Книга - Virgin In Disguise

Virgin In Disguise
Rosemary Heim


Undercover agent Frank Cabrini knew he was in trouble when he awoke to find himself staring into the cold barrel of a gun. The woman wielding the weapon changed identities as often as some women changed clothes.But whoever she was, Frank needed her help in finding out who'd blown his cover–if his desire for his alluring captor didn't undo him first.Angela Donovan–aka Angel–might be able to shift accents at a moment's notice, but the risk-taking bounty hunter was on treacherous ground when it came to men. Especially when danger rocked their world, forcing Angel to trust the sensual, enigmatic man who was leading them both into uncharted territory–and making her love every minute….









Her warm scent surrounded him, filling Frank’s head with all sorts of imaginings better left for late nights and soft beds.


Angel kept a firm hold on his handcuffed wrist. “Let’s see if we can do this nice and easy. Swing your legs out of the car, stand up and turn around.”

He followed her directions. She was close enough that he could feel her warm breath fanning the exposed skin of his throat. Close enough that he could see her swallow and watch the dawning awareness in her eyes.

Close enough that she would notice exactly how…aware…he was in a couple of seconds.

If he didn’t watch out, this attraction would get out of hand way too easily. He’d already broken one of his rules by talking to a civilian about his assignment.

He stood dangerously close to breaking a few more.




Virgin in Disguise

Rosemary Heim







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




ROSEMARY HEIM


grew up on a dairy farm, attended a one-room schoolhouse, lived in an English castle and (finally) settled in Minneapolis. She lives in a charming old house (which needs much work) with her romantic husband (who doesn’t need much work at all) and four cats (who work very hard at being cute).

Rosemary would love to hear from readers. You can visit her Web site at www.rosemaryheim.com or write to her c/o Midwest Fiction Writers, P.O. Box 24107, Minneapolis, MN 55424.


To Elise Heim and Dorothy Bentler.

My mother and sister. Special women, both.




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


My heartfelt thank-yous to: Shannon Godwin, for believing in Angel’s story and being our champion. Dr. Lou Betty Rood and members of KOD for coming to my medical assistance, pointing me in the right direction and letting me know I was on the right track. The Princesses and my critique group, a phenomenal collection of women. You know why. And Georgie-Peaux. I miss your calls, long talks and friendship. The state fair will never be the same.

Author’s note to those familiar with downtown Minneapolis—I know. Please forgive my artistic license in relocating an escalator or two and building the library before its time.




Contents


Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18




Chapter 1


“There ya go, darlin’,” the thick southern-accented voice coaxed. “Wake up and let me see those baby blues.”

Frank Cabrini did not want to open his eyes—no matter how gentle and enticing that voice sounded. If he did, the light would just set off another set of drums to join the timpani already pounding a rhythm in his brain.

A gentle hand smoothed through his hair, sliding down to pat his cheek. The faint scent of vanilla surrounded him. His eyelids flickered against his will.

“Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” Another woman’s voice registered in his fuzzy brain.

“Sure. Thanks for your help.” The first voice again, this time without the southern inflections. “Go ahead and take off. I can handle things from here.”

Frank fought the fog muffling his awareness. Something was wrong. Way wrong. He didn’t recognize either voice. The last thing he could remember was sipping a tonic water at the shabby CC Club bar and being chatted up by a woman who looked better suited to lunch at Chino Latino, the trendy Minneapolis Uptown restaurant.

That was how long ago?

Now, he lay stretched out on a bed that wasn’t his. He could tell because it was too short for his six-foot-four frame, and the pillow under his head was flat as Nebraska.

Somewhere to his left, a door clicked shut. He wanted to ask what was going on, but his mouth felt like the morning after cleaning out the liquor cabinet.

Vanilla surrounded him again as his head was lifted and something pressed against his lips. Water, cool and unflavored, dribbled into his mouth.

“Thanks.” His voice cracked on the single word. The bed shifted and the vanilla scent faded. He turned his head and tried opening his eyes. He knew better than to leave himself vulnerable like this. In his line of work, it could get you dead real fast.

Whatever drug he’d been slipped was wearing off. The water helped clear his head, but his arms and legs still felt weighed down with lead.

He pried his eyes open a slit, just enough to let in a little light. Not that the heavily curtained windows allowed much to filter into the room. What he could see was mostly shadows.

The bed dipped again, creaking with the movement. The woman leaned over him to brush the hair away from his face with one hand. Her other hand slid down his arm, pausing a moment to test his biceps before continuing down to his hand. He watched with a detachment he blamed on the drug as she raised his arm above his head.

Something cool and hard pressed against his wrist, accompanied by the sound of metal sliding through a ratchet. Handcuffs. A surge of adrenaline cleared the last of the drug’s effects from his system, and his eyes snapped open.

The first thing he saw was the cold gray barrel of a gun. Second were the colder gray eyes of the woman holding him at gunpoint. Instinct had him jerking his shackled arm, trying to get free.

“Don’t bother.” She spoke with the non-accent of a network newscaster now.

Holy hell, he was in some sort of trouble. “Your accent slipped.”

“Well, like, duh,” she said, snapping an imaginary wad of chewing gum as she slid into Valley Girl. “As if I’d give you a clue.”

The bed squeaked as she stood. Frank followed the lines of her lean body as she straightened, the gun still held steady and pointed right at him.

She was tall. He flicked a glance downward but couldn’t see if shoes augmented the impressive height. He doubted it. From the way she carried herself, he didn’t see anything artificial or out of balance in her posture.

