Chapter Twelve
As Jake neared Sammy and Carl, he straightened and began windmilling his arms—the picture of an out-of-control skier. He slammed into the two men with a sickening thud. Anne winced, but couldn’t look away. Sammy and Carl went sprawling into the snow, while Jake slid off to the side, skis still on his feet as he crouched over them.
She watched in amazement as he straightened, then skied past her without a word. She took off after him. By the time Sammy and Carl recovered, she and Jake would be long gone.
She followed him onto a series of blue and green runs that crisscrossed through the trees. He left the run and skied into the trees, stopping at the base of a large pine. He was breathing heavily, his face flushed when he pulled the bandana he wore from over his nose. “I think...we lost them,” he gasped, doubled over, his hands on his knees.
She looked back up the run they’d just descended. No sign of her brother or his bodyguard. “What were you doing up there?” she asked. “I thought you were going to wait at the base.”
“After you got on the lift I decided it was a bad idea to leave you alone. If your father or one of his men recognized you, it would be too easy for them to kidnap you—or worse—without me to watch your back. So I followed.”
“And I’m glad you did. But I thought you couldn’t ski with your injuries.”
“After that run I don’t have much more left in me. I thought I was going to have to take off my skis and come down on my butt. Then I saw you with those two and adrenaline kicked in. Was that your brother?”
She nodded. “He didn’t recognize me. I pretended to be a French tourist.”
“And he believed you?”
“Oh, yes. My brother fancies himself a real Casanova, a man no woman can resist.”
“You mean, he was
hitting
on you?” Jake’s outrage was almost comical.
“Yes. It’s funny now, but at the time, I was terrified.” She looked him up and down. “Are you sure you’re all right? That was quite a crash.”
“I was a lot more stable than I looked, and I wasn’t going that fast when I hit. Mainly, I surprised them and caught them off balance.”
“I don’t think they were hurt, either, but it bought us the time we needed to get away.” She looked again up the empty run. “Do you speak French?”
He shook his head. “Why?”
“I was thinking that if we run into them again before we get off this mountain—if they see us together—you need to pretend to be my husband. I told them I was trying to get back to you.”
“Tell them I have laryngitis.”
She laughed, as much from relief as from any real mirth. “I’m so glad you came along when you did,” she said. “I was sure any moment he’d recognize me. He’d be embarrassed and angry, and there’s no telling what he would have done. Or rather, what he would have had Carl do.”
“At least now we know for sure he’s here. I don’t suppose he said anything about your father?”
“No. And I certainly wasn’t going to ask.”
“We’d better go. We’ll head back through the beginner area. Something tells me your brother and his bodyguard aren’t likely to venture onto the bunny hill.”
“I think the bunny hill is all I care to tackle right now,” she said. “My legs are jelly.”
“Mine, too. Just hang in there. We’ll return to the hotel and decide on our next move.”
“I vote for the hot tub,” she said.
He grinned. “Sounds like a great idea.”
He led the way out of the woods and she followed. Later, when the impact of her encounter with her brother really hit her, she’d probably be even more shaky. For now, she pushed those emotions away and focused on keeping her weight even over her skis and making nice, easy turns. She was safe, and Jake was watching her back. Amazing how good it felt to know that.
* * *
“A
RE
YOU
SURE
you’re all right?” Jake asked for the third time since he and Anne had clicked out of their skis and headed back toward the hotel.
“I’m fine.” She strode along beside him, skis on her shoulder, goggles shading her eyes—and hiding her expression, so he couldn’t decide if she was telling the truth or putting up a brave front.
“Are you sure? You look pale.”
“You’re the one who’s limping, not me.”
He made an effort to lessen the limp, though his legs felt like they were made of broken glass, jagged edges sending jolts of pain through him with every step. “The physical therapist said exercise was good for me.” Exercise, but probably not a kamikaze plunge down a double-black ski slope.
“I’m sure I could have gotten away from Sammy and his sidekick on my own,” she said. “I hate to think you hurt yourself coming after me when it wasn’t really necessary.”
“A while ago you were grateful to me for saving you.”
“Yes, but now I’ve had time to think about it and I realize I didn’t really need saving. I could have kept up the pretense of being French and eventually gotten away from him. Once we’d been around more people, he wouldn’t have wanted to make a scene.”
