Before The Fall

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “Let go of me!” she demanded, threatening him with a balled fist.

  “I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” he warned her, aware that the woman filling her gas tank next to them was staring. “Remember the last time.”

  “You mean when you hit me?”

  Her eyes shifted to a muscle-bound teenage boy who was cleaning his windshield, as if she wanted to make certain he’d heard. An effective strategy. The kid’s jaw dropped and he stopped what he was doing.

  Micah asked, “Who did you call?” more reasonably than he was feeling.

  Through gritted teeth she insisted, “It’s none of your business.”

  “Everything you do is my business until I get you back to Nevada.”

  “Let me go! Now!”

  At the shouted demand, several more heads turned their way. Great. Exactly what they needed—witnesses who could identify them.

  Certain Angela couldn’t keep a low profile if one was handed to her on a silver platter, Micah insisted, “I’ll let you go…as soon as you tell me who you called and why.” In reality he was beginning to feel pressured to give in before some interfering idiot summoned the cops.

  Suddenly stopping her struggle, Angela caved in. “Oh, all right. I wanted someone to know I was still alive.”

  Her implication that he might have tried to kill her didn’t get by him. He clenched his jaw. “Who?”

  “If you must know…” In a much lower tone she said, “My fiancé, Douglas Neff. Call him back if you don’t believe me.” She raised her voice once more. “Now that I’ve made the big confession, you can release my arm.”

  Thankful they’d be rid of the unwanted attention, Micah finally let go.

  Fiancé?

  Some poor fool actually wanted to spend the rest of his life with this harridan?

  Wondering exactly how much she’d told the man, Micah figured he could wait until they were on the road to find out. “Okay, get back in the car.”

  “Not until you apologize.”

  “For what?”

  Rubbing her arm where he’d been holding it—as if he’d hurt her!—she said, “For being a boor.”

  “You mean for not letting you get away with anything.”

  The woman who’d been pumping gas next to them replaced the nozzle in its holder and remained next to the pump, obviously in no hurry to leave. She frowned at him over the glasses perched at the tip of her nose.

  “Is that any way to talk to your new bride?”

  Bride?

  Then it hit him. The wedding gown…what was left of it. The stranger thought they’d just gotten married. He decided to play along.

  “We had a little misunderstanding, ma’am, that’s all. And I never really hit her,” he said earnestly. “She’s into kinky stuff. Spanking.” He turned to Angela, figuring those were poisonous darts she glared at him. “Isn’t that right, darling? Now, would you please get in the car?”

  Arms crossed over her chest, she sweetly demanded, “Apology first.”

  “But we have to get on the road…Angel.” He didn’t miss the scowl she aimed at him because of the nickname. “I insist.”

  “Hold on, sonny.” An elderly woman waving a wicked-looking cane joined the protester at the pump. “You can’t treat your new wife like she’s your chattel. And on your wedding day, for heaven’s sake. Shame on you!”

  “Honey, you made a big mistake marrying this bozo, but it’s not too late.” A tough-looking woman trucker stopped barely a yard away. “If you don’t want to go with the brute, say the word.” She wiped her greasy hands on her overalls and glared at him. “You can hitch a ride back to civilization with me.”

  “Thanks for the offer. Maybe I’ll take you up on it if he continues to behave so badly.” Angela stared at him expectantly. “Well?”

  Micah knew when he was licked. All he wanted was to get away from the place and fast, so he said, “You’re right. I apologize.”

  “That’s it?” the teenage boy asked. “Heck, if I didn’t do better than that, my girlfriend wouldn’t even speak to me for days.”

  Thinking he wouldn’t mind if Angela didn’t speak to him all the way back to Nevada—he was tempted to gag her himself—Micah kept up the just-married charade.

  “I was wrong, Angel. I won’t jump to conclusions again.” He gave the small crowd a shamefaced look. “I really thought she was calling her old boyfriend to make him feel better. He tried to break us up…and right before the wedding, too.” Then back to Angela. “All right?”

  “Better.”

  Still, she didn’t budge. Obviously she didn’t appreciate his creativity.

  And Micah didn’t appreciate her stubbornness. What was the point? Did she need the attention of everyone in the county? His aggravation quotient soaring right off the Richter scale, he finally lost it.

  “I don’t know how else to say it with words.”

  Snaking an arm around her waist, Micah pulled Angela to him, intent on ending the confrontation the only way she’d left him. The curves of her body pressed up against his gave him quite a jolt. She appeared equally affected. Her almond eyes widened and her mouth opened.

  Before she could utter a single word of protest, he locked his lips to hers.

  Angela was so taken aback at the unexpected assault that any protest—physical or otherwise—was impossible. She froze while Kaminsky’s lips worked magic on hers. Before she knew what was happening, he was exploring her mouth thoroughly, and she wasn’t doing a thing to stop him.

  Stop him.

  Right. That’s what she should be doing.

  Pulse threading unevenly, she put out her hands to shove him away. Contact. But rather than pushing, she grabbed his arms and pressed her nails into them. His bare flesh pulsed and his skin was warm beneath her fingertips. Sensation shot along her nerves, all the way up to her head.

