Dead Ringer (27 page)

Unless the drug was only the first step. Maybe Borian needed more proof that the Feds were on to him. Maybe Jack and Mike were the proof, and now Borian would finish off Angelina.

Maybe, maybe. God, he was sick of the word.

They should have marched in there and hauled her out, case or no. Roper had gambled with her life and Finn had let him.

He peered up at the wide expanse of empty sky and ran a hand through his hair.

Christ.

Mike had two kids, and Jack... God, Jack.

Grief squeezed the back of Finn's throat. He'd protected Jack once only to fail him now. Immediately the pictures rose in his head. Jack's all-American grin, the crazy clothes. His endless gratitude. Finn nailed up the memories behind tight, closed shutters. If he let himself remember, he'd go crazy.

A black dot in the sky caught his attention. Instantly, he fixed on it. The dot grew bigger, took the shape of an airplane, and dipped toward the runway.

His breathing sped up. "They're here."

Roper came to stand beside him at the window, his head barely reaching Finn's shoulders. Like Finn, he stood silent, watching the plane land. When the wheels touched down, he spoke, gaze glued to the runway. "The car is waiting. You're all set."

"Yeah." Finn adjusted the silk knot at his neck, straightened the sleeves of his suit coat. "I'm all set."

Payback time.

* * *

Angelina pushed the food around her dinner plate, avoiding the worried look on Marian's face as well as the concern she sensed in Victor. Her headache was finally gone and she felt stronger than she'd felt in days, but a hazy memory in the back of her mind told her not to let anyone know.

Instead, she forced herself to appear wan and lifeless, which was slowly driving her nuts. She'd spent most of yesterday sleeping off the effects of whatever she'd been given, and hugged her room most of today. She'd heard that Dennis Copley had delivered his stallion, but she'd managed to avoid all contact with him.

Last night she'd sneaked down to the guest house and searched it, but nothing had turned up and so far, she hadn't figured out how to maintain her sick act and also investigate the staff quarters during the day when they'd be empty.

Time was running out; a relentless metronome in her head beat out the seconds. Where was the plutonium? The smart money was on the locked room, but only Finn could open it, and he hadn't shown up yet. She'd expected him before now and couldn't help the small bud of worry nestled against her heart.

If he was coming and she hadn't dreamed his visit.

"It's good to see you're feeling better," Victor said, sliding a solicitous hand over her wrist.

She'd had to break her promise to Marian and let Victor know she was sick. As her aunt had predicted, Victor had turned into a nightmare of solicitude, hovering like an anxious parent, which made no sense as he knew damn well why she was sick.

She smiled at him, a thin affair that she hoped conveyed the effort she was making to hide her supposed unsteadiness.

"Eat a little more," he urged. "Get your strength back."

Then again, who could understand the ways of a twisted mind? She'd heard of people who induced sickness so they could nurse the patient back to health. Maybe Victor was one of them.

Obediently, she picked up a small, forkful of mashed something or other. The vegetable had been served from the common bowl, so she guessed it was all right. Isn't that what Finn had said?

She thought back to two nights ago, trying to fix on a solid memory. Had that really been him standing there in the darkness? Had he picked her up and carried her, held her in his arms, rocked her?

Her hand shook at the possibility, and she put down her fork. Not that it mattered. Borian would only think the drugs were working better than she let on.

Gently, he pushed the water glass toward Angelina. "Some water will make you feel better." But the water had been poured before Angelina sat down.

"Thank you." She picked up the glass, and oops... let it slip through her fingers. The crystal tumbled to the tabletop where the clear liquid soaked into the cloth. "Oh, I'm... I'm sorry."

Marian's smile was sympathetic. "Never mind." She called for a maid, who came with a towel to mop up the mess. "Fill Miss Montgomery's glass, please," she directed when the maid had finished. The maid did as instructed, filling Marian's glass from the same pitcher.

Safe to drink.

Angelina swallowed the water, wishing for a Coke with lots of rum in it. She looked at Victor and wondered what he'd say if she asked for one. "Degenerate drink. Weakens your essence."

Her essence. Part bad girl, part good girl yearning to be free. Would she ever figure it out?

