Angela was touched by the woman’s unexpected generosity. “Thank you, but everything’s taken care of.”
“You’re sure?” The sparkle in the old eyes dimmed and the thin mouth trembled.
Angela couldn’t bear her disappointment. “Except for my hair. Since I don’t have a veil, I could use a flower to put in my hair.” A big one that would hide the bald patch, she thought wryly. “You pick.”
“Any special color?”
“Something vibrant.”
The old lady nodded and toddled away, the long skirts of her old-fashioned gardening dress flowing around her.
Her tongue worrying the raw spot inside her mouth, Angela took a quick glance around. No sign of the bounty hunter. She only hoped he didn’t set off the security system’s alarm. Then they’d both be in hot water.
“Here you go,” the neighbor said, holding out a stem with dozens of tiny red blooms. “Salvia. One of my favorites.”
“How lovely.” Smiling, she secured the flower in what was left of her upswept hairdo. “Thank you.”
“You’re the one who’s lovely, child. Any time you want some fresh flowers, you come see Miriam.”
Realizing the neighborhood snoop was in reality a lonely senior citizen, she was as truthful as she could be. “If I had the chance, I would love to—”
A sharp whistle cut her off.
Kaminsky?
Assuming the whistle was the purported signal, Angela glanced back toward the limestone building. She couldn’t spot the bounty hunter anywhere. Hopefully, because he’d gotten inside. Her excitement surged.
“I’m sorry, but I really have to go now.”
“You tell your young man to be more respectful than to expect you to come to some crude summons,” Miriam advised her. “You whistle for your pet, not the woman you love. Make him appreciate you from your first day together.”
The first and the last, Angela hoped.
Impulsively hugging the frail woman, she shot away as a second, more impatient-sounding whistle demanded her attention. She rounded the rear of the house only to come upon open French doors. No movement in the room beyond. Fearing some kind of trap, she hesitated before entering.
Heart pounding, she anxiously called, “Kaminsky?”
“What’s taking you so long?”
Though she could hear him clearly, he remained out of sight.
Her suspicion unappeased—what if one of Mariscano’s men had caught him?—she asked, “Where are you?”
“Inside. Where I thought you wanted to be.”
The caustic reply eased her mind.
Swallowing hard, she admitted what was really bothering her—compounding her flight from Nevada with another crime. Regardless, she stepped into the dining room, bunching her full skirts so they wouldn’t brush against anything breakable. Her pulse skittered as she took in the room, recognizing the crook’s touch everywhere. Undoubtedly he’d paid an interior designer to choose the basics, but collectibles in excess covered the walls and every available surface, even as his gold rings covered his fingers.
More Is Better seemed to be Joey Mariscano’s motto in his personal life in addition to his professional one.
That thought reminded her of their immediate purpose. “Where are you? We need to find the office.”
But the bounty hunter was a few steps ahead of her. “The hallway,” he called, his deep-timbred voice echoing her way. “And I think I’ve found it.”
Angela rushed across the dining room to join him. On the opposite end of the hall, he was opening a door.
“This is it,” he announced.
Propped against the doorjamb, he scanned the room. Eager to find her proof, Angela hurried past him, her arm brushing his, then sensed his shift in attention. She turned. He was staring openly. Without the shield of his sunglasses, his blue eyes pierced her. Made her feel itchy all over.
Vulnerable.
She frowned. “What?”
“The flower—”
“Miriam, the neighbor—”
“—suits you.”
Caught unawares by the unexpected compliment, Angela found herself speechless, unsure how to respond to this man in a noncombative mode.
And the way he was savoring her with his eyes reminded her that he was, indeed, a man. With his sharp Eastern European features and rugged build, a far more attractive one than she’d cared to admit earlier.
Skin sizzling at the silent concession, she dropped her gaze and noticed what he’d fetched from the trunk of the Thunderbird—he was wearing a vest with multiple pockets, several of which bulged. What secrets could they be hiding? With that question in mind, she gazed up at him…
Only to find him staring even more intently.
Which flustered her into action.
Determined to appear cool and unaffected, she casually moved to the center of the room that reeked of Italian leather and lemon polish. To negate his effect on her, she purposefully took inventory.
Two couches, a chair and ottoman were grouped around an oversize fireplace. The walls on either side were lined with book-filled, floor-to-ceiling shelves. At the opposite end of the room, massive mahogany file cabinets flanked an equally massive desk. A kilim carpet shrouded most of the intricate parquet flooring, and several oversize sculptures—including one that belonged in a garden fountain—balanced on pedestals around the room.
“Where to begin?” she murmured, wondering if the sculpture of the nude woman near the desk was privy to any of the crook’s secrets.
“You take the files,” Kaminsky suggested. “I’ll check the bookshelves. Let’s make this quick and get out while the going’s good.”
Angela nodded. They didn’t have time to waste.
She attacked the first file cabinet with the zeal of the self-righteous. Folders revealed Mariscano to be organized and meticulous. Everything in order. No references to her or Here Comes the Bride, of course. As a matter of fact, nothing she found made the Chicago businessman appear anything but legitimate. She only hoped that she hadn’t gone on a wild-goose chase, after all.
