“Right. They didn’t give me much credit after my father was arrested. If I wasn’t the poor little rich girl who was biting the hand that fed her, I was the gold-plated harpy who was no better than a criminal herself.”
“I guess I missed all that.”
“How long were you in the hospital?”
“Five weeks. Then I was in a rehab facility for four months after that.”
“Why aren’t you in the witness protection program?” she asked. “If my father knows you’re alive he’ll do everything he can to change that.”
“You thought I was dead—he probably does, too. And even if he doesn’t, I fought too hard to keep my life to turn around and leave it behind. Not that I blame you for making that choice.”
“Maybe it was easier for me because I didn’t want to be who I was anymore. But I still don’t feel safe. Aren’t you afraid?”
“If I let myself think about the danger, I’d be afraid. But I’ve learned to put it out of my mind.”
“To compartmentalize.”
“Is that what it’s called?”
“The marshal who’s assigned to me—a guy named Patrick Thompson—used to talk about it. He told me that’s what I had to learn to do—to lock the fear away in a separate part of my mind and not let it out, like a file I’d sealed.”
“Good advice. Did you take it?”
“I tried. It works sometimes. And then something happens to remind me....” She looked away, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Has something happened lately?” he asked. “Something that’s made you afraid again?”
She didn’t answer, and kept her face turned away from him. He leaned forward and took her chin in his hand, gently turning her head until her eyes met his. “Tell me.”
Chapter Four
Jake noticed Anne’s hesitation, as if she was debating whether to trust him. “I’m the only one who knows your story,” he said softly. “The only one who can understand what you’re going through.”
She took a long sip of coffee, then set the cup down and looked him in the eye. “Yesterday, after we talked, I went to my gym. The owner told me a man had been in there asking about me. Was that you?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t been to any gym. And I didn’t ask anyone in Rogers about you. I came straight to your house as soon as I got here.”
The lines around her eyes deepened. “McGarrity—that’s the gym owner—said this guy was dark, and built like a football player.”
“Could be one of your father’s goons.”
“Yes. It could be.” Her shoulders sagged. “I started to leave last night—to throw what I could in the car and just...run away.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“What would that solve? I’d still be afraid, and alone. More alone even than I am now. I like it here. I’ve made friends. And there are people here who depend on me. Kids. I don’t want to let them down.”
“You’ve always been a fighter. That’s one of the things that drew me in. Even that first night on the dance floor, you made your own rules. Everyone else had to follow them or get out of your way.”
“You make me sound like a pushy witch.”
“You could be that, too. But it’s kept you alive.”
She shook her head. “I’m not like that anymore. I’ve learned the wisdom of staying in the background and letting others take the lead. I just want to do my job and live a quiet life.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t have to be afraid?”
“You mean if my father weren’t around to threaten me?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going to help you, Jake. I did what I could to punish my father and I wasted my breath.”
“You won’t be wasting your breath this time.”
“What are you going to do? You’re not with the Bureau anymore. You don’t have any authority. If the government can’t find Sam Giardino, with all their resources, what makes you think you’ll have better luck?”
“You know your father better than anyone. You know his habits and the people he associates with. The places he likes to vacation and where he stays when he goes out of town.”
“You can learn all those things without me. Your friends in the Bureau have files filled with that kind of information.”
“They know facts. They don’t know emotions, or the reasons your father does what he does. You can tell me those things. You can help me predict what he’s going to do next.”
“And then what? You confront him and end up dead yourself? Or you lead him to me and I’m dead?”
“I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
“You can’t make that promise. Not when so much is out of your control.”
“I’m going to stay with you tonight.”
She straightened. “You will not.”
“Yes, I will. At least until we find out who was asking about you at your gym yesterday.”
“Jake, you cannot stay at my house. What will people think?”
“Since when do you care what people think?” The woman he’d known before had made a point of flaunting public opinion.
“Since I moved to a small town where everyone knows me. I’m a schoolteacher, for God’s sake. I have a reputation to protect.”
“And me spending the night with you is going to ruin that reputation? You’re a grown woman.”
“This isn’t New York. Some people here still care about morality.”
“So you’re telling me nobody here sleeps with anybody else unless they’re lawfully married?”
“I’m sure they do, but they’re discreet about it.”
“So we’ll be discreet. Besides, I never said I was going to sleep with you—unless that’s what you want.”
The color rose in her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what we’re actually doing. It’s what they think we’re doing.”
“But I’m the long-lost boyfriend come back to beg forgiveness,” he said. “Doesn’t everyone love a lover?”
“No. You can’t stay with me.”
