Before The Fall

by Patricia Rosemoor

  unnerved. He kept going. Within seconds they were cruising right along with the westbound traffic.

  Breathing more easily, she checked on the villains’ progress. As its driver attempted to follow their lead, the limo crunched into one of the parked cars and stopped dead.

  “Game point,” she murmured.

  “At least for the moment.”

  Not about to comment on his pessimism, Angela let go of the dash and sank back into her squeaky seat, her body feeling as though she’d run a four-minute mile. Her abductor, on the other hand, appeared as cool as a cucumber…right in his element. Could be he’d done some time driving race cars. Or taxis. In her opinion, being a passenger in either could prove to be an equally risky business.

  “So, how long have you had a death wish?”

  “You’re alive, aren’t you?”

  Angela couldn’t argue with that. But her adrenaline was pumping. Her thoughts were congealing. And she was beginning to wonder…

  “Who was that guy after, anyway? Me? Or you?”

  “I haven’t made any enemies lately.”

  “Meaning you have at some time or other.” Maybe she had made a mistake as to the assassin’s intentions. She seized on the possibility. “Then he could be someone from your past. An old bounty you turned in come back to get revenge.”

  “If you believe that, you’re fooling yourself.”

  His matter-of-fact tone discouraged debate, and yet she couldn’t let it go. “But why would anyone want me dead?”

  “Gosh, I don’t know.” He didn’t try to hide the bite in his words. “Let’s think about that. It couldn’t have to do with your subtlety.”

  Realizing she’d had similar thoughts while being hauled out of the exposition center, she asked, “You think someone like Joey Mariscano would order a hit because I interrupted his date with his daughter?”

  “Unless it’s someone else you annoyed by getting on his nerves with your incessant arguments.”

  His pointed expression rankled.

  “I’d say you have that one locked, Kaminsky. If you hadn’t come along and grabbed me out of that fashion show—”

  “You might be dead now.”

  Unwilling to admit the bounty hunter might have saved her neck, Angela stayed on the attack.

  “You’re the one who insisted the train would be safer than a plane. Why is that? If you’re so hot to get me back to Las Vegas to claim the reward on my head, I would think you’d want to move fast.”

  His “I was trying to throw them off the scent” didn’t convince her.

  “Throw who? Mariscano’s thugs? How would you have known about them? How could you have guessed what I was going to do ahead of time? And how did anyone figure I’d skipped the state in the first place?”

  “You were being watched.”

  “By whom?”

  To her frustration, he went tight-lipped.

  Meaning to pursue that line of questioning, she was distracted by his edging the car into the right lane that led directly onto the expressway. Could he be heading for the airport, after all?

  Her immediate fate uppermost in her mind, she asked, “And what do you plan to do now?”

  “Drive.”

  They zoomed down the ramp faster than necessary and zipped across two lanes.

  “Where to? The airport? Another train station? The garbage dump?” When he didn’t say, the worst-case scenario popped into her mind. “Not across country!”

  As if being indicted and shot at weren’t bad enough. The thought of spending two or three days in this man’s company horrified her.

  “If so, we’re heading north,” she informed him, trying to keep her blood pressure from rising. “The wrong direction.”

  “Exactly.”

  Angela told herself to stay calm, but it was nearly impossible. With a single word he’d confirmed her worst nightmare. Her life was spinning out of her control, and she couldn’t seem to do a damn thing about it. The last time she’d felt so helpless had been the day her father had been incarcerated….

  She’d been a teenager then, Angela reminded herself. Hardly more than a kid. The experience had been traumatic, but it had built character. She was proud of the woman she’d become. And she was perfectly capable of taking back her life. Now that she could do so calmly, she quickly assessed her situation.

  Rather than trying to get answers out of the uncooperative bounty hunter, she needed to concentrate on using him…then losing him.

  “Mariscano’s place is north,” she stated as they passed the split that would take them out to the airport.

  “So?”

  Wondering if he was thinking on like lines, she said, “So, if we get inside, maybe we can find something to prove that he set me up.”

  “That’s not my concern.”

  “Well, it’s mine. That’s why I came halfway across the country, as you well know. And that, by the way, is why you have a job to do in the first place. Because of me. You’ll make a good buck on my head…therefore, the least you owe me is some consideration.”

  He glanced her way. Despite the sunglasses, she read his amazement.

  “Logic 103?”

  “Much more advanced,” she responded, praying she’d gotten through to him. “And what could stopping for a teensy while hurt?”

  “You, for one, maybe permanently. And if I’m really lucky…me.”

  “Is that whining I hear?” Taunting him might not be smart, but she couldn’t help herself. “Is the big strong bounty hunter afraid of anyone who’s not half his size?”

  “You’re a hell of a lot bigger than half my size.”

  As if he were afraid of her! Besides, he knew she meant Mariscano’s goons. “You’re avoiding.”

  “Psychology—”

  She cut him off. “Personal therapist.”

  “You see a shrink and you’re still this messed up?”

  That did it. How did he get off criticizing her personally? He didn’t have the first idea of who she really was.

  “Messed up how?” she demanded. “Because I want to prove my innocence? Because I have the guts to try without involving anyone else?”

