Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (43 page)

“Thanks.” Angelina's sarcastic tone didn't impact Selma at all.

“What did you expect?” Selma asked. “You're the daughter of an organized crime boss. Do you really expect us to treat you like you're Miss Sweet and Innocent because you've agreed to testify against your father? If I read the records correctly, you stuck it to us and disappeared for three years. Doesn't put you high in the trustworthy category in my book.”

“Selma! Knock it off!”

“It's all right, Dylan.” Angelina held up her palm to stop him. “She's right. None of us knows whether we can trust one another or not. My father has a long reach. He owns judges, cops—probably federal marshals.” She paused, allowing them to process that information. When she looked at Dylan her eyes revealed pain, held an unanswered question he didn't understand. “It's probably a good idea for all of us to proceed with the notion that no one can be trusted. No surprises that way. That's what I'm going to do.”

Dylan winced. Why had her words hurt him? Why did he care one way or the other whether she trusted him or not?

But he did.

“Okay, children, let's wrap this family argument up and get ourselves out of here.” Bear stood, threw his napkin on the table and shrugged in the direction of Joey Bitters. “Our friend just got company. One thug in the same place as me is one too many. Four thugs tell me to exit stage left.”

Dylan glanced toward the bar. He raised his eyebrow when he saw Vinnie Salvo and two of his goons saunter toward the couple still sitting at the bar.

Yep, time to get out of Dodge.

SIX

D
ylan stood on the sidewalk in front of the assigned safe house and surveyed the neighborhood. He understood why his superiors had thought this house would work. The house to their left sat empty. The dilapidated condition of the house and lawn told Dylan no one had been by the residence in a considerable time. The for-sale sign in the yard looked worn, old and dirty.

The vinyl-sided house they would be staying in backed up to woods and had a six-foot privacy fence in the backyard. There was no house on the right, just more woods. The middle-class neighborhood looked like any other middle-class neighborhood. Intel reported that most of the homes on this block were occupied by working parents with school-aged children. The streets would most likely be quiet and empty during the day and since it got dark early in October, empty at night, as well.

Yes, this would be a satisfactory safe house.

Dylan finished installing the small camera on the mailbox post that would target the street. He'd already put one by the front door to provide a video of anyone coming or going as well as one on each side of the house and two in the back. The ones in the back would focus on the approach to the back door as well as any movement over the fence. Bear was already inside monitoring them.

Dylan looked once more up and down the street.

Nothing threatening. Nothing suspicious. Good.

The brisk October air bit his cheeks and ears. The slight breeze rustled the leaves, several falling to the ground at his feet as he watched. He'd always loved autumn's beauty, the last glorious blast of life before the cold fingers of wintry death claimed the land. He only hoped he'd be able to prevent the cold fingers of death from touching any of them.

Two more marshals would be arriving at six in the morning to spell Bear and Selma. They'd work in shifts twelve hours on and twelve off.

Dylan already informed his boss that he intended to remain 24/7 at the house. Since he'd lost this witness once before, his boss understood his need to see this job through personally to a successful conclusion.

Bear had opted to take his relief at the house as well and grab some shut-eye in one of the many bedrooms. Dylan grinned. He hadn't been surprised. His partner had never left him in the lurch and wasn't about to start now. Dylan wondered what he was going to do when Bear retired. He wasn't sure he wanted to try and adjust to a new partner. Maybe it was time for Dylan to find a different line of work, too.

A black SUV turned the corner and slowly rolled down the street.

Dylan tensed and watched the vehicle, knowing that Bear also saw the approach on video cam and would be ready if backup was necessary.

The SUV swung into the driveway of a house three doors down. Almost as soon as the engine cut off, the doors opened and what appeared to be a father and his young son jumped out and headed directly into the house.

Dylan relaxed.

He took one final glance around the neighborhood. Satisfied they were safe for the night, he sprinted for the front door.

Once inside, he immediately went in search of Angelina. He found her exactly where he thought she would be, in the den, curled up in front of the fireplace with a book. Selma, sitting on the sofa opposite her, appeared engrossed in a magazine article.

When Angelina heard Dylan approach, she closed the book. “Everything okay?”

Dylan nodded and plopped down on the chair across from her.

“I have something I want to talk to you about.”

He spread his arms along the back of the upholstered chair.

