by Debra Webb
"It's me he wants. As long as he needs your aunt to lure me in, she'll be safe."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She lunged upward, matched his stance. "How is he sup posed to lure you in when you won't let me talk to him?" God, she couldn't believe she was asking that. Now who lacked compassion?
"We should get started."
Angel rubbed her eyes and shook her head. This whole thing grew more and more insane with each passing moment. "You're hurt, you shouldn't be doing anything but resting." Her voice sounded as hollow as she felt. Nothing made sense anymore. She didn't know what to believe, or what to hope for. If she prayed for her aunt's survival, did that mean Danes was to die?
What did that make her?
What would Mildred do in her shoes?
And suddenly Angel knew. Mildred would be strong. She would do whatever necessary to accomplish her goal.
"The pain is tolerable," he stated matter-of-factly.
"I'll be fine."
"Do you need me to drive?" She gathered her purse, dropped the cell phone into it.
"That would be helpful." He pulled on his jacket. From the corner of her eye she saw him wince.
She nodded and followed him out the door. How ever stoic he appeared, she knew he suffered. Though the injury mostly involved tissue, no major damage other than the cracked rib, there would be pain associated with that as well as the sutures. Since he re fused to take any sort of pain reliever, he had to be working hard to tune out the pain. Weakness as a result of the blood loss was likely taking its toll. She'd have to keep an eye on him.
For the first time since she'd encountered Cole Danes she wondered what drove him? Why was he doing this? She knew full well how important Mildred was to Victoria Colby-Camp and the Colby Agency. Was Danes doing the job he'd been hired by Victoria to do or was there something more here? Something she didn't fully understand.
She sensed there was. But how in the world could she possibly hope to learn the secrets of a man like Cole Danes?
* * *
COLE DIRECTED HER to the temporary apartment he'd moved into while working on the Colby Agency investigation. Only a few blocks off the Magnificent Mile and from the Colby Agency offices, the luxurious high-rise had offered nothing more than a place to sleep and change clothes.
"Mr. Danes, how are you this evening?" the uniformed doorman asked as Cole approached the door.
"Fine, thank you, Metcalf."
The doorman, one of four employed by the building, nodded to Angel. She smiled awkwardly, hesitated as if not sure what to say or do. Cole ushered her into the lobby and toward the elevator.
"Where are we?" she whispered when they were out of earshot of the doorman.
"My place."
He almost smiled at her surprised look. He'd learned that about her in the past few hours. She wasn't very good at disguising her emotions, was a hideous liar. Just another of those little things that made her far too innocent to be involved with men like Leberman and Stephens and their cronies.
With men like him for that matter.
In the elevator he selected his floor, ten, and waited impatiently for the doors to close and the car to glide upward.
"I guess you make a lot of money in your line of work," she ventured. "Much more than a nurse." She smiled shyly.
That smile, though chock-full of trepidation, disturbed him somehow. He didn't understand it, didn't even try. He could only reason that lack of sleep and physical discomfort were playing havoc with his ability to think clearly. He had to focus.
"More than a nurse most likely," he agreed, though he kept his gaze focused anywhere but upon her. The clothes they'd purchased fit differently from the ones she'd been wearing before. Tighter perhaps, more form-fitting certainly. Under other circum stances he would have considered the possibility as a ploy to distract him, but the selections had been hurried at best. Perhaps he hadn't really noticed the finer details of her figure previously.
He shouldn't notice now.
That he did provided ample evidence of his inability to stay focused.
"Wow."
He'd scarcely opened the door and turned on the lights and already she moved around the living room, admiring the decorating and furnishings. None of which had anything to do with him. The place had come furnished.
There was no time to waste giving her a personal tour. He'd barely seen the place himself. In reality, elegance was something he'd come to take for granted. Money could buy most anything and that was a luxury he'd never been without.
The supplies he needed for tonight were stowed in the bedroom closet. He selected carefully and packed the items in a backpack. He straightened, hauling the heavy pack onto his shoulder, a stab of pain cut through his gut.
A line of sweat instantly popped out along his forehead. Getting shot hadn't been part of the plan, but it was a deviation he could deal with. In the en suite bathroom he swallowed a couple of over-the-counter pain relievers and washed them down with a gulp of water. That would have to get him through the night.
Time was too short to allow anything to slow down his responses.
He found Angel in the kitchen.
"Your cupboards are bare," she said jokingly, though he sensed that it wasn't actually a joke.
"You're hungry?"
"Starved. I hadn't even thought about it until a little while ago." She glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. "But the time is going by so fast." Her worried gaze bumped back into his. "What do we do now?"
"Now we get you some food."
They exited the building and, with her at the wheel of the rented car, he directed her to a drive-thru restaurant. Sub sandwiches and soft drinks were fast and easy. Food would help fuel him, as well. Though he rarely bothered to slow down long enough to eat when on an investigation. The injury added another demand on him physically. Food would be helpful.
In deference to the time, they ate en route. Occupied with the food and following his instructions, she didn't ask about the final destination until they'd parked in the quiet Chicago Heights neighborhood.