  “You’ve already involved me.”

  “Your choice, not mine,” she reminded him. “I didn’t throw you over my shoulder and drag you out of the exposition center. As for what went on at the train station…you didn’t act out of the goodness of your heart. You were protecting your own butt and your investment.” On a roll, she picked up speed. “The authorities don’t want me returned dead. At least, I assume I haven’t made a Post Office wall yet. Something happens to me, and you’ll have a lot of explaining to do. Get me back safe and you’ll trade me for a nice monetary reward.”

  He had the audacity to appear aggravated when he demanded, “Are you done?”

  “Not quite.” Unable to help herself, she tried appealing to his sense of fair play. “I have a much bigger stake in this than you do. If I can get the goods on Mariscano, my reward will be keeping my freedom…and my good name.”

  Silent for a moment, he finally asked, “Is a good name so important that you had to change yours?”

  Her argument obviously having gone for naught, Angela ground her teeth in frustration. So he knew about her father. Why should she be surprised? There was a time when Tomas Dragonetti had been infamous. And reporters had long noses. They smelled the old, faded trail of a story and dug up all the dirt they could from the past. Every nuance of the relationship between her and her father had undoubtedly been laid bare by every newspaper in the country. Kaminsky probably knew almost as much about her as she did herself.

  Unable to keep her personal bitterness at bay, she said, “I didn’t know men in your profession read.”

  “I skim the headlines while searching for the comic strips.”

  Tit for tat.

  She didn’t seem to be able to get a thing out of the man except sarcasm. Not that giving up was in her nature. Her mind was still racing, looking
for some out, some way to delay the inevitable and finish what she’d started. They were nearing the city limits. She didn’t have much time. Once he’d gone far enough, he’d never turn back. Knowing that wresting the wheel from his hands wouldn’t be smart—whether or not it was actually possible—she hoped changing her tune might sway him.

  “Look, you don’t have to step one foot into Mariscano’s house,” she promised amiably. “You don’t have to do a thing but make a little detour so that I can. Then I’ll go with you willingly.”

  “You’re deluded. He won’t throw his doors open wide for you—at least, not so you can play Private Eye.”

  “He won’t be there yet. And he won’t expect me to be.” Thinking of the friendly housekeeper, Angela said, “I bet I can talk myself in.”

  All she’d have to do was figure out some story relating to the wedding gown she was temporarily trapped in. Like…she was helping Mariscano surprise his little DeeDee with this fabulous design. If the housekeeper didn’t look too closely at the raggedy rear of the dress or at her disheveled hair, the story just might work.

  Before she could try to convince him, Kaminsky surprised her by asking, “So what if you manage to get inside the house—then what?”

  Her pulse surged with renewed hope. “Then I search his office.”

  “Makes sense. Probably has a written confession laid out for you, too—signed and nicely tied up with a blue ribbon.”

  “Or a red one,” she suggested caustically, her spirits plunging once more. “Get over yourself, Kaminsky. I’m not a ditz, as you keep suggesting. Not knowing what

  I’m looking for doesn’t make me stupid. Haven’t you ever heard the expression ‘I can’t tell you what I want, but when I see it, I’ll know’?” At least, she thought that’s how it went. “Well, I will.”

  “You’re convinced you’re going to find something incriminating.”

  “Given the opportunity,” she bluffed, knowing perfectly well that she could be on a wild-goose chase. That Mariscano could be innocent…at least, of setting her up. After their little face-to-face, though, her gut instincts told her she was right on the money. “So what about it?”

  The bounty hunter chose that moment to clam up. Again. Angela wanted to scream in frustration. What was with him? Anxious to figure another angle she could use to snow him, she almost missed the fact that he abandoned the expressway at the exit nearest Joey Mariscano’s home turf.

  HE WAS GOING TO REGRET this, Micah groused to himself. He was convinced of it. So why didn’t he keep on driving straight out of the state? Maybe because Angela had made a case about trying to prove her own innocence without involving anyone else. He had to respect that.

  Or maybe he was a sucker for hollow cheeks and almond-shaped eyes, especially when they glittered with excitement, as they’d done when she was on a roll.

  Noting she was trying to neaten her hair as they cut through the suburb, he said, “You realize we won’t have a lot of time to get in and out. He could come back any moment.”

  He wasn’t going to hang around long enough to have to explain himself to anyone. Not to Mariscano. Certainly not to the cops.

  “I’ll take what I can get.”

  He didn’t believe her, of course. She’d say whatever she had to so that he’d do what she wanted. He was an idiot for caving in.

  Several minutes later, turning onto the tree-lined street off Sheridan Road for the second time that day, he wondered if Mariscano’s society neighbors knew what he actually did to be able to afford one of these mansions. Then again, maybe they didn’t care. To some, business was business and money was money—didn’t much matter the source as long as you made enough of the green stuff. Besides, who said his neighbors walked a straight path?

  And speaking of neighbors…

  As he pulled up in front of the house, he noticed the elderly woman next door was still in her yard. Though she wore a big straw hat and heavy cotton gloves and clutched a pruner to her sagging breast, her attention was already fixed on them rather than on her flowers.