Maybe Jake had risked himself for nothing; even when he’d known Anne before, she’d been very good at looking after herself. “If nothing else, you could have shown off your boxing skills and punched him,” he said.
She laughed. “There is that.”
“So what now?” he asked. “Back to the hotel and that hot tub?”
“First, I have to buy a swimsuit.”
“Can you buy a swimsuit in a ski town?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
She led the way down a side street to a boutique that, as it turned out, had a large section devoted to both men’s and women’s swimwear. They left their skis in a rack just outside the door and pushed their way inside. Shoppers, mostly women, milled around the racks and displays, while several men congregated on benches in what was clearly a waiting area for patient spouses.
Anne selected several suits and headed for the dressing room. “Need any help?” Jake asked.
“You need to get your own suit,” she said, and ducked into a changing room.
He wandered over to a rack of Hawaiian-print swim trunks and began flipping through them. “You’re taking a risk coming here, Senator,” a voice behind him said.
“Even politicians are allowed to take vacations.”
“The issue isn’t your vacation. It’s who you’re vacationing with.”
Jake maneuvered around the rack of suits until he had a view of the speakers—two middle-aged men seated on a bench near the door, apparently waiting for their wives or girlfriends to finish shopping.
“I’m vacationing with my wife and with you and your wife, Al,” a portly, white-haired man with a florid face said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“I’m not the one you should be worried about,” the other man, shorter with iron-gray hair, said.
“This really isn’t a discussion I want to have in public,” the senator said.
“Should I get the red or the blue?” Jake turned to see Anne holding up two swimsuits for his inspection.
“No bikini?” he asked, surveying what looked to him like relatively demure one-pieces.
“I guess you’ll have to use your imagination,” she said.
“I have a very good imagination.” And a good memory.
“Have you picked out a suit?” she asked.
“How about this one?” He grabbed a pair of trunks from the rack.
“You don’t think they’re a little big?”
He checked the tag. Extra large. He found the same pair in a medium. “Okay, how about these?”
“Great. What have you been doing while I’ve been in the dressing room? Ogling other women?”
“Not exactly.” He pulled out his credit card to pay for their purchases, then steered her outside. When they were a block away from the shop, he asked, “Does your father know Senator Greg Nordley? He’s a senator from New York state.”
“I know who he is, but I have no idea if Pop knew him. Maybe. Probably. He made it a point to know people like that.”
“People like what?”
“People in power. Politicians. Why?”
“I just saw a man I think is Nordley in that shop. He was talking to another man who apparently thought Nordley was taking a risk by vacationing in Telluride with someone the other guy didn’t approve of.”
“You think Nordley is here to see my father?”
“It makes sense if Nordley is the man who helped your father get out of prison. Maybe Nordley is here to collect a favor.”
She said nothing as they negotiated a crowded corner. “Did your FBI contacts say the man who helped my father was a senator? Or that it was a politician from New York?”
“They didn’t say. But it makes me wonder.”
She looked doubtful. “It’s not much to go on.”
“Let’s file the information away for future reference. It could come in handy.”
“I don’t see how, but all right.” She shifted her skis to her other shoulder. “Right now all I want is a shower and a soak in that hot tub.”
“Sounds good.” He was looking forward to seeing her in her swimsuit, but he’d keep that comment to himself—for now.
* * *
A
N
HOUR
LATER
, Jake, wrapped in a hotel robe and carrying a towel, rode the elevator to the rooftop hot tub, where Anne had agreed to meet him after her shower.
The elevator opened and he stepped onto the deck, which offered an extravagant view of snowcapped peaks and azure sky. At this time of day, just after noon, the deck was empty, the large, bubbling hot tub awaiting the après-ski crowd later in the day.
He made his way to the spa, grateful Anne wasn’t around to see him limping. That mad dash down the mountain had taken more out of him than he would admit to her. Only sheer will and obstinacy had gotten him through. Then again, that was what had been driving him ever since he opened his eyes in the hospital after the shooting—a will to survive and a determination to finish the job he’d started and see Sam Giardino behind bars permanently.
He carefully lowered himself into the steaming water and positioned himself to watch the elevator doors. He didn’t want to miss a moment of Anne in her swimsuit. The modest one-piece she’d purchased was not the daring bikini Elizabeth would have chosen, but he had no doubt she’d be more beautiful than ever in it.