  A lovely floaty feeling filled her and Angela closed her eyes.

  For a moment all the fear and uncertainty of the past months receded. For a moment she felt protected and safe. For a moment she was fully alive, a whole woman again.

  Or perhaps for the first time in her life.

  She responded with wonder and enthusiasm…returning his kiss…clinging to his muscular upper arms…pressing closer until an urgency uncoiled deep in her belly.

  Her pulse raced and her heated blood rushed through her head, making her ears ring. The longer she kissed him, the louder the sound grew. Louder and clearer. Finally she realized her mistake: rather than the rush of her pulse, she was listening to clapping.

  Applause!

  What in the world was she doing?

  Appalled at her own behavior, she freed her mouth and shoved at the bounty hunter. He stepped back, locking gazes with her, seemingly as surprised as she.

  Unnerved, too, if she was any judge.

  “We should go now,” Angela muttered.

  Sliding back into the passenger seat, she tried to avoid meeting the eyes of anyone in the crowd gathered around them. An impossible feat. She was trapped, like a deer by headlights. And nearly every person was smiling. Even the woman trucker who’d offered her the ride to civilization wore a resigned expression.

  What was wrong with them? Could anyone be fooled if they thought romance was somehow involved?

  Anyone but her.

  There was nothing romantic about that kiss—Kaminsky’s ploy to smooth things over.

  And she’d been a sap to go along with it.

  Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of thinking her response had been anything but an act, she adopted a smug smile as he got into the car. Unable to miss it, he scowled in return, started the engine and shot off.

  She expected him to say something about the kiss as soon as they pulled away from the truck stop. He didn’t. She waited, tense and wary. Miles rolled by, seemingly at a crawl since—like every other driver on the Wisconsin road—he refused to challenge the speed limit.

  The silence between them grew heavy.
r />   What was his game?

  Did he think he had her number? That he had her under control because she was attracted to him? He wasn’t even giving her the opportunity to go a couple of rounds over what had happened between them.

  Perhaps nothing had happened for him.

  Honest with herself, Angela admitted she had felt something. Rational now, she put her response to the heat of the moment, initially sparked by her temper. Not to mention the danger lurking in the background. She could never be interested seriously in a man who made his living off other people’s misfortune.

  Prickly, she couldn’t leave it alone and pretend it never happened. She longed to make him wish he’d never so much as thought of touching her.

  “I didn’t know you had it in you, Kaminsky,” she began in a conversational tone. “That was some act you put on for the folks back there.”

  “Call me a quick thinker.”

  There were a lot of things she’d like to call him—quick thinker not being among them.

  “Better yet,” he added, “call me Micah. Kaminsky’s a little formal now that we’ve gotten so close.”

  He did think he had her! And listen to his tone…how normal…how unaffected. The exact opposite of the way she was feeling. Her emotions were roller-coasting between wanting him to kiss her again…and wanting to punch him in the kisser.

  Pride stinging, Angela said, “If you insist. Good show, Micah.”

  Having thought of him as Kaminsky for so long, she felt that switching to Micah made him seem like a different man altogether. But of course he was the same unscrupulous bounty hunter who’d thrown her over his shoulder and spoiled her plans.

  She kept her voice neutral. “Luckily we didn’t have too sophisticated an audience.”

  He glanced at her. “How so?”

  “Why, anyone with a critical eye would have seen through what you let pass for a hot kiss. That’s why I gave it my best shot—so that it’d look real anyway.”

  Though he was staring straight forward, she could see him narrow his gaze.

  “And here I would have sworn you couldn’t help yourself,” he countered.

  She laughed softly, convincingly, and glanced out at the gently rolling landscape beyond the passenger window. Lots of places to run to; no place to hide.

  “Men do tend to fool themselves when it comes to their sexual prowess.”

  Tension, thick and heavy, suddenly charged the atmosphere around her. Angela smiled to herself, able to tell that he wasn’t quite sure…

  Good.

  “Besides,” she murmured, giving him a direct look, “if they hadn’t been fooled by the gown, they would have realized that a real lady…while intrigued…would never get serious with your type of man.”

  His fingers wound so tightly around the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white. “What’s that supposed to mean? That you’re better than me?”

  “Well…don’t like measuring people’s worth…but since you asked…you are a little…crude around the edges.”

  He chewed on that for a moment before launching a counterattack. “At least I’m not half-witted. I hope you’re happy with your big play for attention from the locals, Dragonlady. If someone comes after us in this direction, dozens of people can recognize our photos or description.”

  The second time he’d called her by the unflattering nickname. Dragonlady or Angel—she wasn’t certain which rankled more.

  “Not quite that many,” she argued. “And it certainly was not my fault.”

  “I would have sworn you were the one who said I hit you—”

  “The truth, as I remember.”

  “And intimated that I was a killer.”

  “I half thought so before you identified yourself as a bounty hunter. And how do I know you’re not?” She gave him a superior smile. “Would you rather I’d suggested you were a ladykiller?”

  Obviously not wanting to go there, he didn’t answer.

  And Angela gained only temporary pleasure from having one-upped him.

