by Debra Webb
Inside the small home he monitored there were no lights, no sound. But her car sat in the driveway. He checked his thermal scanner once more. There was definitely a warm body inside.
He deposited the scanner back into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone. When he'd entered the necessary numbers, he waited as the telephone inside Angel Parker's house rang three times.
"Hello."
A moment passed before he depressed the end call button.
From that single word of greeting he'd concluded three significant factors. Angel was inside. She felt defeated. But she wasn't afraid.
The latter intrigued him.
She should be afraid.
He unsheathed his weapon and exited the vehicle, the interior lamps set to the off position to ensure no interruption in his cloak of darkness. He wore black, always did, as much for intimidation as for camouflage. In any interrogation setting the tone proved every bit as crucial as the interrogator's skill.
No textbook or classroom exercise offered by the traditional means had taught him those essential elements. He had learned the unvarnished truth about interrogation the hard way, as a prisoner and hostage. His work had allowed him to hone his methods. Wisdom earned from a decade of experience in the field had boiled all he'd gleaned down to one basic fact, fear proved a far more advantageous weapon than pain.
He needed Angel Parker to feel fear.
Before this night ended she would know its true meaning. That fear would ultimately save her.
Cole paused outside the front entrance to the quiet house. He considered the owner for a moment, then the layout of the property. Small, well-groomed front yard with a postage-stamp-size lawn. Neat sidewalk lined with clay pots he imagined would be filled to brimming with flowers in the spring and summer. A tiny stoop, a welcoming wreath on the front door. The backyard looked much the same with a bit more grass and a child's swing set.
He estimated that his target sat approximately five yards from the front door. He listened intently for ten seconds. Still no sound. That she hadn't moved since his arrival forty-five minutes ago warned that she waited for something or someone.
His steps silent, he moved around to the back of the house. He curled his fingers around the knob of the rear entry and discovered the door unlocked. A red flag went up. The defeat he'd heard in her voice nudged at him. She thought she'd lost this battle al ready. Her child had been unaccounted for during the past three days. That would certainly defeat any caring parent.
The door opened noiselessly. Cole entered in the same way, every step carefully calculated for optimum stealth. He moved slowly through a tiny kitchen and into a short hall, giving his eyes time to adjust to the lack of moon and starlight he'd used outside. A subtle fragrance lingered in the air, apples and cinnamon. Some sort of potpourri, he surmised. The interior temperature felt too cool as if she hadn't bothered to turn on the heat on this cold winter day.
He waited at the doorway leading into the living room until he'd determined her exact location and gauged her posture using the sparse moonlight that filtered in through the window.
Cole leveled his weapon and moved toward her. She sat on a sofa, very dark in color, navy or forest-green perhaps. She wore dark slacks but the light color of her sweater or blouse kept her from totally disappearing into the opaque furniture. And there was her hair. Very blond, white almost. It fit with her name. She had the pale complexion and translucent blue eyes often associated with heavenly creatures. But this woman was not only very much from this earth, she definitely was not innocent. He paused in front of the coffee table, less than six feet from her position.
"Turn on the light."
She gasped at the sound of his voice.
As long as she'd been sitting there in the dark her reaction surprised him somewhat. Her eyes had surely adjusted to the near darkness. She should have noticed his presence when he'd entered the room, should have felt the shift in the atmosphere around her. But she hadn't. Clearly she'd been preoccupied with her thoughts.
"Please just tell me that my aunt's okay," she pleaded, assuming he was one of the men involved with Howard Stephens, Errol Leberman's murdering partner.
"Slowly reach for the lamp on the table next to you," he instructed firmly, ignoring her plea.
She obeyed, using her left hand. She was right-handed. His grip tightened on his weapon.
A click sounded and light spilled from the lamp.
The gun in her hand registered in that same instant, visually confirming his suspicion.
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.
Maybe she hadn't lost all hope. She stared up at him with pure hatred, both hands now firmly locked around the 9mm. She'd purchased herself some protection recently. Illegally no doubt. There was no weapon registered in either her name or her aunt's.
"Lower your weapon," he countered, "and we'll talk."
She made a scoffing sound. "You lower yours," she tossed right back. "I'm not stupid."
No. She wasn't stupid. Just not wise in the ways of kill or be killed. He could have squeezed off a round and ended her life several times since the conversation began, while she still contemplated what would happen next.
"If I wanted you dead, Miss Parker, you would already be dead." He nodded to the table that stood between them. "Put it there. Use your left hand."
She blinked, long lashes momentarily hiding the fear in those pale eyes. "No."
"Then you leave me no choice."
Before she could comprehend his intent he had snaked out his left hand, snagged the weapon and twisted it out of her grasp. She rocketed to her feet but froze when the barrel of his weapon leveled back on her chest.
"Sit."
"What else do you want from me?" she demanded. She started to shake. Panic…adrenaline. She was on the edge, but not quite where he needed her.
"I think you have me confused with some of your longtime associates."