  “Aren’t you going to pull in the driveway?” she asked.

  “So we can be cut off from the street if we need to make a quick getaway?”

  “True. And I guess a woman flouncing around in a bridal gown wouldn’t bring unwanted attention to us.” She didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Or a car that’s seen better days.”

  Why had he bothered to resist? She would peck at him like a chicken at its feed until there was nothing left.

  Normally he would remain impervious, but a man without sleep was weak, Micah decided, moving the car. Besides, he grudgingly admitted, she had a point about being obvious. Despite its powerful V-8 engine, not even the teenagers in the swank neighborhood would be caught driving a car that was nearly ten years old and starting to rust around the edges.

  He pulled all the way through the driveway and around the back of the contemporary villa, out of sight of the street.

  They alighted simultaneously.

  Angela’s eyes widened. “I thought you were going to wait for me here.”

  He raised an eyebrow at her ingenuous expression. He’d undoubtedly wait until the cows came home, for she sounded as if she wanted him out of her hair for a while. Time enough to hatch an escape plan?

  “I never said I’d stay in the car,” he noted.

  “But I don’t want to involve you.”

  “You aren’t.”

  Her features smoothed as she accepted his insistence and led the way to the side door. He could almost hear the wheels in her head turning and meshing as she tried to figure out a way to dump him. When no one answered the bell, her mouth pulled into a tight line. Not that she gave up so easily. But after ringing and knocking for several minutes to no avail, she appeared ready to explode.

  Or was it to cry in frustration?

  “Can you believe the luck? The housekeeper’s gone! And we can’t even jimmy a window or anything. Not with this!” Indicating the entry pad that was part of the security system, she looked as if she’d like to punch it.

  He was surprised the property wasn’t fenced and gated, but he suspected the local chamber of commerce had a say in that. Probably wanted to promote the innate safety of the suburb as a feature.

  “You expected less?” he asked.

  “I expected to get inside.”

  Feeling the short hairs on the back of his neck rise, Micah turned to see the nosy neighbor peering at them through parted foliage where bushes separated the properties.

  “I’ll cut you a deal,” he said. “You go distract the busybody—” he crooked his head toward the elderly woman “—and I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Can you work a miracle?”

  “Doubtful. But this system doesn’t look too complicated.”

  Especially since he was familiar with the manufacturer and the model and was competent at whatever he put his hand to. But to Micah’s knowledge, breaking and entering hadn’t yet been legalized—not even if the victim was a big-time criminal—and the last thing he needed was a witness.

  “Go on.” He pushed Angela toward the bushes. “I’ll check for a way in. Keep the old lady’s attention on you until I signal.”

  Micah hoped he wasn’t being foolish letting her get so far away from him. First, she was the one who was desperate to get inside the house. Plus, where would she go? As she’d said, she wasn’t exactly inconspicuous in a bridal gown. And this wasn’t the city. Posh suburbs weren’t known for their great public transportation systems—everyone had a Mercedes or a Jag, if not a chauffeured limo.

  The limo thought reminded him of the hired gun in the train station. He hadn’t examined the situation too closely before, but now he wondered how the bastard had known not only where to wait, but when.

  Realizing Angela had stopped and was staring at him suspiciously, he asked, “Do we have a deal, or what? Go create a diversion.”

  With a last glance over her shoulder at him, she did as h
e urged and sauntered toward the curious neighbor.

  All senses on alert to possible trouble, Micah strolled to his car and opened the trunk.

  Chapter Four

  Angela wondered what Kaminsky thought he could do with a security system, then decided he might have had some experience with them tracking down criminals on the run.

  Criminal on the run.

  That’s what she would be if she didn’t find something to prove otherwise. And she couldn’t find anything if she couldn’t get into the house. Wondering what Micah was pulling from his trunk, she called out to the neighbor.

  “Good afternoon.” The bushes suddenly shook and the opening disappeared, but Angela persisted. “Can you help me?”

  The branches parted, as if by magic. A wizened face peeked at her from the other side.

  “I saw you earlier,” the woman stated, her voice surprisingly strong despite her frail appearance. “But you were wearing regular clothes. You marry that fellah there?”

  Aghast at the prospect, she tried not to sound offended. “As a matter of fact, no.”

  Realizing the neighbor was squinting over her shoulder—most likely trying to get a glimpse of Kaminsky—she shifted to block the view. She, too, was wondering what he was up to, but keeping the woman’s attention was in both of their best interests. They didn’t need a busybody calling in the local police.

  In an attempt to distract the elderly woman, Angela asked, “Do you know what time DeeDee planned to come home?” She tried to sound as if they were girlfriends.

  The old lady inspected her bridal gown up, down and sideways. “You must have married someone,” she stated, as if she hadn’t heard Angela’s question.

  “Not yet, actually.”

  “Ah, the wedding hasn’t taken place, then.” Her wrinkled face brightened. “Is it to be here?”

  Caught without a comeback, Angela mumbled, “Uh, no-o-o—”

  “You need flowers. Some to carry.” Her face alight now, her faded eyes glowing, the neighbor said, “And some for your hair.” Waving her pruning shears, she asked, “What are your favorites?”