Love Inspired Suspense October 2015 #1 (46 page)

“Good. Then we'll dig in and hibernate for the next few days. We'll have to entertain her so she doesn't go stir-crazy cooped up in the house but that's a small price to pay for safety.”

“What if it's not enough, Bear? What if I can't keep her safe?”

“You're doing a good job so far, Dylan. She doesn't have one new scratch on her head from anything that happened to her in our care. That's all we can do. Our best. I'd suggest you have a conversation with the only One who can truly protect any of us. I know I've prayed and I'm not ashamed to say I plan to get on my knees before I turn in tomorrow morning and do it again.” He laid his hand on Dylan's shoulder. “Sometimes we can be superheroes and sometimes we are just ordinary men.”

NINE

D
ylan glanced at his wristwatch. Six forty-five. He finished fastening the buttons on his clean shirt and loped down the stairs, following the delicious aroma of cooked bacon and the sounds of conversation and laughter in the kitchen. When he hit the doorway, he saw Donna, Brad and Angelina gathered at the kitchen table. Bear used a pot holder to lift a black iron skillet from the stove and carried it to a hot pad in the middle of the table.

“Just in time.” Bear grinned as he sidestepped Dylan. “I've made a batch of my famous hash brown potatoes with onions and peppers, a slab of bacon, and fresh scrambled eggs topped with butter and cheddar cheese. Fresh pot of coffee over there. You can grab that plate of toast while you're at it.”

“Shouldn't you be asleep by now? Your shift ended almost an hour ago.”

“I'm gonna get plenty of sleep in just a few minutes. But I sleep better on a full stomach.” Bear grinned, showing off those even, white teeth.

Dylan's gaze wandered to Angelina. He'd worried that yesterday's incident would have been a setback for her recovery but he found the opposite. Her bruises were beginning to get the yellowish-purplish tinge of age. Her eyes sparkled with laughter at something Bear had said right before he'd entered the room. They didn't harbor the waves of pain he'd recognized in them the past couple of days. She was getting better and stronger each day.

Now, if he could just keep her that way.

Dylan headed straight to the coffeepot. When he'd filled the largest mug he could find with the welcome brew, he picked up the plate of toast and joined his colleagues at the table.

“Selma get off okay?” he asked.

“She left about a half hour ago,” Donna said. “I promised her I'd be right here and ready to leave on time tonight.”

Everyone but Dylan chuckled at the lighthearted stab at yesterday's incident.

“Heard we're going to set up a teleconference today instead of going out. Good idea. We get the chance to catch the game,” Donna said.

Brad attacked his breakfast as if he'd never eaten before. “Bear, who knew you could cook like this? I'm going to request future details with you if this food service comes with the assignment.”

“You think my breakfasts are good? You should see what I can do with a filet of fish. Tell him, Dylan.” Bear waved a spatula in his direction. “You went with me to my fishing cabin last summer. I bet the two of us put on five pounds that week just eating my grilled fish and lemon sauce specialty.”

Dylan finished a swig of coffee and laughed. “I'll admit it, Bear. You can cook up a pretty tender piece of fish.”

“See! Told ya.” The man grinned. “And that's just what this old dog is gonna do on a regular basis six months from now when I can hang up my shield and pull out my fishing pole for good. Ahhh, retirement, here I come.”

The sound of laughter was a welcome way to start the day. Dylan just hoped the rest of the day would be as laid-back and happy.

“We'll see how long that lasts, Bear. A couple of months of doing nothing but fishing and you won't even want to see a fishing pole.” Dylan finished his breakfast, pushed his plate to the side and pulled his half-full mug front and center. He'd need more than one mug of that brew today. He'd been light on the sleep side lately and it was starting to catch up with him.

“Who said that's all I'm gonna do? I got plans. Lots of plans.”

Dylan chuckled again. “Good for you, Bear. But I still think retirement is going to bore you out of your mind.”

Bear picked up Dylan's empty plate along with the others. “You're just jealous 'cause you don't know how you're gonna get through a day without me. Ain't easy breaking in new partners, particularly since you aren't going to find anyone as good as me.”

Dylan shooed him away. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Brad chirped up. “Despite the chaos yesterday, there was one eye witness who had helpful information for the police. He saw two numbers of the license plate of the bike.”

Dylan arched a brow. “Really?”