Not that she’d assumed getting her hands on information that could clear her would be easy, Angela reminded herself.
“Find anything?” she asked, turning toward Kaminsky.
“Other than law books? How about a false front hiding a notebook computer and portable printer?”
Catching sight of the equipment Mariscano had taken care to hide, she widened her eyes. Eureka! “Why didn’t you say something?” No slouch with a computer herself, she started across the room.
Hunched over the keyboard, Kaminsky paid her no mind. His fingers were flying along the keys. Such large hands to be so dexterous. When she got a glimpse of the screen, she noted he was already into the main directory.
The realization stopped Angela dead in her tracks. Her exhilaration waned.
“You’re wasting your time. Mariscano wouldn’t store any significant information in a computer without securing the system with a code.”
“He did.”
Which hadn’t stopped Kaminsky…
“Let’s just take the thing with us,” she said, her emotions seesawing. “It is portable.”
His expression disbelieving, he said, “You’re the one with the death wish. You think Mariscano would let anyone abscond with all his private records and not do something about it? We leave the place as we found it—with no trace that we’ve ever been here.”
Angela’s mouth went dry. She let other questions go unasked. For now. Better that he finesse the computer than take precious time to explain how he’d broken in to it.
Or how he’d breached the house’s security system in the first place…
Going back to her search, she again wondered about the secrets in Kaminsky’s vest pockets.
The folders in the second cabinet proved as unrevealing as those in the first. Finished scanning them a quarter of an hour later, she cursed her luck. In frustration, she slammed the bottom drawer.
“Nothing.”
And looked to the bounty hunter, hoping for better news.
He met her gaze. “Nothing here yet, either. At least, I haven’t found anything to do with you.”
Thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have whatever information she could hold over Mariscano’s head as insurance, she figured Kaminsky wouldn’t go for it. He was too worried about his precious neck to stretch it out any more than he already had
“It’s the desk, then,” she muttered.
“What if it’s not? What if we both strike out?”
Even suspecting Mariscano wouldn’t keep anything to do with business elsewhere in the house, she said, “We have plenty of rooms to search.”
He glanced at his watch. “Only, we don’t have plenty of time. Someone’s bound to come home soon. I’d better finish up here.”
Rather than argue, Angela sat in the leather chair behind the desk and took inventory until she spotted the day-by-day calendar.
Mariscano’s schedule! Why hadn’t she thought to check it out before?
“I may have something here,” she said, flipping to the date when this mess had started.
Kaminsky glanced her way. “And I’m printing a file that might prove useful. Mariscano seems to have organized his operations by city—there’s a file labeled LV—”
“Las Vegas!”
“Right. A printout we can take with us.”
“Good,” she said, turning back to what she hoped would be a gold mine.
She paged to the date they’d had the meeting in her office. Opposite 10:00 a.m. he’d penciled in “L.V.—A.D.” L.V. again for Las Vegas, A.D. for Angela Dragon. The only other notation on that page was for 9:00 p.m. “W., Mir.” Not too helpful. Scanning similar abbreviated entries on succeeding pages didn’t yield the clue she was hoping for. Her initials never appeared again, and she would need a decoder ring to sort out Mariscano’s encryptions.
Hopefully, the computer printout would yield something more enlightening. If she’d been correct about knowing what she wanted when she saw it…
Kaminsky had already closed down the computer and replaced the false front. The shelves looked perfectly
natural, even though Angela knew what was hidden and where. Stuffing the printout into one of his vest’s many pockets, the bounty hunter crossed the room to her.
Not wanting to leave any corner unsearched, she quickly started on the desk drawers, beginning with the middle. Nothing. The drawers on the left were equally unrevealing.
“We need to get out of here,” Kaminsky said, even as he crouched beside her. “Just one minute…” He began prodding and poking beneath the desk.
“What are you doing?”
His arm brushed her leg, and even through the material spread gooseflesh up her limb at an alarming rate. Angela was appalled, considering the seriousness of her purpose, that she could so easily be distracted. She rolled her chair to the right, placing some distance between them.
“What are you looking for?” she asked again.
“Springs or pieces that shift. Hidden compartments.”
“You do have a love affair with gadgets, don’t you?”
“I appreciate gadgets.” He glanced up at her. “I save my love affairs for women.”
His penetrating gaze reminded her of the price he expected her to pay for his help. Breath caught in her throat, she covered her sudden jitters by opening the top drawer on the right and blindly staring in. Suddenly a small leather-bound book came into focus.
“This could be it.” Pulling it out, she rose. “Phone numbers.”
She had barely opened to the first page before the sound of an engine intruded on the quiet.
Kaminsky flew to his feet. “Our time just ran out.”
Pulse racing anew, Angela stepped toward the window and cautiously peered out, remaining far enough back that she wouldn’t be seen. Kaminsky stood directly behind her, his proximity making her edgy.
His lips were far too close to her ear when he murmured, “A limo.”
Her hair fluttered along her cheek, diverting her until one of the vehicle’s doors flew open and a piquedlooking DeeDee stepped out.
