Finger Prints

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Welllll—” he stretched out the word and made a wavering gesture with his hand “—maybe not formally. Ryan’s still got his place downstairs. Of course, there’s no furniture in it.”

  “So he sleeps upstairs. Very clever.” She downed the last of her drink and gazed into the fire with studied nonchalance. “Tell me about his practice.”

  Tom eyed her curiously. “What about his practice?”

  “What kinds of cases does he handle?”

  “Oh, white-collar, blue-collar, ring-around-the—”

  “I’m serious, Tom.”

  “You’re thinking of needing a lawyer?”

  She swung her head sharply around. “Of course not!”

  “The best of us do sometimes,” he rejoined in a calm voice that held a certain bait.

  Sheila took it. “You have?”

  Holding her eyes, he told her of his collision with the law, then grew momentarily tense. “Does it bother you?”

  She laughed aloud, feeling an even greater affinity with him for what he’d just told her. “How can you even ask that after hearing the rundown on my family? And my brothers are only the tip of the iceberg. There are cousins doing God knows what.”

  “But you got your clearance and escaped all that. You’re in law enforcement.”

  “So’s your brother. Does he love you any the less for what you did?”

  “He was pretty damned mad when it happened.”

  “But he still loves you,” she stated with abrupt force.

  “Yes.”

  Her ferocity died as quickly as it had arisen, replaced by an even smile. “Then who am I to criticize?” She paused. “Lucky for you Ryan’s in the profession he is. What are some of the other cases he’s handled?”

  Tom scowled. “If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder whether you were more interested in Ryan than me.”

  Instantly she relented, leaning forward to press a kiss to his chin. “That’s what you have that Ryan doesn’t have.” At Tom’s blank look, she laughed. “A chin. His is hidden under a beard. Why does he wear it anyway?”

  She’d been only trying to make conversation and was startled when Tom provided a pat response. “To cover a scar, I believe. A souvenir of one of his earliest cases.”

  “Really? Tell me.”

  “No way. It’s Ryan’s business.”

  “Was he in a fight?” she asked excitedly.

  “Uh-uh.”

  “Someone attacked him? Oh, Lord, Tom, this is getting juicy. Was it his own client?”

  “Sheila, it was years ago. The beard’s been on so long I don’t even remember what the guy looks like with a skin face.”

  “Does he hold a grudge?” She stroked her lower lip with the tip of one finger. “Is he the vengeful type?”

  Without a trace of warning, Tom pounced, sliding her sideways on the sofa, pinning her shoulders to the cushion. “If we have enough time to talk about Ryan, we sure as hell have enough time for ourselves.” Lowering his head, he kissed her deeply.

  At first Sheila responded. Everything about Tom appealed to her, except the fact that she’d met him too late. It was this thought that made her gently lever him away.

  “Tom,” she gasped, “we can’t.”

  His hands were on her breasts, kneading their fullness, playing electrifying games with her senses. “Why not? I’m quick.” In demonstration of his readiness, he inched his body upward on hers.

  Holding him off was the hardest thing Sheila had ever done. The feel of his arousal fueled her own. But something nagged at her. A strange kind of guilt. She liked Tom Cornell, really liked him. Of all the men she’d met in recent years, he held the most potential.

  Unfortunately, as of this afternoon, she had other plans for her body.

  Sixteen

  rETURNING FROM THE COURTHOUSE, SAM HAD just swung through the door of the U.S. marshal’s office when his secretary waved him in. The phone was in her hand, the hold button blinking. He quickened his step. “For me?”

  “Bill Hoffmeister on your line.”

  Turning into his own office, he shrugged out of his coat and picked up the phone. “Bill?”

  “How’re ya doin’, Sam?”