  That was the trouble with going after someone with talons out, no matter how much the other person deserved it. Once the satisfaction wore off, it left her feeling empty and mean-spirited. Not that she made a practice of going for the jugular. But when someone cornered her, made her feel like less of a person, she couldn’t help herself.

  Dragonlady…

  Is that what she’d become?

  Angela disliked the implication. Something else to discuss with her therapist, assuming she ever had the chance to reclaim her real life.

  The sun hung low in the western sky, and she’d been up since before dawn. Dawn two time zones away. She’d had only a few hours of sleep before rising to catch her plane to Chicago. All day she’d been running on adrenaline pumped by belief in her ability to accomplish anything she set her mind to.

  Now doubt assailed her and she felt as tired as her captor looked. Dealing with Mariscano was one thing. But what chance did she have of clearing her name if the organization was really backing him?

  How could she have been foolish enough not to consider that very likely scenario?

  Alone in a world filled with people she couldn’t trust—being held against her will by a man who was ready and willing to turn her over to the authorities in exchange for a bankroll—Angela was finding it difficult to believe that, this time, she had any chance to come out on top.

  LONG SHADOWS FINGERED the corners of his office as he ruminated on the unexpected turn his plan had taken.

  “She’s proving even more difficult than expected. She’s not an easy scapegoat.”

  He noted his associate’s quick change of expression—a moment’s panic quickly disguised, perhaps? Or could that have been pity?

  “How much longer is she going to be on the loose?”

  “She should never have been allowed to cross the state line in the first place!” He continued watching for any sign of weakness, but the other man covered well. “At least we know they’re on the road in Wisconsin—”

  “What the hell are they doing wandering around Cheddarland, anyway?” the other man muttered, then popped out of his chair and began pacing. “Taking in the damn sights?”

  “Not for long,” he said calmly, though in a perverse way the challenge stimulated him. Things that came too easily never seemed truly worthwhile. “And we know they’ll head across country on U.S. 90—”

  “Which really narrows it down.”

  He ignored the sarcasm. “I’ll dispatch a couple of men into Minneapolis on the next flight. Don’t worry. They’ll pick up the trail somewhere in Minnesota.”

  “They’d better…but if they fail?”

  Staring, he calmly said, “Wily never fails. Not in the end. He’s as clever as his name implies.”

  “Too bad you can’t control him.” A tense pause was followed by a stiff “Are your instructions to hold her…or to finish her off?”

  “Bloodthirsty, are you?”

  “You know I hate this! No one was supposed to get killed. I didn’t sign up for murder!”

  “Damage control can be unpleasant,” he agreed. “Even if it is necessary.”

  In the old days, damage control had been a fact of life…not that murder had been a solution if some other means could be equally effective. This was a different world—fast paced, run by punks who had no respect, who killed because they were bored or high on drugs.

  But he remembered how business should be conducted.

  He remembered other things, too. Things that were done for him. To him. Despite him.

  A long memory ticked like a time bomb.

  One way or another, he’d finally get the satisfaction owed him.

  “WHY WOULD JOEY MARISCANO want to buy into a wedding business?”

  Stirring at the intrusive voice, Angela opened her eyes and stretched her spine. “We’ve been through all that.”

  For a while she’d managed to distance her mind from her situation and Micah Kaminsky. Now bot
h problems pressed in on her in crashing clarity. Yawning, she sat up straight, amazed at the lateness of the hour. While she’d been dozing off and on, the sun had set.

  “So let’s do it again,” Micah said.

  His words instigated a fleeting memory of the kiss, but she was certain that’s not what he meant. And she’d made far too big a deal of the incident.

  “Like I told you, he probably assumed my father—”

  “Did they have a long-distance relationship?” he interrupted impatiently. “Business?”

  Rubbing at her eyes, she yawned again and wondered how Micah had managed to stay awake without her to needle him. “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “Did they even know each other?”

  “You’d have to ask one of them. If either would tell the truth.” She sat up straighter and stared out into the glowing dusk where innumerable stars crowned a nearly full moon. A romantic night for a romantic adventure. Too bad she wasn’t having one. “What difference does it make?”

  “I’m trying to make sense of things. Like why Mariscano had reason to believe your father had hidden interests in Here Comes the Bride with him straight out of the joint. Or why he would even have reason to consider your father at all.”

  Neither had occurred to her. “I guess I don’t think like a criminal.”

  “That’s the problem,” Micah said. “You need to.”

  Did that mean he thought like one?

  Angela wondered how one developed that particular skill without being a criminal oneself.

  “Let’s forget Joey Mariscano for the moment,” Micah continued, “and concentrate on what you know of Tomas Dragonetti’s enemies.”

  Back to her father. “I was hardly more than a kid when he was locked away. How much do you expect me to remember?” Though she had to admit narrowing the field would be helpful. Surely one of his old allies wouldn’t act against her.

  “I don’t believe you’ve forgotten a thing,” Micah insisted. “You haven’t allowed yourself to.”

  What he said was true.

  “But I never knew the details of his business interests in the first place,” she protested. “None of us did. He made sure of that.”