“Fine. Then you come stay with me. At the hotel.”
“That’s even worse. Sneaking off to a hotel together.”
He laughed. “We’re just a sordid pair. Honestly, I think you’re making something out of nothing.”
“You don’t live here. I do. And I don’t want to do anything to call attention to myself.”
“Too late for that. I’m here. And this other mysterious stranger is here, asking about you. What are people going to say about that? The new teacher’s gotten very popular all of a sudden.”
“Just go away, Jake. Please? I’ll handle this on my own.”
“No.”
“You don’t think I can handle this?”
“I’m not going to leave you. Not until I know you’re safe.”
“I’ll call the Marshals office in Denver. They’ll send someone to babysit me for a while.”
“Another strange man come to town to hang out with the teacher. Won’t that set people talking?”
She made a face. “Maybe they’ll send a woman. I’ll tell people she’s my sister.”
“Then tell them I’m your brother.”
“As if anyone would believe that.”
“Why not? Siblings don’t have to look alike.”
“You don’t act like any brother.”
“Maybe not like your brother. What’s Sam Junior up to these days?”
“I have no idea. As far as I know, he thinks I’m dead.”
“Sammy was what, twenty-four when I saw him last? He’d just had a baby with that woman—what was her name?”
“Stacy. She was the daughter of some guy who owed my father a favor. It was practically an arranged marriage. I don’t think she was very happy.”
He didn’t remember much about the girl, or her husband, for that matter. “Sammy Junior was in law school, wasn’t he?”
“Yes. I imagine he has his license by now.”
“I guess a lawyer is a handy thing to have in the family when you spend so much time breaking the law.”
She stood. “I think it’s time for you to go now.”
“I’ll be over later tonight,” he said.
“No!”
“I’ll park my car a couple blocks away—near that mechanic, with all the cars in the yard. And I’ll leave early, before anyone is up.”
“I won’t let you in.”
She turned away, but he grabbed her wrist and leaned closer, his voice low but insistent. “I can’t leave you alone, not with some man neither of us knows asking about you. At least let me protect you until your handler from the Marshals office shows up.”
Her eyes told him she hated being in this position—hated having to depend on anyone, but especially him. But she’d always been more intelligent than most people he knew; she could be reckless, but she was never foolish. “All right,” she said, and pulled out of his grasp. “But only until the marshal gets here. And you’ll sleep on the sofa.”
By the time Anne reached her house, she was jittery with nerves and fear and anger. Jake—she couldn’t think of him by any name but Jake—had no right to come here like this. After all he’d done, he owed her peace and an illusion of safety.
But of course her safety was an illusion. It always had been. No matter how many promises the Marshals made to her, she’d never really believed they could protect her from her father.
The phone was ringing when she unlocked the door. She fastened the locks behind her and went to answer it. “How was coffee?” Maggie spoke with a musical lilt, her joy at having the scoop on Anne’s love life—or so she thought—barely contained.
“Coffee was...tense.” The Marshals had drilled into her that sticking as close to the truth as possible was the best way to keep from getting caught in a lie.
“I take it the two of you didn’t part as friends.”
“You could say that.” She and Jake had grown so close in the weeks they’d spent together, but their final night had been all chaos and confusion. One moment they’d been dancing, her head cradled on his chest, wondering how soon they could make their excuses and head upstairs to bed. Nights in Jake’s arms were heaven to her then. The next moment her world exploded in a hail of bullets and blood. Jake lay shattered on the dance floor, the front of her dress red with his blood. Her screams echoed over the music as two men she didn’t recognize dragged her backward out of the room.
Later, still wearing the bloodied dress, huddled over a cup of bitter, cooling coffee in some gray-walled interrogation room, the agents had told her their version of the truth—that Jake West was really Jacob Westmoreland, accountant turned undercover FBI agent, assigned to infiltrate her family and bring down her father.
She hadn’t hated him immediately. Hatred had come later, when the weight of his lies had settled on her. He’d told her he loved her. He’d said he wanted to protect her. He wanted them to get married, to live happily ever after. And all that time she hadn’t even known his real name. How could anything else he’d said be true if his very identity had been a falsehood? He’d used her to betray her family. As much as she’d come to despise her father, she’d despised Jake almost as much.
“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Maggie asked. “’Cause if I want to talk to myself, I can do that without holding a phone to my ear.”
Maggie must have been talking while Anne took her trip down memory lane. “Nothing happened,” she said. “He said he was sorry. I said I was sorry, too. End of story.”
“Uh-huh.” Maggie sounded skeptical. “How long is he staying in town?”
