seal the lid on her coffin.
“Hang on, Dragonlady!”
Holding her breath, she white-knuckled the dash and prayed.
Before them, the limousine braked and bucked at the same time Kaminsky muscled the car into a right turn.
Ahead, at the other end of the aisle, a half space gaped between two cars parked on the outside perimeter of the unfenced lot. Behind them, the limo was already following.
And inside herself, she was trying not to panic, though her sense of doom was multiplying in scary proportions.
Mesmerized by the abbreviated opening that seemed far too tight for even a smaller vehicle, she was certain he meant to plow right through.
“Anything you want to get off your conscience before you meet your Maker?” she asked him.
“No. How about you?”
He barely slowed down.
Angela sucked in her breath, as if doing so would magically shrink the Thunderbird. Her mental sorcery worked—they managed to shoot through the gap without so much as a scrape of metal on metal. They charged out of the lot, over the sidewalk and straight off the high curb. When the wheels slammed into the pavement with a clatter of worn metal parts, Angela’s head snapped back and her teeth nicked the side of her cheek.
Blood pooled in her mouth, the bitter taste and the sting of raw flesh assuring her she was still alive.
A bit of fancy maneuvering on Kaminsky’s part avoided a collision with several moving vehicles. Around them, brakes screeched and horns blared in protest. If he noticed, Kaminsky didn’t seem the least
Before The Fall Page 4