Brad nodded. “I spoke to the boss this morning before shift change. With the detailed description you gave them of the bike combined with the numbers from the witness, they're pretty sure they know who owns the bike that tried to run you off the road.”

“Well, are you going to keep us in suspense or are you going to tell us?” Bear grumbled.

Brad grinned. “A guy by the name of Malone. Frankie Malone. Sound familiar?”

Angelina audibly gasped and covered her mouth with her fingers.

“Did they bring him in for questioning?” Dylan asked.

“They haven't located him yet but they will. It's only a matter of time.”

Time. The one thing Baroni was quickly running out of.

* * *

That evening Dylan perched on the edge of the living room end table and locked his gaze with Angelina's. “You're not still looking for a means to escape, are you? You still intend to testify against your father on Monday?”

“Yes, certainly. I am going to testify.”

Those spider-sense alarms scattered across Dylan's nerve endings. Something wasn't right. She was saying all the right things but his gut didn't believe it.

“But?” he prodded.

“No buts.”

“Angelina?” Dylan grasped her hand in his. “But?”

“If my father is going to make a move against me, then he has to do it now. He's running out of time.”

Dylan nodded and waited for her to continue. Those sky-blue eyes of hers shimmered with tears and it touched him deeply. All he wanted to do was gather her in his arms and comfort her. But he couldn't. She was a witness. How many times would he have to remind himself?

Still, he found it difficult to look away from her. She was stunning. She wore her emotions on her face, her thoughts behind her gaze, and she, unlike any other woman he'd ever known, had the power to make him
feel
. Really feel. Deep emotions he didn't want to feel or explore.

She is a witness. Only a witness. Your job is to protect her. There should not be any room for feelings. Get your act together. Fast.

Angelina leaned toward him. She squeezed his fingers and her eyes seemed to plead with him to try and understand. Her voice was soft when she spoke.

“People will die, Dylan. People will be killed trying to make sure that I am safe. Your colleagues. Your friends. Maybe even yourself.” She stared back hard at him. “I can't let that happen. I'm capable of taking care of myself. You know I am. I've been doing it quite well for the past three years.”

She scooted closer, their knees butting. “I don't want to betray you, again. Ever.”

He smiled. “Then, don't.”

A frantic expression flashed across her face. “You're not listening to me. I need you to help me.”

“I am helping you, Angelina. I am keeping you hidden and protected. You're safe with me.”

“No! I'm not!” She pulled her hand out of his and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. Her fingers trembled. She took a deep breath, exhaled deeply and looked at him again.

“Dylan, please. Help me get out of here. I'll be fine on my own for the weekend. You know I will.” She chuckled but it held no humor. “I would probably be safer. But that's not the point. It's not my safety I am worried about. It's everybody else. I can't be responsible for any more deaths. I won't be. Don't you understand?”

Her voice took on an edge of panic. “I don't care what you tell the other marshals. Tell them you and I planned it in advance, and you know where I am and I'm safe. Whatever. But let me slip away. It's not a betrayal, Dylan. I promise you I will be in that courtroom to testify on Monday morning. I just can't sit here any longer and wait for the people around me to be picked off like deer in hunting season.”

She reached up and cupped the side of his face, gently, so softly he could barely feel her touch yet it seized his breath.

“It's not a betrayal if I tell you up front.” She smiled into his eyes. “So I'm being honest. I'm letting you know I'm going to disappear the very first opportunity I get.”

Dylan recoiled as if she'd struck him but recovered quickly. When he did, he was slow to smile, a lazy smile, an indulgent smile. “Well, Ms. Baroni, thanks for the honesty. You've made my job easier.” He reached out and tucked that same errant strand of auburn hair that kept popping from beneath her bandage back inside. “I'm not worried about a thing. There is no way on earth that I am going to give you the opportunity. It's a foolish notion that will only make things uncomfortable and more difficult for all of us.”

His smile widened to a grin. “If you really want to help, and I know you do, then help. Do what we ask. Cooperate. Think you can try to do that?”

She sighed deeply and nodded.

He found her stooped shoulders and bowed head strangely reassuring. Maybe she was giving up and accepting the situation. Maybe. He could always hope.

It wasn't long before Selma and Bear rejoined them in the den. Bear suggested a board game. Selma agreed. Dylan begged off. He perched on a stool in the kitchen where he could have one eye on the outdoor cameras via the kitchen monitor and yet have a clear line of view to the three of them in the den.