Scuffling sounds in the hallway interrupted her thoughts.

"Take your goddamn hands off me-" A grunt, like someone had been punched in the gut, a muffled curse.

"Hold him!" Heavy footsteps, and three men burst into the dining room-Grisha, one of Victor's camouflaged goons, and between them, Finn, one arm wrenched behind his back.

Oh, my God.
Her lungs backed up. She hadn't seen him in days, and for a moment all she could do was drink in the sight of him. Trapped and imprisoned, black hair disheveled, he looked wild-eyed and nothing like the cool, lethal operative she was all too familiar with. But at least he was back in uniform now, though his tie was askew and his shirt stretched across his chest.

Did they know who he was? Did they know about her?

Mouth dry, she watched Victor rise, his deep-set eyes sparking with anger. "What's going on here?"

Finn jerked away from the camouflaged man's hold, but he couldn't escape Grisha. "Tell Mr. Universe here to let go."

His face was taut, and she wanted to shout at them to release him. But instinct told her to sit still until she knew more, and she clawed her slacks underneath the table to keep from leaping up.

"He came to the gate asking for Miss Montgomery," the camouflaged man blurted out, wiping sweat from his forehead. "When he was told she was unavailable, he rammed his car through the checkpoint. We chased him up to the house."

Victor turned his piercing gaze on Finn. "Is this true, Ingram? You barreled into my home uninvited, upsetting my men and my guests?"

Finn flashed an appeal her way. "I tried calling for two days and no one would let me speak to you. They said you were sick." He seemed to be wilting under the pressure, but something she sensed below the surface made her think it was all an act and he was in complete control. He turned his attention to Victor. "The governor placed her in my keeping. She's my responsibility and I wanted to make sure she was all right." He squirmed again and Grisha wrenched his arm, making the muscles in Finn's jaw clamp down in pain.

"Victor, please," Angelina said quickly, unable to bear it any longer. "Stephen meant no harm. He was only thinking of me." She left her seat and crossed to the huddle of men at the doorway. "Grisha, let him go." She put a hand on the big man, ignoring the play of massive musculature mat underscored his ability to inflict harm. He looked for directions over her shoulder and she assumed he'd got them, because he dropped his hold and stepped back.

Glowering at Victor, Finn rubbed his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Stephen," Angelina said in a low voice. "Are you all right?" She looked deeply into those wicked baby blues and thought she saw a gleam of approval. She took a breath and scanned the group, playing along "I... I don't know what got into everyone. What an awful way to greet a guest." She spoke as if apologizing for Victor. "Have you eaten? Please, join us." She turned to Victor with a smile of entreaty, and was met with a moment of silence. Victor frowned. He wasn't pleased, but she knew he could hardly refuse without provoking questions he wouldn't like.

"Marian," Victor snapped, "set another place."

Marian rose immediately. "Of course." She disappeared into the kitchen.

"Thank you, Grisha," Victor said. "Have the men resume their posts." The two men wheeled around and left, but she knew Grisha went only as far as the hallway outside the dining-room entrance.

A few moments later Marian returned with a maid carrying plates, napkin, and a place setting of wood-handled silverware. They all watched in silence as the place was set, and then Finn sank into the seat, pulling up his chair roughly.

"You would have thought I was some kind of criminal." He straightened his clothes, jerking his coat sleeves back in place.

"I'm so sorry." Angelina watched him closely for signs that she'd gone too far or not far enough. "Victor is just trying to protect us."

"You hardly need protection from me," he grumbled.

"I don't believe we've met," Marian said in a soothing voice. She extended a hand to Finn. "I'm Victor's sister-in-law, Marian."

She saw the lightning-quick, almost-imperceptible narrowing of his eyes as he placed her.

"Forgive my manners," Angelina rushed in. "This is Stephen Ingram, an aide to the governor."

Finn took Marian's hand and nodded briefly. "Under other circumstances, I'm sure it would be a pleasure."

"I hope you'll forgive us, Mr. Ingram. As Angelina said, we're very isolated out here and Victor is careful. We're just doing our best to keep safe in an unsafe world."

At that moment, a maid scurried in with platters of food that she offered to Finn. He waved them away.