  “Not bad.” The coat landed on a chair to the side; Sam took the one behind his desk. “What’s up?” He’d had a strange feeling that something would be. And it wasn’t unusual. Witnesses were placed in his care because of active threats. In most cases, he simply took new developments as they came. But the link between Bill Hoffmeister and himself was Carly, and she wasn’t the run-of-the-mill criminal-turned-stoolie. It had been over a week since he’d returned with her from Chicago. He had been uneasy wondering if he would get a call.

  “I’m not sure. It may be nothing, but I thought you should know. Barber’s been talking.”

  Sam sat forward. “Barber? I thought our threat was from Culbert?”

  “It is. Barber’s a nobody in the chain of command. He doesn’t have money or pull. As a torch, he blew it. But he’s pretty confident about getting that new trial. And he’s pretty confident about beating the rap.”

  “Maybe it’s the macho in him talking.”

  “Could be. Could be that he’s got to tell himself that or he’ll go crazy. Could be, though, that he heard something from Culbert.”

  “I thought they were separated.”

  “They are. But you know the internal communication network in prison. Word passes.”

  “Where did you get yours?”

  “From another inmate. He was shipped out to stand trial in Alabama and one of my men made the trip with him. He was feeling his oats, spieling about the guys he left behind. For obvious reasons, my man let him talk.”

  “Was there anything specific?”

  “No. A guy like Barber follows directions. If he’s told to do something, he does it. If he’s told to believe something, he does. Well, he believes that he’s going to be walking the streets before long. Someone must have told him that.” He hesitated. “I thought you should know.”

  “I should.” Sam rubbed the tense muscles at the back of his neck. “The question is what do I do. I hate to put someone on her. It’d really mess up her life.”

  “If someone gets through to her, her life will be messed up worse. But maybe we’re both jumping to conclusions. So far there’s been no sign of anything fishy from Culbert. He hasn’t sold anything—his house or his car—to come up with money, and there haven’t been any withdrawals from his bank account other than what his family usually draws. Of course, there may be an unlisted account somewhere. And if Mancusi’s got power of attorney….”

  “Mancusi wouldn’t dare. He’s a lawyer.”

  “So was Culbert, and a sleazy one at that. Which means that he may have some tricks up his sleeve we don’t know about.”

  Sam sat back in his chair. “Okay. Listen, I think I’ll run all this past Carly. I know it’ll make her nervous, but maybe if it does she’ll agree to have someone watch her. At least she’ll be on the lookout herself for anything strange.” As if she wasn’t already. She had told him about Ryan’s homecoming on the day they returned from Chicago. For those few instants, when a key had jiggled in her lock, she’d been terrified. She was always on the lookout.

  “Sounds fair. If I hear anything more, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks, Bill.”

  He pressed the button to disconnect the line, then buzzed for his secretary. “Angie, is Greg around?”

  “He left a little while ago to get some records at City Hall. He said he wouldn’t be long.”

  “Thanks.” Pressing the button for an outside line, he called Rand Academy and left a message for Carly to call him back. Then he sat back in his chair, analyzing his options. When Greg returned forty minutes later, he immediately broached the topic. “How’s it going with Sheila?”

  Greg set his files down on his desk. “Not bad. She’s pretty closed about herself, but I’m working on it.” He perched on the front of his desk,
facing Sam. “She’s really not bad once you get her talking. She’s as wary of us as we are of her. Scared as hell of you. It may be a simple case of transplant adjustment.”

  “Transplant adjustment.” Sam chuckled dryly.

  “That’s a novel term. But it could fit, I suppose. Is she happy in Boston?”

  “She says she likes it well enough. She’s been dating a guy. According to the receptionist, he’s been calling her a lot lately. She always brightens when she gets his messages.”

  “Name?”

  Greg hesitated for only an instant. “Thomas Cornell.”

  “Cornell? Any relation to Ryan?”

  “Brother.”

  Sam sighed. “At least she’s in good hands.”

  “I hope so,” Greg replied cautiously. “He was in some kind of scrape involving embezzlement a while ago. His brother managed to settle the thing quietly. There’s been nothing since.”

  “How deeply is Sheila involved with him?”