"Where are we?" she asked. She'd polished off her sandwich. The lady had definitely been famished.
"At the home of one of the EMTs."
"Why?"
"Because our friend will want to know what I learned from his fallen comrade."
Even in the dark, fear glittered visibly in her wide eyes. "What did you learn?"
"That's not important at the moment."
When she would have argued, he cut in smoothly, "We have to go inside his house and set up our surveillance."
"We're going to break into his house?"
Clearly the EMT wasn't home. The house was dark. And Cole already knew that the man volunteered at a local soup kitchen two nights per week, this being one of them.
"How do you know he'll come here? Weren't there two EMTs?"
Very good. He liked that she could think beyond the moment.
"The other EMT is pulling an extra shift tonight. He'll be the easiest to locate."
"How do you know that?"
"I made a few calls while you were sleeping." He'd asked after both EMTs and the dispatcher had happily given him all the information he requested. Of course, the fact that he'd introduced himself as a federal agent had helped. He theorized that their tar get would do the same.
"What if the first EMT tells him all he needs to know?"
"He can't, he wasn't close enough to hear."
She appeared to accept that explanation.
"I've never broken into anyone's house before," she admitted.
But then he knew that. Angel Parker had never been in trouble in her life until Howard Stephens appeared. She'd just been a typical single parent at tempting to survive despite being overworked and underpaid.
She would never be typical again. Her life was for ever changed.
For the first time in a very long time, Cole wished he possessed the power to right someone else's wrong. He'd been so
focused the past ten years he hadn't taken the time to wonder or even to care what happened to anyone else. He had his own demons. But now, sitting in the dark, outside a stranger's house, he truly wished he could make all of this go away for this young woman.
But he couldn't.
He had to finish this.
And nothing, not even this innocent woman, would get in his way.
Angel followed Danes through the darkness. The last time she'd looked at the clock she'd had to fight off a tidal wave of fresh fear. Barely fourteen hours left. It felt as if they were no closer now than they'd been this time last night. It seemed impossible that she'd already spent more than twenty-four hours with Danes.
Strangely it felt like a lot longer. Like a mini eternity. All the while bouncing from one extreme to the other. One minute she hated him and the next she wanted to touch him as, apparently, no one else ever had.
She couldn't think about anything else right now. Her aunt's life hung in the balance. She hadn't seen her daughter in days. And she was so tired. Those few hours of sleep had done little to ward off her bone-deep fatigue.
She could only image how Danes felt. He hadn't slept at all as far as she could tell. The pain had to be a constant nag. But it didn't slow him. For that she was thankful. If he could help her aunt, she'd follow him most anywhere.
He withdrew a small tool from his shoulder pack and in seconds was inside the back door of the tiny cottage. The man could do anything it seemed.
She shivered at the thought of what kind of lover he would make. Would he be as brutal in bed as he was on the job? Why was she even thinking about that? Now of all times? The whole idea was far too ludicrous to even consider.
You are truly out of your mind, Angel.
Her cheeks flushed when she thought of how she'd kissed Keith Anderson today. He had to think she'd lost it completely. The guy had been after her for weeks—months—for a date. If she survived this, she would never keep him at bay now. Maybe it wouldn't be so awful if she hadn't been obsessing about Danes. He was the one she'd wanted to kiss. Stupid. Stupid.
How could she want to kiss a man who'd been nothing short of mean to her? Okay, he had saved her life. But he was…rude and grouchy. He barely showed any emotion. The whole concept was nuts.
But then, she could pick 'em, couldn't she? She'd fallen head over heels for the father of her child and what had that gotten her? The child she loved, yes, but a broken heart, too. She'd promised herself not to fall for another guy she couldn't read…couldn't trust.
Cole Danes was impossible to read and trusting him was emotional suicide.
But he was all she had in this.
She watched him move about the dark house with nothing but a flashlight to guide him. His movements were smooth, his gait as sleek as a cat's. Not once had he bumped into anything. She didn't dare move for fear of knocking something over. He was completely at home in the dark.
His clothes blended perfectly with the night. Black shirt, black slacks. He probably wore black briefs or boxers, as well.
She thought about the way he'd looked when he came out of the bathroom wearing only a towel. His skin was as smooth and sleek as his movements. Stretched tight over ridges of muscle that made her mouth dry just remembering them. As strong as he was, as well-defined as his muscles were, he looked lean and hard, not an ounce of fat or unnecessary bulge of muscle. She doubted anything about this man went to waste. Unlike other humans he didn't waste energy on emotion. That ability made him immune to the hurts of everyday life.
What kind of childhood environment or event in his life had made him that way? At forty, he should be married, should have kids. But he didn't. He claimed he didn't have anyone. What about parents, brothers or sisters? Surely he had loved his family.
He evidently had money, seemed accustomed to its availability. Had he been born to wealth or was he a self-made man?
"Now we wait."
She jerked at the sound of his voice right next to her.
"You're through?"
"Yes."
She'd been lost in an imaginary episode of Cole Danes. Had lost all sense of the here and now. "We wait in here?"