“I don’t know. Another day or two. We don’t have plans.” As soon as she got off the phone with Maggie, she’d need to call the number her WitSec handlers had given her. Denver was only five hours away—they could have someone here tomorrow, surely.
“He was really good-looking,” Maggie said. “And I think he still has a thing for you. You have to admit, coming so far to say he was sorry took guts. Maybe you’ll get together again while he’s here.”
“Maggie.” Anne said her name as a warning.
Maggie laughed. “I know. I’m an incurable romantic. All right, I’ll shut up about it. What are you doing tonight?”
“The usual. Schoolwork. Maybe some TV.”
“Have a good night. See you tomorrow.”
“Goodbye.” Anne replaced the phone in the cradle and started to the kitchen to make tea. She was only halfway across the room when a knock on the door made her jump. She glanced out the window; the sky was a gray smudge against the black-and-white shadows of mountains, the day rendered in charcoal by the disappearing sun. Jake had said he would come by after dark—maybe a city boy used to all those lights thought this was dark enough.
She strode to the door and took a deep breath, bracing herself, then checked the peephole. She registered a man, about Jake’s height, huddled in the shadows. Apparently, the bulb in her porch light had burned out. As long as Jake was here, she’d ask him to replace it. She threw back the chain, turned the dead bolt and jerked open the door.
A burly, dark-haired man shoved her back into the room and slammed the door behind him. He looked her up and down, his face expressionless. “Long time, no see, Elizabeth.”
Chapter Five
Jake parked the rental car amid the jumble of vehicles at the auto-repair shop and began walking the few blocks toward Anne’s house. The old joke about small towns rolling up the sidewalk when the sun set must be true; no one else was out and the only traffic was the occasional car on the central thoroughfare that connected with the state highway. Here on the side streets, it was as silent as a tomb. A quarter moon and the occasional glow from a porch light illuminated his path. The crunch of his footsteps on the unpaved shoulder of the road sounded too loud in the profound stillness.
For a man who’d spent all his life in the city, the silence felt vaguely threatening. He studied the shadows the trees and buildings cast, anticipating an ambush, but nothing moved.
He kept one hand wrapped around the gun in his coat pocket as he walked. Maybe he was being overly cautious and he and Anne had nothing to fear in this sleepy little town. But who was the man who’d been asking for her at the gym? Jake wouldn’t leave her alone until he found out. He’d failed at protecting her from her father and his thugs before; he wouldn’t let them near her again.
He approached the house from the back, though he doubted any of her neighbors were watching. He kept to the shadows along the side of the house, moving quickly toward the back steps. Maybe they should have agreed on some kind of signal, so she’d be sure it was him when he arrived. As he turned the corner toward the back of the house he froze, heart pounding.
The back door to Anne’s house was open—not wide open, but cracked a few inches, sending a shaft of bright light onto a patch of trampled snow at the bottom of the steps. Jake drew the gun and sidestepped toward the door, keeping to the deepest shadows against the wall of the house. When he was sure the coast was clear, he took the steps two at a time, moving silently, and paused on the small landing at the top, holding his breath, listening.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” The man’s voice was nasal, the words clipped and staccato.
Anne’s answer was unintelligible, but the terror in her voice made the hair on the back of Jake’s neck stand on end. He nudged the door open a little wider with the toe of one shoe and leaned in.
“I worked for your father, but you never noticed me. You were too high and mighty to pay attention to the help.”
Jake heard a scraping sound, as if someone had shoved a chair out of the way. He decided they were in the living room, just beyond the kitchen. Was it just Anne and this man, or had the intruder brought along help?
Jake slipped silently into the kitchen, keeping close to the wall, out of sight of the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “You deserve to die for what you did to your father,” the man said.
“No!” Anne cried out and Jake rushed forward. He burst into the room and saw Anne struggling with a burly, dark-haired man. He aimed his pistol, but there was no way he could get off a clean shot without risking hitting Anne instead.
Anne’s attacker wrapped one arm across her chest and pulled her against him, crushing her rib cage, lifting her off the ground. She writhed in his arms, kicking out. The man still didn’t know Jake was in the room. That gave him a slim advantage, but he didn’t yet see how to use it.
Anne kicked out, knocking over a table, on which sat a lamp. The glass base of the lamp shattered, and then the lightbulb exploded with a shower of sparks. Anne wailed—whether in pain or frustration, Jake didn’t know, but the sound enraged him. He aimed the gun again, determined to get off a good shot.
Anne beat her fists against her assailant, who held her with one hand now while he groped in his jacket pocket, probably for a weapon. If he drew a gun, Jake would have to fire, and pray Anne was not in the way.