And he was going to do his best to not show his reaction to her. They had a business arrangement and a tentative friendship; he wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize either.
The elevator doors opened and he sat up straighter, heart pounding in anticipation. But instead of Anne, a man stepped onto the deck. He was tall, with light brown hair showing beneath a red knit cap. He wore hiking boots, dark jeans and a fisherman’s sweater. To most people, he probably looked like a tourist, but something in his alert attitude—a sense of coiled energy and vigilance—told Jake this guy was either law enforcement or a paid hit man.
Chapter Thirteen
Jake froze, and tried to keep his breathing steady and even. Had Sam Giardino discovered that Jake was alive and in Telluride, and sent someone to take him out? After killing Jake, would the assassin wait on the roof for Anne?
He glanced at his robe hanging on the back of a chair, just out of arm’s reach. There was a gun in the pocket, but he’d likely be dead before he could reach it. Gripping the edge of the hot tub, he looked around for something else he could use as a weapon. In the meantime, he needed to remain calm and avoid overreacting.
The newcomer walked straight to the hot tub. “Jacob Westmoreland,” he said in a smooth, deep voice that belonged on the evening news. “I’m Patrick Thompson. I thought the two of us should talk.”
Thompson
. Jake released his grip on the side of the tub and sat up straighter. He might have known the marshal would show up sooner rather than later. “Does Anne know you’re here?” he asked.
“No. I wanted to talk to you first.” The marshal’s gaze swept over him, assessing, though his expression betrayed nothing about his opinion of Jake.
“You wanted to check me out.”
“That’s my job.” He looked around the empty rooftop. “I’ll wait for you over by those tables.”
Jake debated refusing, or making Thompson wait until he’d finished his soak. But that would allow more time for Anne to arrive, and he’d just as soon get this over with before she showed up.
Thompson walked over to the tables and took a chair facing Jake. Conscious of the other man’s eyes on him, Jake took his time climbing out of the spa, toweling off and shrugging into his robe. Then he joined the federal marshal at the table. A propane heater shaped like an oversize copper lamp bathed the table in warmth, and provided a low, dull roar to further mask their conversation from passersby—if there had been anyone to overhear.
“Can I see some ID?” Jake asked, choosing a chair with a view of the elevator.
Thompson produced a leather case and opened it. Jake studied the U.S. marshal’s credentials and nodded. “What do you want to talk about?” As if the two of them had any shared interests other than Anne.
“You were out of line, getting in touch with Anne. And you’re stepping way over the line, bringing her here.”
“She’s in WitSec. She’s not your prisoner. She can see whoever she wants, and go where she wants.”
“You’re not a federal agent anymore. This is not your case, and by getting involved you’re jeopardizing a federal investigation.”
“No, I’m a private citizen. I can visit a friend if I want to.”
Thompson’s jaw tightened, the first sign that the guy could show emotion. “You had no right to compromise Anne’s identity. If someone who knew her before sees the two of you together, you could be putting her in danger.”
“You let her think I was dead.” All the time he’d been worrying and wondering and dreaming about her, she hadn’t even known he was alive.
“We thought it was best,” Thompson said. “She needed to start over, with no ties to the past.”
“I’m doing my best to give her a future. One where she doesn’t have to be looking over her shoulder every minute.”
He expected Thompson to object to that. Fine. Jake was ready to have it out with the man who thought he had the right to dictate the life Anne would lead. Instead, the marshal leaned back in his chair and studied Jake, relaxed and thoughtful. “What makes you think you can find Sam Giardino when no one else has?” he asked.
“Maybe because I want him more than the rest of you do.”
Thompson stiffened and Jake bit back a smile. He didn’t like criticism, did he? “What do you mean?” Thompson asked.
“I mean that it’s in some people’s interests to keep Sam Giardino free—people in power who owe him favors.”
“Who are you talking about?”
He glanced toward the elevator—no sign of Anne. “I don’t know yet,” he said. “But you must have heard the same rumors I did.”
“That depends on what you’ve heard.”
“All I heard was that an elected official who knew how to pull strings worked it so that Sam Giardino got away, and provided the means for Giardino to stay free. Someone in power made it his business to see that Giardino didn’t spend much time behind bars.”