“Shoot.” Immediately, he grimaced.

Way to go, stupid. Great word choice. That will make her feel relaxed.

Angelina glanced at Selma, who was peering at them over the top of her magazine, and then turned her attention back to Dylan.

“Is it true?” Angelina folded her hands in her lap. “That Frankie killed Maria out of revenge for breaking up with him? Is it possible my father had nothing to do with her death or my getting shot?”

Dylan couldn't stand the hope he saw in her expression. Why did she still harbor feelings for this man? He didn't care if he was her father or not. He was a capo, a cold-blooded, heartless criminal. And yet she still cared about him.

He just couldn't understand it.

He'd been raised in foster homes most of his life. This loyalty and devotion was alien to him. The only time he'd felt unconditional, undying love was when he'd spent time with God. He hadn't seen much of it in the human population.

“I don't know. But does it really matter whether he did it or not? It doesn't matter whether there is one shooter out there or if your father hired a hundred shooters. We still have to keep you hidden and safe for the next few days. We can't take any unnecessary chances, can we?”

Selma placed the magazine on the end table and stood up. “I'm going into the kitchen and get a mug of hot chocolate.” She smiled at Angelina. “Would you like some?”

Angelina nodded.

Selma glanced over at Dylan. “Do you want anything?”

“No, but thanks for asking.”

After she'd left, Dylan turned his attention back to Angelina.

“What is it? What's really troubling you?”

* * *

“I want to know more about this man, Frankie. Who is he? What does he do for a living? Where on earth did Maria meet him?” Angelina frowned. “I should have questioned her more about him but she seemed so happy and I didn't want to pry. I figured she'd tell me what she wanted me to know when she wanted me to know it.”

She wiped an errant tear from her cheek. “Maybe she'd still be alive if I'd pushed a little harder to find out what was going wrong between them.”

“You can't blame yourself for this. It wasn't your fault.”

“Dylan's right.” Selma handed her a mug of chocolate and plopped back down on the sofa. “You met the guy once, right? How were you supposed to know he worked for your father?”

Angelina startled. “He worked for my father? Are you sure?”

“I can't figure you out.” Selma tilted her head and studied Angelina as if she were an interesting species of bug. “Frankie sells drugs out of an Atlantic City gang. He has a rap sheet as long as your arm. He's a criminal.”

“Selma...” Dylan's tone warned her to go easy but she didn't stop.

“All the criminals—the loan sharks, the enforcers, the drug runners—they all work for organized crime. Vincenzo Baroni
is
organized crime in the state of New Jersey. Who did you think Frankie worked for?”

Angelina paled as the truth of Selma's words hit her full force.

“I guess... I...well, I never thought...”

“That's what I just can't figure out, yet. But I will.”

“What do you mean?” Angelina looked clearly puzzled.

“Are you really that naive? Or are you sly like a fox and trying to play us?”

“Selma, that's enough.” Dylan's sharp tone brought the conversation to a halt.

Selma shrugged. She looked directly at Angelina. “If it's true that you thought your father was some do-gooder businessman, a true pillar in the community, then I suppose this must have been a pretty hard blow for you. I'm not trying to make you feel worse.”

Angelina accepted her nonapology apology with a silent nod.

“I'm going up to bed and try to catch a couple of hours' sleep so I can spell Bear. He's in the kitchen watching the monitors...and his news channel on the countertop television. Guess the guy thinks the world will stop if he isn't paying attention to current events. Me, I have plenty of current events doing this job. I don't have to live them 24/7. Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.”

Selma caught Angelina's eye. “If it's true, if you didn't know who and what your father was...who he still is...then I feel sorry for you. I really do.”

She stood and placed her empty cocoa mug down. “Good people are putting their lives on the line for you. Again. I read your file. I know you ran out on us three years ago. Gave Dylan's career a black eye and almost caused us to lose this case.”

“Selma, she's been through enough. Leave her alone,” Dylan said.

Selma raised her arm in a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay, I'm going upstairs.” She pierced Angelina with her stare. “I don't know why Bear and Dylan think you're worth a second chance. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you and I'm going to be watching every move you make. Just want you to know that.” She nodded Dylan's way. “Good night.”

* * *

“I'm sorry. She was pretty harsh.”

Angelina shrugged.