So she thought she'd slip away, did she? To protect them no less. Her lack of trust in him stung. He wasn't sure whether she mistrusted his federal marshal expertise or if she mistrusted him. Either way, it stung.

Maybe he should try handcuffing her to his left wrist. See what she'd make of that turn of events.

His smile widened. If he tried it, she'd be madder than a hornet whose nest had been knocked over. Feisty. Angry. Coming out swinging. It would almost be worth it just to see the show.

He carefully studied all the camera shots appearing on the monitor. Things were quiet. No activity on the sides of the house. None in the back. They were safe for another night.

But dread cloaked him like a heavy, wet cloth.

Dylan heard that ticking clock in his head. Loud. Foreboding. Relentless. One weekend separating Vincenzo Baroni and a trial that most likely would end with a verdict of lethal injection.

Dylan was sure he wasn't the only one this evening hearing that clock tick away.

TEN

A
ngelina sat on a chair in front of the large vanity mirror. Her bruises had yellowed and faded. The bandage across her forehead, raggedy and tattered from four days of wear, should be coming off any day now. Selma had mentioned they were taking her to the doctor's office on Monday, after her testimony at the trial, of course.

Angelina cocked her head. She heard Selma moving about in the bedroom. She wasn't a warm and fuzzy companion, that was for sure. But she was diligent about her job, checking the safety of every move not once but twice before enforcing it. Angelina had to admit she felt safe with her...as safe as anyone could when drawing a line in the sand against her father.

She couldn't blame Selma for her constant suspicions. The marshal knew she had run before and expected her to run again. Which, of course, is exactly what she'd been trying without success each day now.

Angelina smiled in spite of herself. She'd checked out the second-story bathroom window. She'd wanted to know how far a drop and if there was anything to break her fall, like maybe a tree branch she could grab hold of as she jumped. But Selma had beaten her to the punch. The window was nailed shut.

Didn't they understand she wasn't trying to run away to get out of testifying against her father? She was determined to testify no matter how difficult it was going to be. Her father had to be stopped.

She was trying to escape to protect
them
.

Over the past few days she'd become fond of Donna and Brad, and, yes, even Selma. She had a special soft spot in her heart for Bear. Who wouldn't? And then there was Dylan.

Her pulse raced and her heart quickened every time she thought about him.

What were her feelings about Dylan?

There wasn't a question in the world that she didn't want him hurt. She didn't want anybody hurt. But with Dylan, her feelings became more complicated.

She still wasn't sure whether she could trust him.

Yes, he had handled their car like a race car driver and saved their lives on the Garden State Parkway. Yes, he had saved her from the shoot-out in the hospital. And, doubly yes, he was attentive and kind and thoughtful despite the fact that three years ago she had played him for the fool.

But...

It was that word
but
that kept her awake at night. She couldn't explain away the note she'd seen pass between Dylan and the bailiff. She couldn't explain away that he'd let someone on her father's payroll within arm's length of her. He couldn't be trusted.

And yet she trusted him, didn't she?

She enjoyed his company. Cared about him. Cared more than she was willing to admit. All the more reason to find a way out. She'd never be able to live with their deaths on her conscience. She had to find a way to escape or die trying. Soon.

“Hey.” Selma rapped on the bathroom door. “Are you okay in there? The water stopped running ages ago.”

Angelina opened the door. “I'm fine. Daydreaming is all.”

Selma nodded, her no-nonsense, professional expression not even cracking a smile at the green goo Angelina had smeared all over her face. “Well, stop daydreaming, come out here, crawl in bed where you belong and try some night dreaming. I heard it's good for you.”

Angelina laughed. “Will do. Just let me get this rinsed off.” Shortly afterward, she slipped beneath the covers and shut off the bedside lamp. She felt calm, relaxed, more sure of herself than she had been all week.

She watched Selma slide beneath the covers. The woman put on the tiny book light she always carried with her and settled down to read.

Angelina had been paying close attention to Selma for the past couple of nights. The woman read every evening for hours. Every hour or two Selma would stop reading, lean close to Angelina to watch the rhythm of her breathing and try to determine her level of sleep. Only when she was absolutely certain that she was asleep, and knowing the other two marshals manned the house and the cameras, would she allow herself to put down the book and sleep.