But just then, Anne leaned over and bit her attacker on the hand, hard enough to draw blood.
The man howled and released her, and Anne whirled and landed a solid punch on his chin. Her attacker reeled back, but in the same moment he drew a gun from his coat. It was the last move he ever made, as Jake shot him, twice, the impact of the bullets sending him sprawling across the back of the sofa.
Anne screamed, then stood frozen, her hands to her mouth, her face the same bleached ivory color as the wall behind her. “Is there anyone else?” Jake asked.
She shook her head, still staring at the dead man draped across her sofa. Jake pocketed his gun and dragged the man onto the floor and laid him out on his back. He was a burly man in his forties, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt and wearing a new-looking ski jacket, hiking boots and a knit cap. Anyone seeing him on the streets would have taken him for a local, or a visiting tourist.
Except most tourists didn’t carry a Glock. Jake checked the weapon; it hadn’t been fired. He slipped it into his other coat pocket and took out the man’s wallet. “Robert Smith,” he read the name on the driver’s license.
“That’s not his real name.” Anne’s voice was shaky, but surprisingly calm, considering she had a dead man laid out on her living room rug. “His name’s DiCello. Some of my father’s men called him Jell-O. He hated that.”
“What’s this on his jacket?” He tugged at a laminated tag hanging from the zipper pull of the jacket. “It’s a lift ticket, from Telluride Ski Resort. Dated for yesterday.” Had Mr. DiCello decided to take in a day on the slopes before driving over to Rogers to do a little business with his boss’s estranged daughter?
The loud jangling of the phone surprised a cry from Anne, who immediately put a hand to her mouth, as if to hold back further cries. Jake stared at the ringing instrument. Had someone heard the shots? “You’d better answer it.”
She nodded and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
She listened a moment, then forced a smile. “How sweet of you, Mrs. Cramer, but everything’s fine....Yes, I heard it, too. It must have been a car backfiring.”
She hung up the phone and looked at him. “The neighbor lady, checking on me.”
“You did great.” Better than great. She’d sounded perfectly calm and reasonable. As if thugs got shot up in her living room every night. “That was quite a punch you landed,” he said.
She massaged the back of her hand—she’d likely have a bruise there tomorrow. “I’ve been taking boxing lessons. So I’d know how to defend myself. But it wouldn’t have saved me. Not if you hadn’t come along.”
He moved toward her, intending to comfort her, but she stepped away from him, and hugged her arms tightly around her waist. He swallowed his disappointment. It didn’t matter if she hadn’t forgiven him; she still needed his help. “Your father’s found you. You have to leave.”
“Maybe my father didn’t send him. Maybe he came on his own.”
“Anne, look at me.”
She met his gaze, and the anguish in her eyes cut him. He wanted to hold her close, to tell her again that he would protect her. But now wasn’t the time. “You don’t really believe this man, who you know works for your father, came here without your father’s knowledge, do you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No.”
“Is there some place near here we can go that might be safe—just until we can make a plan?”
She straightened, visibly pulling herself together. “There are some cabins in the mountains about fifteen miles from here. The area is remote, on National Forest land. In the summer, a few people live there, but in the winter they’re closed up. There’s a gate over the road, but I know the combination to the lock.”
She hadn’t hesitated with her answer; she had all the details laid out. “You’ve been planning for something like this.”
“I always knew I might have to leave. I didn’t want to, but...” Her voice died, and her gaze dropped to the man at their feet.
“Pack a few things you’ll need and we’ll go. Now.”
“What about him?”
“I’ll drag him out back and hide the body under a pile of firewood. As cold as it is, it could be a long time before anyone finds him. If the police come looking for you, they might inadvertently lead your father to us.”
“You think he’ll send someone else after me?”
“You know he will.”
She nodded. “Yes. What about the blood?”
“I’ll clean it up. Now go.”
Without another word, or a glance in his direction, she went into her bedroom and shut the door.
Jake stared at that shut door; it wasn’t half as solid a barrier as the one she’d put around her heart. Fine. She could hate him all she wanted. Maybe he even deserved her hate. But that wouldn’t stop him from protecting her. And it wouldn’t stop him from finding the man who’d caused her so much pain, and making sure he could never hurt her again.
* * *
A
NNE
SHOVED
UNDERWEAR
, a change of clothes and a few cosmetics into an overnight bag. She added a phone charger and a box of ammunition. The thought of needing those bullets made her shake, but if forced, she would defend herself. She wouldn’t hide behind Jake; she wouldn’t trust her life to him alone.