“But you can’t give me a name?”
“No.” He sat back, debating whether to share the next bit of news—or non-news—with Thompson. He decided to let the man decide for himself if the information was valuable or not. “I saw Senator Greg Nordley in town today. He was arguing with another man who thought the senator was taking a risk in coming to Telluride.”
“Who was this man?”
“I don’t know. But I’d recognize him again if I saw him.”
“Maybe he was worried the senator would hurt himself skiing.”
“This other man objected to whoever the senator was vacationing with.”
“Anything else?”
“No. The senator said this wasn’t something they should be discussing in public.”
Thompson took a notebook from his pocket and wrote something—maybe Nordley’s name. Or his assessment that Jake was nuts. “A U.S. senator could be doing any number of things—ethical or unethical, legal or illegal—but that doesn’t mean any of them have a connection to Sam Giardino.”
“Yeah. Maybe it’s just a coincidence. But if I’ve heard this rumor about Sam’s powerful friend, I know you have, too. And if we find Sam, he could lead us to that person.”
“We?”
“Do I look like a one-man SWAT team? When I find him, I’ll let you and whatever posse you want to bring do the rest.”
Thompson fell silent. His gaze dropped to Jake’s legs, visible beneath the hem of the hotel robe. The scars from the surgery that had put him back together were clearly visible, white, waxy lines against his skin. “You’re something of a legend, did you know?” Thompson asked. “They say you died twice on the operating table, and almost bought it again when you had pneumonia.”
Was Thompson trying to flatter him? Jake had heard the legend line before—when the Bureau showed him the door and handed him a pension.
“All the more reason for me to want Giardino, to make him pay for the hell he put me through.”
“They also say you’re too obsessed with Giardino—that you’ve made this fight personal.”
“Who is they? And I just told you this fight
is
personal.”
“You lose your objectivity, you lose all sense of caution.”
“Did they teach you that in Marshal school?”
To his surprise, Thompson laughed. “You don’t sound like any Bureau man I ever met.”
“I never was a typical FBI guy. I was an accountant who thought it would be fun to play secret agent. I found out otherwise.”
Thompson leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “You and I are on the same side,” he said. “We both want to protect Anne.”
“Are you in love with her?” Jake looked Thompson in the eye, trying to gauge the marshal’s reaction to the question.
The other man never flinched. “I like Anne and I have a lot of respect for her, but no, I’m not in love with her.”
Jake believed him. “Of course not. Because that would be unprofessional and possibly unethical, and all the things that are probably in a file with my name on it somewhere at the Bureau.”
“I haven’t seen that file, but I heard you were in love with her once. Are you still?”
Jake looked away. “The point is, she’s not in love with me, so let’s leave it at that.”
Neither man said anything for a long moment, the hiss of the propane heater and the bubbling hot-tub jets filling the silence between them. Jake went back to watching the elevator, wondering what was taking Anne so long, yet, at the same time, hoping she’d put off her arrival a few moments longer.
Thompson blew out a breath and sat up straight once more. “If you find Sam—and I still think that’s a big if—what will you do after we arrest him?”
“I don’t know.”
“You mean you didn’t plan for the future?”
“All those times on death’s door taught me not to think too far ahead.”
“Why do you think Sam Giardino is in Telluride?”
Jake was tired of Thompson’s questions, but he figured the guy wouldn’t leave unless he thought he had all the answers. He turned to face the marshal once more. “He’s probably not right in town, but he’s somewhere near here. Anne tells me he has lots of friends with money. One of them probably has a house around here they’re letting him use as a secure hideout.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s here.”
“His son, Sammy, is here.”
“When we spoke on the phone, Anne mentioned she thought she saw him, but it wasn’t a positive ID.”
“She saw him again this morning.”
“Is she sure it was him?”
“Yes. She talked to him. He didn’t know it was her. She pretended to be a French tourist and he decided to flirt with her. She was having trouble shaking him.”
This news clearly alarmed Thompson. “She needs to leave here right away. This isn’t worth endangering her life.”
“It’s my life, Patrick. I appreciate your concern, but I’m not going to run away again.”
Both men looked up and found Anne walking toward them. She wore one of the white hotel bathrobes cinched tightly around her waist, and brown Ugg boots, the combination seeming somehow chic on her.