Her expression turned bewildered but only for a moment, realization dawned. "You're…" She moistened her lips as if buying time to marshal the additional effort required to utter his name. "You're Cole Danes."
"Sit down, Miss Parker."
She eased down onto the navy slipcovered sofa. From what he knew of her finances the old sofa had likely been covered out of necessity rather than de sign.
"Three days ago your daughter disappeared, then twenty-four hours later your aunt vanished. I know you were involved with Howard Stephens as far back as two years ago. I also know that the disappearances of the people you care about are connected to him and certain information involving the Colby Agency." The first glitter of true terror appeared in her eyes. "I already know the worst of what you've done, Miss Parker, so start talking and don't leave anything out."
Angel had no idea what Cole Danes looked like. But, whoever this man was, he had her gun. Fear knotted in her stomach. Why hadn't she just shot him?
Because she couldn't.
The men holding her aunt hostage wanted Cole Danes. If she killed him…God she didn't even want to think about what they would do to her aunt. What was she thinking? She couldn't kill anyone.
She clasped her hands in her lap in an effort to disguise their trembling and took a deep breath. The man on the phone had told her to follow Danes's lead.
Her gaze moved back up to the man standing over her. "If you know so much why do I have to tell you anything?" She didn't have to make this easy for him. He was her enemy just as much as the other two were. She couldn't trust anyone. Not even the people Mildred trusted at the Colby Agency. They had sent this man after her.
The Colby Agency couldn't help her. Not that she could blame Victoria for hating her now. The idea of what her actions had put the woman through…Angel shuddered.
The police couldn't help her, either.
She was on her own.
"Don't try my patience, Miss Parker."
What she saw in his eyes more than the sound of his voice warned her that he was not a man who li
ked games. The intensity in those blue eyes unnerved her completely. It didn't help that he had long hair se cured in a ponytail and a silver hoop in one earlobe. She shivered. He looked as if he belonged on a seventeenth-century pirate ship rather than in her living room. But she'd seen guys like him in contemporary movies. Always ruthless, always ignoring laws other than their own.
"All right." She closed her eyes briefly and prayed that those other men wouldn't storm her house just now and kill them both before she could at least at tempt to find her aunt. She had no way of knowing their intentions. She could only do as she was told.
She didn't know why she bothered, but she decided to tell Mr. Danes the truth to the extent she could. Why add one more transgression to her rising tally of sins to answer for? she reasoned. Right now, she considered morosely, going to hell was the least of her worries.
"Two years ago a man approached me at work and asked for scheduling information regarding Victoria Colby." She shrugged. "I thought it was some sort of joke until he told me that he had my daughter and that I wouldn't get her back until he had the information. I argued that I had no way of getting what he wanted and he countered that all I had to do was access the agency's system through my aunt's ID."
God it seemed so long ago now. She shook her head slowly from side to side. "I went to my aunt's office for lunch that same day and while she was in Victoria's office, I looked at her computer. Got what they asked for." She swallowed back a lump of remembered emotion. "They gave me my daughter back and threatened that if I ever told anyone that they would kill her next time."
"So you told no one," Danes prompted. "You didn't trust your aunt enough to tell her."
Angel glared at him. "Do you think I'd risk my child's life? I couldn't take the chance." She'd done the right thing. Like now, what other choice was there?
"Howard Stephens was the man who came to you for information from time to time?" he asked.
She nodded. "I didn't know his name for a long time. It was all done anonymously. Once in a while he or one of his men would be waiting at the child-care center where I took my daughter just to prove they could get to her. They even came in my house in the middle of the night. I'd find my baby's crib empty." Tears burned her eyes. "I'd search the house frantically only to find her sleeping in her playpen." She looked up at the man no doubt passing judgment on her at that very moment. "They would do this just to prove they could. To keep me aware of who held all the power."
"How did you manage to hide your daughter this time?"
A new kind of fear froze in her veins. "I won't tell you where she is. Even if you torture me, I won't say."
Apparently he believed her since he moved on. "Something tipped you off, gave you the opportunity to get one step ahead."
"Aunt Mildred told me about Victoria Colby's son." Colby-Camp, she reminded herself. Victoria was now married to Lucas Camp. "When she explained all that this evil man Leberman had done I realized that his actions in the past two years coincided with information I had given Stephens." A heavy breath pushed past her lips. She would never forgive herself for what she'd had to do. She certainly didn't expect God or anyone else to.
"I hoped that since Leberman was dead that it was over. I couldn't imagine any reason his men would continue to haunt my life or Victoria's."
She let go a weary breath. "But about a week ago Aunt Mildred told me about the investigation and that there might be a leak at the agency. I knew then it wasn't over."
"Get up."
His command startled her. "What?"
"Get up."
She pushed to her feet, uncertain whether he in tended to kill her or…some part of her brain wondered if Stephens's men had anticipated this move. Did Victoria Colby-Camp want revenge for what Angel had done? Angel could scarcely blame her. But she hadn't known Victoria's missing child was related to those evil men…hadn't been able to do anything else.