“She was right. I do have good people putting their lives on the line for me. And I did run away before.” She looked him right in the eye. “And I will do it again the very first chance I get.”

A pained expression crossed his face. “Then you'll understand if we don't give you any opportunity to do it.”

An uncomfortable silence descended upon them. She stared at the fire and searched for a way to turn the conversation to less awkward ground.

If she could only make him understand...

Angelina didn't know who to trust. She didn't know what to do. She only knew she didn't want any further loss of life on her hands, particularly Dylan's and Bear's, and she didn't know how to stop it. She hoped Frankie was the shooter. Then the shooting wouldn't be connected to her father and these US marshals who were trying to protect her would be safe.

Dylan picked up her empty mug. “Would you like a refill?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Why don't you go up and lie down? You certainly need the rest.”

“I'm not tired.”

“That's good, I guess.” Dylan grinned. “At least I won't have to be worried about a concussion. Doc said with a concussion you'd want to sleep.”

Dylan moved closer. “Angelina...” He waited until he had her attention.

“You are going to testify, aren't you? You aren't really planning to run away again, are you? Make me understand.”

Unbidden tears, from pain, from exhaustion, from emotions, flowed down her cheeks in a nonending stream. She wiped her hand across her cheeks.

“I'm going to testify. But that doesn't mean I am going to stay in custody until the trial. It's dangerous—for everyone—and if I get a chance to leave, I will take it. I'm just being honest.”

“But you don't want to testify against Vincenzo, do you? Even after what you saw your father do?”

Angelina offered him a smile but it held no happiness or joy. “Sometimes, Dylan, I think this entire situation has all been a terrible nightmare and if I wait long enough I'll wake up.” She knew she couldn't hide the pain in her voice. “But I just can't seem to wake up.”

She looked into his deep, brown eyes and saw compassion and patience while he waited for her to continue.

“My father was a good father. You know my mother died from pneumonia when I was barely two. My father was the only parent I knew. He'd cuddle with me every night and read me bedtime stories until I fell asleep. He'd come home from work...” Her eyes caught his. “The work I thought was a regular job like all the other dads had—and he'd play with me. He had an iron-clad rule, only one video game a night before dinner. He'd sit with me after dinner and help me with my homework. When I hit high school, it was my father who taught me how to dance so I'd be ready for my prom. It was my father...it was always my father...who taught me how to love.” Angelina choked on her sobs.

Dylan handed her a box of tissues. She wiped her tears away and blew her nose.

“I'll never forget the look on his face the day I came home from school and told him what you had said to me.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow in question but didn't interrupt her.

“It was the beginning of sixth grade. Do you remember?”

Dylan frowned. “I had a schoolboy crush on you. I remember that.”

Angelina shook her head. “You had overheard your parents talking about my dad. I don't think you even understood the significance of what you said to me. I know I didn't.” She chuckled and blew her nose again. “We were so innocent back then. So foolish.”

She looked into Dylan's eyes and saw the flash of memory as it all came pouring back for both of them.

“You asked me to go to the movies with you. I told you I couldn't because my dad wouldn't let me. You got mad and said you'd ask me again after my dad went to jail because he was a bad man. He belonged to the mafia and the police were going to arrest him and put him away for life.”

Dylan's cheeks flamed as the memory of those childhood words flooded over him.

“I was mad at you,” she said, a genuine grin shining through her tears. “I realize you were just repeating something you heard the adults in your life say but it hurt. I ran home and told my father. I asked him what the mafia was and if the police were going to arrest him.”

Dylan looked ill. “That's why I never saw you again.”

“My father assured me you were making up crazy, mean stories and he shipped me off to a private boarding school. After that, I only saw my father for holidays and school breaks.” Her eyes met his. “And I never saw you again...until the police chief walked me into the US Marshal's office for protection after I'd reported that I had seen my father kill a man.”

“Angelina...”

Dylan gathered her in his arms and cradled her against his chest. “I am so sorry.”

She could feel the warmth of his body. She could hear the beat of his heart. She could hear the rumbling of his voice in his chest when he spoke.

And she let him comfort her.

For this tiny instant in time, she needed someone to comfort her and try to push away her pain. She needed someone to understand she hated his actions, absolutely hated them—but she could still love the man. He was her father.