That was okay.

Angelina had a pretty good idea of the other men's nightly schedules. She knew Bear stayed in the kitchen on the cameras. Dylan was the only wild card. He didn't have a set schedule. Every few hours she'd see his shadow stretch across the floor beneath the bedroom door. He never knocked. He never undermined Selma's authority. But Angelina knew he was there. Checking. Listening.

Dylan would also spell Bear and it was easy for Angelina to know when he did.

Bear moved around the house like his namesake. He was never quiet. You could hear his large girth stomping through rooms and you always knew where he was.

Angelina had learned to listen to the distant drone of their voices even if she couldn't make out their words. She knew when Dylan was in the kitchen on the cameras. She knew when Bear was resting on the sofa or when he'd grab a newspaper and disappear down the hall to the bathroom.

Dylan would find out soon enough that he wasn't the only one in this house who paid attention to every detail and strategized his next play.

She said good-night to Selma, rolled away from her, closed her eyes and gradually, and as unsuspiciously as possible, slowed her breathing into a normal, slow sleep pattern. Keeping the smile off her face was a more difficult matter.

Sooner or later, Selma would feel safe, let herself fall asleep, and when she did, Angelina would be ready.

Tonight was the last night her presence would keep these marshals in danger.

* * *

“Anything?” Dylan nodded his head toward the camera monitor, grabbed a cup of coffee and walked back to stand behind Bear.

“Nada. Nothing. Nil.” Bear stifled a yawn. “At this point, I'd be happy to watch leaves fall. Staring at a blank, nonchanging screen for hours is not my idea of fun.”

“I'll take nonchanging. No bad guys sneaking around. Sounds good to me.” Dylan chuckled and took Bear's seat. “Go ahead and watch some television. I promise the scenes on the television change.”

“Want me to go up and check on the girls?”

Dylan couldn't hide the look of horror on his expression.

“What?” Bear asked.

“We want them to sleep, Bear. You clomping up those stairs would wake them.” Dylan tried hard but wasn't able to stifle his laugh.

“Very funny. Ha-ha. I'd rather be a he-man and be heard coming rather than a twinkle toes.”

“He-man? That's what you call it? How about three hundred ten pounds of solid weight hitting the floorboards?” Dylan laughed harder. “Besides, I checked on the girls before I came in here. All is quiet.” He lifted his palm in a halting motion. “Wait. Let me change that assessment. I think I heard Selma snoring.”

“Selma, huh? How do you know it wasn't Angelina? Even princesses can snore.” Bear crossed his arms, leaned his large frame against the doorjamb and grinned.

Heat rushed into Dylan's face. He wasn't about to tell Bear that three years ago he'd watched Angelina sleep many times before. He'd stand in a doorway and quietly study her face, the way her long eyelashes feathered against her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips. He'd watched her petite form curled up in front of the fire. Firelight shining in her hair. Slumber losing her to another world while he stayed in this one, watching her, protecting her, counting the rhythm of her breathing, fighting with his urge to pick her up and cradle her in his arms.

“Yeah, that's what I thought.” Bear chuckled at the beacon of red washing Dylan's face and neck, pushed off from the doorway and headed to the den.

Dylan chased the memories from his thoughts and refused to dwell a moment more in the past. Some doors once closed should remain closed. He didn't know why he found it so hard to do.

At this point in time, he only knew one thing for certain. Angelina didn't snore.

* * *

The doorknob twisted easily in her hand. Slowly, and as quietly as possible, Angelina opened the door. When it was ajar enough for her to slip through, she tossed a hurried glance over her shoulder at the bed on the opposite side of the room.

Selma, braced in a sitting position against the headboard, the book light laying askew on the blanket, her book open in her lap, her head lolling to one side, was deeply lost in sleep.

Angelina looked over at her own bed. She had tucked her pillows in such a way that if Selma did awaken a quick glance in the dark might fool the marshal into believing she was still asleep in her bed.

Once she passed into the hallway, she shut the door behind her, flattened her body against the wall, stayed perfectly still and listened. She could hear the deep rumble of the men's voices. Not clear enough to distinguish their words but clear enough to know the men were close together, which meant Bear was still in the kitchen.

Angelina frowned and chewed on her bottom lip. Bear was supposed to be in the den by now. What was the holdup?