"You have five minutes to pack whatever you think you need."
She blinked, confused all over again. So he wasn't going to kill her?
But where was he taking her? Would those men be watching? Was this part of their plan?
She shoved her hair behind her ears and reached for some semblance of composure. Didn't matter. She had her instructions.
She grabbed her purse from the floor and made her way to the bedroom. Cole Danes stayed right be hind her, his weapon carefully trained on her back. She didn't have to look to know, she could feel it.
Somewhere she had an overnight bag. She prowled through the closet until she found it. A night shirt, a couple of changes of undergarments, sweaters and jeans. Oh, yeah, and socks. Too cold to go without them. Toothbrush, toothpaste. Antiperspirant. She couldn't think of anything else.
"Get your coat and let's go."
She faced him, the weight of her bag dragging at her right shoulder. "Where are we going?" Surely he wouldn't turn her in to the police. Lord, she hadn't thought of that until that very second. What she had done was criminal. She could go to prison. Her aunt would die and her child would be raised by strangers. All of which, she admitted, a new flood of oppression washing over her, would likely happen anyway. "No questions."
She resisted when he took her arm and would have ushered her from the room. The other man, the one who worked for Howard Stephens, had said those same words. No questions.
How could she be sure this was Cole Danes? What if she went with this man and it was a mistake?
"I need to see some ID." She tugged her arm free of his firm grasp, knowing she couldn't have done so had he not allowed it. He was strong. Tall, broad shouldered, but lean and powerful like a panther.
He reached into his jacket with his free hand and withdrew a leather case. "Be my guest."
She took the case from him and opened it. The picture on the credentials was this man all right. Six-two, one hundred seventy pounds. Forty. That surprised her. He didn't look more than thirty-five. Lived in Washington D.C. She handed the case back to him. She didn't want to know anything else.
"Convinced?"
"I suppose." Credentials could be forged. She didn't see the point in bringing that to his attention. He would likely know.
He slipped the case back into his interior pocket then motioned to the door with his gun. She reached for a jacket in her closet and tugged it on.
"Back door," he said when she would have turned toward the living room.
Angel drew in a long, deep breath of cool night air as Danes hustled her across her neighbor's back yard. The moon did little to light their path but he apparently knew where he wanted to go. He moved in the night like most people did in the daylight, with out hesitation or conscious thought. Even she didn't know her neighbor's yard so well.
When they'd crossed to the opposite side of the street, he waited beneath the shadow of a copse of trees before resuming the journey to wherever he'd parked.
A dark sedan eased up to the curb in front of her house. Angel peered through the darkness and tried to see who got out. Two people. Tall. Male, she decided, after surveying their bulky frames. Stephens's men.
One moved stealthily toward her front door while the other crossed the street and searched a car parked there.
More lights came on inside her house.
The guy at the car swore hotly then moved quickly to join his friend in her house.
"What—"
The rest of her query died in her throat as Danes's hand closed over her mouth. When she struggled his arm clamped around her waist and hauled her against him. His body felt hard against her backside. His arm a band of unyielding steel.
The two men suddenly burst out through her front door and rushed to the car they had arrived in. She couldn't make out their gruff dialogues before they'd piled into the vehicle and sped away.
The man who'd called had told her to follow Danes's lead. Was she supposed to have kept him at her house until they arrived? Had she somehow made a mistake?
Fear exploded inside her. Wou
ld they kill her aunt now? Start the search for her child? No. No! Please, God. No.
Danes released her. Her knees gave way beneath her.
All that kept her from an up-close encounter with the ground was his swift reaction. He had her back in his powerful arms in the nick of time. Her mind whirled with more questions…mounting fear. What did she do now?
"Can you walk?" He shook her when she didn't respond. "I said, can you walk?"
She nodded and grappled to regain her equilibrium. "Yes."
He took her bag, draped it over his own shoulder and then she was suddenly moving for ward…through the dark, through more yards that weren't her own. His punishing grip on her wrist lugging her in his path.
"Where are we going?"
"Shut up."
He had to know something she didn't, knew those men would be out looking for them. "Are they searching for us now?"
He halted abruptly and his face was suddenly right in front of hers. His grip had somehow relocated from her wrist to her chin. "If you want to live, shut up."
She trembled. Bit down on her lower lip to hold back a pained yelp. His fingers tightened. "No more talking."
He started forward again, his viselike grip on her wrist once more. She thought about the gun she'd bought. The advice the man at the pawnshop had given her. Why hadn't she shot him when he told her to turn on the light? Why had she let him take her gun away?
Those men wanted him. They were angry that they'd missed him. Somehow she had made a mistake, was supposed to have kept him occupied until they arrived.
Wait.
Her frantic thoughts jarred to a stop.
They wanted to teach Danes a lesson first. He'd said that. She remembered now. Maybe this was part of the lesson—a sick game of some sort. But how was that possible? It felt wrong. As if Danes was in control. She'd heard the man who'd checked the car swear. He'd been furious. If things had gone as he'd planned why would he be angry?