“The real bride-to-be.” She didn’t need to see the father. Backing off, she whispered, “What do we do now?”
“Get the hell out of here.”
Pulling her by the arm, he started for the doorway, pausing before the drawer she’d left open. Then he tried to take the leather-bound book from her.
She glared at him and hung on with both hands. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
“He’ll know someone broke in.”
“Maybe he’ll assume he left this somewhere else. Who knows when he’ll even need to look up a phone number again?” She wrested the book from his grasp. “Either I take the time to look through it now or it’s coming with us,” she said, knowing the second option was the only realistic one.
“Put the damn book back where you found it!” he ordered.
Quickly sizing up the situation, she figured Kaminsky was too fatigued to really force the issue. His face appeared more drawn than it had earlier. And he looked smaller somehow, as if his body were caving in on him.
As voices raised in argument penetrated the walls, she said, “I’m not leaving it behind. I came for proof that Mariscano set me up, and this is my last hope.”
“All right,” he finally conceded, even sounding frayed. He shut the open drawer and quickly scanned the room as if checking for anything out of place. “Have it your way, but let’s get the hell out of here before we’re trapped inside.”
Starting to follow him, Angela paused for a second to free her skirts when the material caught on the desk. The yardage bunched in one hand, she closed the door behind her with the other.
Mariscano and his daughter were arguing directly outside the front door.
Stomach knotting with the fear of exposure, she rushed down the hall and through the dining room. As she flew outside, Kaminsky was already easing the French doors closed. He began punching numbers on the keypad.
“The code’s not responding,” came DeeDee’s shrill voice from the driveway side of the house.
“So you hit a wrong number.” Her previously doting father sounded exasperated. “Do it again.”
Kaminsky finished resetting the alarm and took off, Angela on his heels. And not a moment to spare.
Only when she confronted the Thunderbird parked along the bushes did she wonder if they could possibly get off the property without being seen.
HAVING HAD ENOUGH of his daughter’s unrelenting tantrum, Joey Mariscano headed for the solace of his office.
Nearby, a car started. Out of habit he tried to place the engine, but didn’t recognize it. Probably some souped-up deal that belonged to a friend of the neighbor’s kid.
Entering his office, he slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie.
What a day!
He’d like to wring Angela Dragon’s neck for ruining it. She’d set DeeDee off, all right, and he hadn’t been able to recapture the camaraderie they’d been enjoying. Normally his youngest kid was a pain in the butt—his fault, he supposed, since he’d spoiled her—but for a short while she’d been sweet and all smiles, reminding him of her mother, God bless her soul. As much as he loved DeeDee, he’d be glad to see her married and some other man’s headache.
He had enough headaches of his own.
The biggest of which was proving to be a migraine named Angela Dragon.
Outside, the running vehicle moved off, followed by faint crunching noises and a screech. Then all went quiet.
Uncertain how to handle the repercussions of the Dragon situation, he sat behind his desk and let the leather that was as soft as a baby’s bottom envelop him. He was always able to think better ensconced in his favorite chair.
His mind whirled with the possibilities. Before he could make any decision, he needed to know what was what.
He shifted in his chair to reach for t
he telephone and thrust his leg forward under the desk. The leather sole of his shoe slipped and he felt something underfoot. Reaching down to retrieve the object, he figured he was going to have to speak to the new housekeeper. Again. One more time and she was out. He didn’t tolerate sloppy work in any of his operations, and especially not in his home.
Straightening, he frowned when he saw what he’d retrieved.
What was a pearl doing on his office floor?
MICAH KEPT WATCH for a tail as they headed away from the scene of the crime as fast as he dared—the last thing he needed was to be pulled over for speeding, and after he’d gotten them away from Mariscano’s place without being shot at again.
They’d gotten off lucky. He’d figured the T-bird’s engine would alert the household. And when he’d squeezed through a tight opening in the bushes, he’d been certain they’d be able to hear Angela complaining—despite her trying to take charge, he’d taken off across the neighbor’s property. No one had seemed to notice.
Heading onto the expressway, he told an amazingly silent Angela, “Looks like we’re in the clear.”
“Uh-huh.”
Micah split his attention between the traffic and what she was doing. Her head was bent, her almond eyes glued to Mariscano’s little black book. Her forefinger traced the page, while her lips followed along silently. She frowned. Shook her head. Went on.
“Can’t that wait?” he asked.
“Until when?”
“Later.”
“Why?” She tore her gaze from the pages. “You have something you want me to do?”
“Two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“You said we’re in the clear. Are you sure you’re not looking for company?”
His response was automatic. “If I wanted company, I’d know where to find it.” She encouraged sarcasm.
Truth be told, he wanted her company. Needed it. A constant debate would make it impossible to fall asleep at the wheel. The stop-and-go rush-hour traffic was nearly hypnotizing, and he was having trouble keeping his attention focused on the road ahead. His limbs felt heavy. And he longed for a bed. Any bed. A patch of grass in the shade would do.
“Did you ever take geography in school?” she asked suddenly.
Before The Fall Page 6