Thompson stood. Jake was slower to rise to his feet, but if Thompson was going to be such a gentleman, he wouldn’t be outdone, even if his stiffening limbs protested.
All her attention was focused on Thompson, however. “Patrick, what are you doing here? I thought we agreed you were going to wait for my call.”
“My job is to look after you. That includes keeping track of where you are.”
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Telluride isn’t that big of a town. I only had to contact a few hotels with your description before I found the right one. And if it’s that simple for me to locate you, your enemies wouldn’t have any difficulty locating you, either.”
Jake wanted to punch the man for trying to scare her, but he should have known Anne wouldn’t frighten easily. “I’m fine. You didn’t have to follow me here.”
“I had to make sure Jake wasn’t putting you in danger.”
She looked at Jake, a half smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “And what did you decide?”
“He told me you saw your brother today. That you talked to him. That’s getting much too close.”
“Sammy didn’t recognize me.”
“You were lucky this time. What if next time your luck has run out?” He fixed his dark gaze on her. “I know it’s difficult to see family—people you love—as a danger to you. But you know your father is ruthless. He would kill you, if given the chance, even if you don’t want to believe it.”
“I don’t want to believe it,” she admitted. “But I know you’re right. Which is why it’s so important to lock him up again, where he can’t get to me.”
Jake realized she was repeating his words. Did she believe them now, or was she using them as a convenient way to put off Thompson?
“Now that we suspect he’s in the area, you can leave,” Thompson said. “We’ll take it from here.”
“How are you going to find him? My father hasn’t avoided jail time all these years by not being able to spot law enforcement a mile away.”
“He didn’t spot Jake.”
She flushed. “Jake isn’t a typical agent, I don’t think.”
The frown lines on Thompson’s forehead deepened. “I don’t like it.”
“But it’s my decision to make,” she said. “And I want to stay here and see if we can find my father. When we do, I promise I’ll let you handle it.”
Thompson looked at Jake. “Do you really trust him?”
“He hasn’t given me any reason not to so far,” she said.
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Then, yes. Yes, I trust him.”
Jake moved to Anne’s side. “Give us another couple of days to see if we can locate the Giardino hideout,” he said. “We’ll keep you informed, but give us room to work.”
Thompson looked grim. “All right. I’ll give you two days.” He turned to Anne. “But at the first sign of trouble, call me. We’re already working on a new plan for you, someplace where you’ll be safe.”
She nodded, though her eyes looked bleak. Jake wouldn’t blame her if she balked at starting over yet again, with another new name, new job and new identity. How often could a person do that before she didn’t know who she was anymore?
Thompson left them. When the elevator doors closed behind him, Jake said, “Let’s get in the hot tub. We can talk there.”
He lowered himself into the water quickly, submerging his legs before she got a good look at the scars. He wasn’t a vain man, but he didn’t want her feeling sorry for him, or thinking he was a freak. She took her time pulling off her boots, then slipped out of the robe and folded it neatly across the bench beside the hot tub.
His heart stopped beating for a few breaths, or at least it felt that way as he stared at her, at the blue Lycra swimsuit hugging the swell of her breasts, at the indentation of her waist and the flare of her hips. Her long, bare legs seemed perfect, and looking at them made him feel even more glad to be alive. As long as he lived, she would always be the standard by which he’d judge other women; time and the differences between them hadn’t changed that. The beauty he saw in her wasn’t merely a matter of physical appearance, though she’d always been a woman who turned heads wherever she went. He knew the loveliness of the woman she was inside—the intelligence and compassion and bravery that made her, to him, the most gorgeous person in the world.
“You can put your eyes back in your head now,” she said as she slipped into the water across from him.
“Can’t blame a guy for looking,” he said. Too bad looking was all he’d do. Once she had welcomed his touch, but that seemed a long time ago. Despite the way she’d warmed to him over the last twenty-four hours, and her response to the one kiss they’d shared in the car, she’d made it clear that she didn’t think the man she loved existed anymore—and the real man who’d showed up to take his place didn’t measure up.
“Mmmmm.” She sank lower in the water and closed her eyes. “So now that we’ve convinced Patrick that we can track down my father, how are we going to do it?”
“You could talk to Sammy. Arrange to meet him in some neutral location and see if you can persuade him it’s to his benefit to turn the old man in.”