  “I don’t know. Couldn’t be all that deeply. She invited me to her place for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “She did?” Sam arched a brow. “You are making inroads.” Then he sobered again. “So what do you think—is she trustworthy?”

  He gave a throaty laugh. “I’ll let you know Saturday.”

  When Sam’s phone buzzed, he waved Greg back to work. “Yes, Angie?”

  “Carly Quinn’s on the line.”

  “I’ll take it.” He pushed the blinking button. “Carly?”

  “Sam? I just got your message. How are you?”

  “Fine. Listen, I wonder if I could pick you up at school and we could go somewhere to talk.” Once they would have gone back to her place. With Ryan coming and going so much, though, more neutral ground was preferable.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked, tensing instantly.

  “Not really. I just wanted to discuss something.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Sam….”

  “Four-thirty?”

  She sighed. “Four-thirty.”

  Sam was waiting in his car when Carly left the administration building. Trotting down the walk, she slid quickly into the passenger seat and he took off.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, eyes glued to his face.

  “Let’s go get a drink.”

  “Sam! Tell me!”

  He managed to put her off until they sat in the quiet booth of a small bar on the outskirts of the Square. Then, over beers, he related the conversation he’d had that morning with Bill Hoffmeister.

  “Oh, hell!” she whispered. “I knew he’d try something!”

  “We don’t know that he has. But forewarned is forearmed.”

  “Which means?”

  “I may want to give you a tail.”

  She slammed her palm to the thick wooden table. “No!” With a fast glance around, she lowered her voice. “I can’t, Sam. Not now. Things are going too well with Ryan. It would ruin everything.”

  Sam sighed wearily. “I thought you’d feel that way, which is why I haven’t put anyone on it yet.”

  “Do you think there’s a real danger?”

  “No. But I’d hate to overlook something.”

  “I’ll be careful. I always am. And besides, Ryan is with me practically all the time I’m not in school.”

  “That’s one plus.” He leaned back in the booth and eyed her more thoughtfully. “Three months ago you would have reacted very differently to what I just told you.” His words were gentle, devoid of criticism. They spurred Carly on to express her own thoughts.

  “You’re right. You were also right about my needing to be involved with someone. Before I met Ryan, I was afraid of my own shadow.”

  Sam was shaking his head. “Don’t underrate yourself. You were never afraid of your own shadow. More nervous, perhaps. And very definitely more isolated.”

  “Still,” she argued, “he’s given me something. More fight, maybe? Then again—” her brows knit “—maybe he’s just complicated things. Sometimes I want to tell him everything, sometimes I don’t want to tell him a thing. As long as he’s in the dark, I can’t possibly have a bodyguard. There’s no way I could explain one. But if I do tell him and there’s someone around all the time, he’ll be frustrated and it’ll be that much harder on me. He’s only human.” Her voice softened. “So am I.”

  “I’m glad, Carly. What you’re saying is that other emotions have surpassed fear in your life. And that’s important. You are human. You do have a life to lead. It’s not right that you should be a prisoner of your fears.”

  “I’m not saying they’re not there. I’m scared to death.”

  “I know.” He smiled gently. “But there’s more.”

  She nodded. “I love Ryan.” Her voice began to waver. “Problem is there are times when I’m torn apart. Reconciling what I feel for him with…with all this other stuff…”

  “You’re doing a fine job so far. Listen, how’s this. Why don’t we sit on the guard for a while. Hoffmeister will let us know if he learns anything more. I’ll have my people keep a lookout for strangers. I can also have someone ride through the streets near your place and the school from time to time. The police would be glad to send a patrol around.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  “I don’t have to give them details. It’s enough if I tell them that the marshal’s office is working on something sensitive. They’ll keep an eye on the general area without ever knowing your name or address.”

  She took a deep breath. “I guess that sounds okay.” Then she smiled apologetically. “I do appreciate all this, Sam.”