Moving as stealthily as possible, she padded in stocking feet down the hallway. Shoes, her jacket and her purse could be retrieved by the front door where she'd left them earlier. The keys to one of the cars would prove to be a bit more of a challenge.

Bear always kept his keys in his pocket, so getting them would be mission impossible. But Dylan often tossed his keys in plain sight. He never seemed to have one location. Sometimes she saw them on the coffee table. Sometimes lying in plain view on the kitchen counter. Once she'd seen them lying on one of the end tables in the den. He wasn't good about keys. Every now and then, he'd hang them on a hook with the jackets by the front door. It was probably too much to hope that tonight would be one of those times, making them easily retrievable. But she could hope.

If the keys weren't there and she didn't see them resting in a place she could get to without detection, then she would have to leave the house on foot. There was a small bathroom, or powder room as they called it, right off the foyer. She'd checked it earlier. The window opened to the bank of bushes on the side of the house, and Selma hadn't thought to nail that window shut.

The carpeting cushioned the sound of her steps as she inched her way down the hallway. Her heart hammered so hard against her chest she thought for sure everyone would be able to hear it beating. Her ragged breathing did nothing to squelch her high level of anxiety.

She could do this. She had to do this. Everyone's life depended on her putting distance between her father's contract killers and the people in this house who'd sworn to protect her.

She inhaled deeply to try and calm her nerves, which skittered through her body like downed electrical lines in a storm. Her pulse tripped. Her chest constricted. Her stomach clenched. She was a total basket case.

And her head...

The pounding headache she had tonight had nothing to do with a bullet wound or being jostled on her last mob escape and everything to do with fear.

Angelina was scared, bone-deep scared.

So scared her body felt frozen in place and she wasn't sure she could move another inch.

You can do this. You care enough for these people to save them. Do it, now!

She pushed herself forward and was on the third step down the staircase before she paused to listen. She could hear the television on in the den and knew she'd find Bear spread out on the sofa. Rustling and movement in the kitchen followed by a familiar aroma told her Dylan had put on a fresh pot of coffee.

Now or never, girl!

She tiptoed quickly and quietly down three more steps when Dylan's voice made her freeze.

“Bear!”

His feet hit the floor.

“What?” he called, as he moved rapidly toward the kitchen.

Angelina eased down a step. Then, another. Three more steps and she'd be in the foyer and within reach of her personal items and the front door.

“I think we have company.” The tension in Dylan's voice gave Angelina pause.

“Where?”

“I'm not sure. It was quick. Too quick. I turned my back to put on a pot of coffee. When I turned around I was sure I caught some movement on the screen.”

“Let me see.”

Angelina held her breath and counted the seconds, mentally willing the men to finish their conversation. Was someone outside? Had the safe house been compromised?

“I don't see anything.” Bear's voice held concern but not alarm. “Maybe it was a cat or raccoon or something.”

“Maybe.” Dylan didn't sound the slightest bit appeased.

“Want me to go out and take a look?” Bear asked.

“No. You hang here and keep an eye on the monitor. I thought I saw somebody on the side of the garage. I'll slip out the back, go around and check it out.”

“Should we wake Selma and have her on standby?”

“Not yet. Give me a minute to check things out. You're probably right about it being a stray cat or small night animal. I didn't get a good look, only caught movement, not object or size. I never should have taken my eyes off the screen.”

“Hey, knock it off. You made a pot of coffee. Big deal.”

“Let's hope it's not a big deal. Let's hope it's nothing at all.”

Angelina heard the rustling sound of Dylan slipping into his jacket and was thankful he'd had it in the kitchen with him and not hanging on a hook in the foyer.

“I'll come back in the same way I'm going out. Keep an eye on me on the monitor. If you see anything strange, anything at all, phone Selma's cell and wake her up. Then call 9-1-1, and don't let me back through that door for any reason unless I give you the agreed upon password. Understood?”

“Got it.”

This was her chance. Bear would be tied to the monitors. Dylan would be outside and moving to the left side of the house near the garage. If she wanted to run, it was now or never.

She raced down the last three steps, threw on her shoes, and grabbed her jacket and purse from the hook beside the door. She reached for the doorknob but pulled back instantly before she could open it. The doorknob had burned her palm. She glanced at her hand unsure of what just happened.