Her own father wanted her dead. She’d accepted the truth of this intellectually, but in her heart she’d nurtured a kernel of hope that he would never follow through on his threats.
Tonight had destroyed that hope. If she let herself think too much about what had just happened, she might fall apart. So she clung to anger and nurtured that instead. A man had invaded her home—her sanctuary—and tried to destroy her. She wouldn’t let that happen again.
Even if that meant depending on Jake in the short term. She needed him—and his gun—for protection right now. But as soon as she had a plan that would keep her safe, she’d say goodbye to him. She didn’t need—or want—him in her life again. In his own way, Jake was as tied to violence as her father had been. The fact that he wanted revenge, even though he wasn’t in law enforcement anymore, proved he was still a part of the violence. She was done with living that way, with danger and bloodshed as commonplace as Friday-night pizza or Sunday drives for other families.
When she emerged from the bedroom with the overnight bag and her coat, DiCello’s body was gone. Jake had cleaned the floor and thrown a quilt over the back of the sofa to hide the bloodstains. “I’ve done the best I can,” he said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll take my rental car. It’s parked just down the street.”
“What kind of car is it?” she asked.
“A Pontiac Vibe. What difference does that make?”
She shook her head. “It isn’t four-wheel drive. We’ll take my Subaru.”
She could tell he wanted to argue. Jake liked to take charge, to have every situation under control. But this was her plan and she’d thought it out very carefully. “We’ll need the four-wheel drive on the Forest Service roads,” she said.
“Then give me your keys. I’ll drive.” He held out his hand.
She wrapped her hand more securely around the keys. “I know the way to the cabins and I’m a better driver in mountain snow than you are.” And focusing on driving would keep her from brooding over the man who had attacked her, and the images of him dying right before her eyes. Though her father had been responsible for many deaths, the only other one she’d seen close up had been Jake. She moved past him, out the door.
She expected him to argue more, but he didn’t, he merely slid into the passenger seat as she started the car. “You should call your friend Maggie, and tell her you’re going out of town for a few days. Tell her your mom is sick or something.”
“All right. I need to stop for gas. I’ll call her then. And I’ll call the U.S. marshal assigned to my case and let him know what’s going on.”
“Don’t tell him you’re with me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m supposed to be retired. They’ll see my presence as interfering.”
“You
are
interfering.” She gripped the steering wheel so tightly her fingers ached. “I was fine until you showed up.”
“It was a coincidence that your father’s goon showed up right after I did.”
“A pretty big coincidence, if you ask me.” She turned onto the main highway out of town. A few cars filled the parking spaces in front of the town’s only bar, but there was no one outside to see her car glide past, or to wonder what the teacher was doing out so late.
“Where is this gas station?” He changed the subject.
“About five miles, by the lake. It’s closed this time of night, but the electric pumps will take a credit card.”
“I suppose we’ll have to risk it. I’ll stay out of sight of the security cameras, so it will look like you’re alone.”
“Why do I need to look like I’m alone?”
“If you’re really on your way to visit your sick mother, why do you have a strange man with you?”
Right. She’d already forgotten the cover story he’d concocted. Not that she expected anyone to believe it. But maybe it would buy them a little time, and if anyone came around questioning Maggie, she’d have something to tell them.
Jake hid in the backseat while she fueled the car; then she parked around the side of the building, out of sight of the security cameras, and dialed Maggie’s number. A sleepy voice answered on the fifth ring. “Hello?”
“Hello, Ty? I’m so sorry to bother you this late. This is Anne. May I speak to Maggie?”
“Sure, Anne. Everything all right?”
“It’s fine. I just need to talk to Maggie a minute.”
After a few seconds of fumbling with the phone, Maggie came on the line. “Anne, what’s wrong?”
“I just learned my father is in the hospital in New York. I need to go up there and see him.” She was surprised how smoothly the lie rolled off her tongue. She felt like an actress, delivering a line in a play.
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. What’s wrong?”
“His heart. It...it doesn’t look so good, I guess.” Her father didn’t have a heart where she was concerned, but as far as Anne knew, his health was fine.
“You never talked much about your parents before.”
“My mother died when I was little.” True. “My father and I aren’t particularly close.” Also true.
“I understand. You want to try to patch things up before it’s too late. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll call Mr. Strand first thing in the morning and explain.”
Anne had been hoping to avoid a phone call to the principal. Lying to her best friend was bad enough; the more people she spoke with, the greater the chance of getting her story mixed up. “Thanks. I’ll call you again when I know when I’ll be home.”