"Marian's right," Angelina said, an idea jumping into her head. She placed a hand on Victor's arm. "But surely you know that Stephen is harmless. He's my friend. In fact, why doesn't he stay a few days? There's plenty of room and I'd love to show him some of the ranch. I'm afraid I've been neglecting my work on land use, which is the reason I
came all the way out here."

Victor frowned. "Are you sure you're up to that? You haven't been feeling well, remember."

"I feel much better. Really."

Victor exchanged a look with Marian. "I'm sure she's fine, Victor." Marian's voice was cnsp. "These things last a few days and run their course. You're smothering her."

Unconvinced, Victor leaned toward Angelina. "You know how precious you are to me. If something were to happen to you ..."

"I'll be fine." Angelina spoke low. "Please, Victor. It will make me feel useful."

A beat, while he scrutinized her, thinking it over. The silence seemed to stretch forever and during it her heart pounded loud enough to be heard all the way in Memphis.

Finally, he sighed and gave her a small pat on the arm. "All right. How can I refuse you anything?"

A weight lifted. Finn was here, and he would stay. She smiled, putting all the gratitude and appreciation she felt into it. "Thank you, Victor."

From that point on, dinner was a blur. She did her best not to stare at Finn, but her whole body felt newly awake. Eager to talk to him, she was thwarted by Marian and Victor, who never left them alone. At the stroke of ten, Victor shepherded her off to bed, while Marian showed Finn to his room. As always, Victor kissed her palm at the doorway, a tender gesture that never failed to disturb her.

"Rest,
milaia,"
he said softly. "I'll be back to say good night."

Don't hurry. Don't even bother.

But she smiled as if his return would be a comfort she looked forward to. Slipping into the room, she spied an apple-green peignoir waiting on the bed. With a silent whimper of exhaustion, she closed her eyes, but when she opened them, the gown still lay pale and chaste, another memento of the woman Victor wanted her to be.

Reluctantly, she removed the clothes he'd sent that morning. As she undid the pins that held her chignon together, she saw herself in the mirror. For a moment, she stared at a stranger. Who was that quietly elegant woman in the ivory silk sweater and pearls?

She shook out her hair and the image cracked, reminding her of the other Angelina, the one who took control and fought back. But when she slipped into her mother's silky green peignoir, that other Angelina seemed far away. The light, floaty material slid over her body, making her feel weightless, like a ghost. Like she wasn't there at all.

She glided to the bed and her gaze lit on the blue bottle of water on the nightstand. A voice that sounded like Finn's reminded her to empty it in the bathroom sink and refill it with tap water. As the water gushed out of the bottle, a quiver of awareness rippled through her. Finn was here, close. Soon she would see him.

But not before she would see Victor. Shuddering, she refilled the bottle, dried it with a bath towel and replaced it on the table next to the bed. Victor would come, and soon he wouldn't be content with kissing her hand and caressing her face.

But when the door handle rattled, then opened, it was Finn who slipped in.

For a moment her world stopped. He looked so good, so real and solid in his white shirt. He'd taken off his suit coat, opened the shirt collar, and loosened the burgundy tie. His throat against the white cotton looked strong and tan. The sight of him released something warm and liquid inside her. Was he all right? Had Grisha hurt him?

She stopped breathing to gaze at him. His dark face was awash with hunger, blue eyes alight with it. His gaze raked her body and though she was wearing the most conservative nightgown he'd seen her in, she felt naked beneath his stare, as if he knew her heart was racing, her pulse quickening, her blood heating.

"Hello, Sharkman," she said softly. "Are you all right?"

He closed the door and leaned against it. "You don't think I'd let a caveman like Grisha do any serious darnage." His eyes searched her face. "How about you,
Angel? Feeling better?"

She tilted her head curiously. "So you
were
here the other night."

"Don't you remember?"

She shook her head. "My head is all fogged over. I thought... I thought you might have been a dream."

The barest hint of a smile touched his lips. "Some women think so."

She found her own mouth slanting up at his conceit. "Not me."

"No. Not you."

All at once, he moved toward her, and her feet responded of their own volition, steel drawn to a magnet.