  He winked. “What are friends for?” He took a last swig of his beer and licked the froth from his lips. “Hey, why don’t we go out sometime. The four of us.”

  “You and Ryan and Ellen and me. She’d love meeting you. She feels she knows you so well.”

  “I’d love that too,” Carly said. She frowned when a thought came to mind, but in a minute it was gone. “No, it’d do him good.”

  “Do whom good?”

  “Ryan.” Her eyes sparkled mischievously, a welcome change from her earlier worry. “He doesn’t trust you.”

  “Doesn’t trust me? Mr. Clean? Your local Boy Scout in long pants? The Lone Ranger without a mask?”

  Through a grin, she said, “He’s convinced we have something going on the side.”

  Sam arched a brow. “Does he know about Ellen?”

  She nodded. “And Sara. But you have to understand that the man’s law firm does its share of divorce work. He’s seen cheating like you and I have never dreamed of.”

  “I think,” Sam observed, his eyes narrowing, “that he’s jealous.”

  “He is. He admits it.” There was a certain pride in her tone that caught at Sam’s heart.

  “He must love you very much.”

  Her smile was private and exquisitely gentle, her soft-spoken “He does” totally superfluous.

  As fate would have it, Ryan was in the foyer tugging his mail from its slot when Sam walked Carly to the door. Sam saw him first and stopped, but Carly urged him on. She badly wanted to smooth things between these two men who, each in his own way, meant so much to her.

  She pushed open the door. “Ryan! Hi!”

  His head came up from the pile of letters he’d been skimming and a broad smile broke out on his face, only to be tempered seconds later when he caught sight of Sam in tow. “Hi, babe,” he said more quietly than he might otherwise have. His wary gaze slid to Sam.

  “Sam and I just went for a drink.” Honesty seemed the best approach—that, and taking the bull by the horns. “He suggested we all go out for dinner sometime. How about it?”

  “Sounds fine,” Ryan said evenly.

  Sam spoke from behind. “I’ll check with Ellen to see when we can get a sitter, and I’ll give you a call.”

  Carly turned back to him for a minute. “Great. I’ll wait to hear from you.”r />
  Only Sam saw the deeper message in her gaze and knew that despite the brightness of her manner she hadn’t forgotten the reason he’d sought her out today. He nodded and, with quiet goodbyes, left. When Carly faced Ryan once more her expression was wiped clean of tension.

  “Have a good day?” she asked, getting her own mail before passing through the door he held.

  “Busy,” he answered succinctly, not quite sure what to make of Sam’s taking her for drinks, much less his dinner invitation. “How about you?”

  “Busy.”

  They started up the stairs in silence. When Ryan finally spoke, his tone was vague. “Listen, I think I’ll go to my place to change. Do you want to go out for something to eat?”

  She stopped, looking up at him. “You’re angry.”

  “No.” He, too, stopped. Discouraged, he took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “It always bothers me when I see him. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t help it.”

  “That’s why we should go out with Ellen and him.” Hooking her arm through his, she resumed the climb. “I know how you feel, but this may be the best thing. If you get to know Sam you’ll see that he’s really a nice guy.”

  “I’m sure he’s a nice guy. It’s his motives I’m not sure about.”

  “Ryan,” she scolded gently, “we’ll be with his wife. He loves her very much. You’ll see that.”

  On the second-floor landing they stopped again. Ryan’s scowl took on shades of self-reproach. His voice was gruff. “Ach, I’m a beast. Of course we’ll have dinner with them.” His gaze grew more direct. “Anyway, I’d rather you see him when I’m there than when I’m not.”

  “It was only for a drink,” she said very softly.

  “I know. I know.” He shifted his briefcase to his left hand and threw his right arm around her shoulder. “Kiss me. That’s the problem. You haven’t kissed me yet.”

  She shook her head firmly. “I’m not kissing a bear.”

  “But if you kiss the bear, he turns into a prince.”

  “That’s a frog.”

  “You wouldn’t want me to croak, would you?”