"In the car. I'll monitor the house from there."
"Good." She didn't know what else to say. Still had no clue what he had planned.
Sensing that he didn't want anyone to hear them she kept her questions to herself until they were safely settled back into the car. He took the passenger seat so she slid back behind the steering wheel.
He placed a small black box on the dash and tinkered with it for a bit, all without the aid of light.
She couldn't wait to see if he could leap tall buildings in a single bound. He'd taken a bullet without much more than a blink.
So this was what action heroes were like. Extremely intelligent, relentless, but sadly lacking in the personality department.
Too bad.
She had to think about something else. She couldn't stand sitting here in the dark in shocking silence. Thinking about him…not thinking—obsessing.
She'd gotten up to the three digits when he asked, "Do you always count stars when you're nervous?"
She relaxed into the seat and folded her arms over her breasts. "I wasn't counting stars," she lied. "I was…" What? "Checking out the constellations."
He made a little sound, a kind of breathy chuckle. It surprised her so that she had to look at him.
"You have something to say?"
She couldn't believe she'd asked that…couldn't believe any of this was happening.
What had she done to anger the universe? Her aunt had been kidnapped. Her daughter in the care of strangers. And here she was chatting about the constellations with a man she'd only met twenty-four hours ago and who had threatened to kill her at least once.
But he did save your life, a little voice reminded.
"Tell me about you and Mr. Anderson."
His question startled her from her confusing thoughts.
"Keith?"
"Yes. The gentleman who kindly stitched me up."
"I see him at the hospital."
"I know that part. What about the rest?"
She frowned, irritation drawing a line between her eyebrows. "We're friends, if that's what you mean."
"Maybe from your perspective," he said offhandedly.
Why the hell were they talking about this?
"Excuse me, can you tell me what we're waiting for here?" She plopped her hands out in a what-the-hell gesture. "You haven't told me anything."
She had to get back on track. She closed her eyes and ordered herself to calm down.
"We're waiting for our EMT to come home. My guess is our target will soon follow."
"Then what?" He never told her everything. Never. He'd give her so much and then nothing!
"Then we take it from there. Our move depends upon what he says and does."
The epiphany struck her like an electrical charge from a cardiac defibrillator. "You don't know any thing, do you? That dying man didn't…Oh God." He couldn't rescue her aunt because he didn't know any thing. That's why they were sitting in the dark waiting for the EMT to show…hoping the target, as he called him, fell into the trap.
"I know enough," Danes said as he surveyed the still-dark house.
She grabbed his shirtsleeve, demanding his full attention. "Why didn't you let me talk to him? He would have told us what he wanted us to do next!"
If Danes played out this stupid scenario and her aunt was harmed in any way—
He manacled her wrist and jerked her close. "This isn't about what he wants," he growled savagely. "This is about staying one step ahead, leading the game instead of following."
"This isn't a game," she cried softly.
"It's been a game from the very beginning," he argued, some of the conviction seeping from his harsh tone. "That's what men like Howard Stephens and Errol Leberman do. They play games with life and death. It's who they are."
She swallowed at the
panic crowding into her throat. "And is that who you are?" She blinked back the sting of tears. Dammit, she would not cry. Not now.
Her eyes had long ago adjusted to the dark night, allowing her to make out the details of his face in the light from the low-slung moon and brilliant stars. His gaze dropped to her lips and she trembled. Foolish, foolish, but she simply could not suppress the re action.
"I don't play games, Angel," he murmured. The sound of her name on his lips sent another shiver racing through her.
"Just promise me that you won't let anything hap pen to my aunt. I need to know that this is going to be okay. I don't think I can keep it together much longer without something to hang on to."
"I'll do everything I can to keep her safe, but I can't guarantee you that he hasn't hurt her already."
A sob quaked through her in spite of her best efforts to hold it back.
"But I can promise you that this nightmare will soon be over. He will die."
Again the idea that this was more than just a job prodded at her. This was personal somehow. She could feel it. Could feel his hatred. She had no idea where he'd come from or how he fit into this. All she knew was that the Colby Agency had hired him to find the leak. But there had to be more.
"Who are you?"
"It doesn't matter." He released her and turned his attention back to the house.
Angel thought about that for a time. She mulled over the mistakes she'd made in her own life. How she'd mourned the loss of her parents. They'd been ripped from her life in an instant by a drunk driver. She closed her eyes and pushed away the memories of that night. Her aunt had brought her the news in person, not wanting her to learn from anyone else or over the phone. She'd been there for Angel ever since.
A part of her would always be convinced that the sudden, unbearable loss had caused her to seek sol ace in all the wrong places. First by driving herself too hard in her studies. It sounded like a worthy cause, but she'd ended up run-down physically and with a case of the flu she'd had a hell of a time shaking. Then she'd turned to other interests, like her sorely lacking social life. The next thing she knew she'd fallen for the wrong guy and ended up pregnant.
Once again, her aunt had been there to pick up the pieces. Her daughter had become the center of her life as well as her aunt's. Life had felt pretty close to perfect for a little while.