Her clothes were nothing special—worn blue jeans and a too-big navy-blue T-shirt. A wide, black leather belt wrapped around her waist, held in place with a wicked-looking flattened spike. Dark hair pulled away from her face. No jewelry, not even a watch, interrupted the clean lines of her hands and arms. If she wore makeup, it was minimal and unnoticeable.

A memory wavered into being. He recognized her from the bar. She’d been sitting alone at a corner booth. “You were following me?”

She raised one straight eyebrow, but didn’t answer. Instead, she squatted beside the bed. She worked her free hand beneath him, wriggled her fingers into his left back pocket and pulled out his wallet.

Relief eased the tension in his muscles. Seemed like a lot of work to go through just to rob him, but this kind of trouble he could manage. At least his cover wasn’t blown.

His jailer settled into the straight-back chair next to the bed. She laid the snub-nosed revolver in her lap and began to rifle through the contents of his wallet. It wouldn’t take long.

“I don’t carry credit cards. You’re welcome to what cash there is, but it sure don’t seem worth all this effort.”

She pulled out the driver’s license. The bogus name, Frank Boylen, went with his cover story, and would lead to a fabricated history if she tried to dig.

She tossed the wallet onto the mattress beside him, but kept the license. Holding it between two fingers, she tilted it from side to side, then inspected the back before flipping it to land neatly on top of the wallet. She picked up her gun and pointed it back at him. “So, Frank Cabrini, anything you want to tell me before I haul your butt in and collect my bounty?”

Bounty? Oh, hell.

Three facts registered as new tension threaded cold fingers along his spine.

His captor was a bounty hunter.

She knew his real name.

He was in a world of trouble.



Angela Marie Donovan, aka Angel, studied her prisoner’s reaction. Background information had included that little tidbit about the license being under a false name.

Whoever Frank Cabrini was, he was good at the game. His only reaction to her use of his real name had been a slight widening of his eyes and the involuntary dilation of his pupils. The muscles in his arm flexed as he tested the handcuffs, but his movements were subtle. He didn’t struggle.

Memory of the strength she’d felt in those muscles warmed her hand. Her reaction to this transient bothered her. He wasn’t her type. Not that she had a type, much to the chagrin of well-meaning friends. But this guy was even further out of sync than the last blind date her friend Tina had set up for her.

No, Frank Cabrini was so rough she could file her nails on his edges. His black hair was in desperate need of a cut. Either that, or it needed another month or two of growth before he’d be able to tie it away from his face.

What she could see of his face piqued her curiosity. Blue eyes, the same color as the Minnesota summer sky, studied her with a clarity that might unnerve a weaker soul. Especially when contrasted with the heavy beard that hadn’t been groomed or trimmed in a longer period of time than his hair.

In general, his appearance fairly shouted, “Danger! Stay away!”

His appearance did, but not his manner. She’d watched him at the bar. No one approached him, but he’d been civil enough to the bartender and waitress. When Tina had sidled up to him, he’d acknowledged her, but he hadn’t hit on her. He’d played the gentleman, right up to the moment the sedative had kicked in and they wrestled his semiconscious butt up the stairs to this makeshift holding cell.

Cabrini rattled the handcuff against the old wrought-iron headboard. “Is this really necessary?”

“For now.”

“Care to tell me what this is all about?”

She smiled. He was cool enough about the whole situation—she’d give him that. Most men took exception to being handcuffed. At least, they did when it was without prior consent.

Cabrini’s calm didn’t fit the profile of the typical collar.

After almost ten years in the business of tracking down bail jumpers, she had a pretty good sense of the norm. Cabrini differed from her usual quarry, both because of his manner and because of her client.

She decided to indulge a little curiosity. “Now Mistah Cabrini, suh.” She slid back into the southern accent. It usually elicited the most information. “Just what did you go and do to get yourself into this predicament, hmm?”

His eyes narrowed and he took his sweet time answering. No skin off her. She could outwait him any day.

“If you really are a bounty hunter—”

“We in the industry prefer ‘bail bond enforcer.’”

He shifted on the bed and rolled onto his side, probably trying to get more comfortable. Good luck.

“Regardless of what you call yourself, don’t you normally inquire as to the nature of the criminal you’re hunting?”

She nodded, conceding the point. “I always find it entertaining to hear the tales of woe spun out as an excuse for bad behavior.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. No sad tale here. In fact, I can’t begin to imagine why you think there’s a bounty on my head.” He shrugged, an oddly elegant gesture in spite of his awkward position. “Who sent you on this fool’s chase, anyway?”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, but that is privileged information. My client prefers to remain anonymous, at least for the time being.”

Cabrini rolled onto his back and scooted into a sitting position with his back braced against the wall. The new position had them on the same level, looking eye to eye. “We seem to be at something of an impasse. You won’t divulge your client’s name, and I can’t think of any bail I’ve jumped, nor anyone who would want me bad enough to send a bou—bail bond enforcer after me.”

“Well, suh, you’ll just have to ponder a bit harder. Perhaps it will come to you.” She stood, regaining the dominant position and forcing him, once again, to look up at her. “I’ll leave you to your musings.”

“You’ll be back?” The faintest hint of concern threaded through his voice.

She smiled and sashayed to the door, paused and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Rest your poor, troubled head, Mistah Cabrini. I shall return with all due haste.” With one last hip sway, she pulled the door closed behind her.

The southern-belle facade disappeared with her next step. She reverted to her natural stride, tucking her Smith & Wesson Airweight into her back waistband as she moved the few steps to the end of the hall. From that vantage point, she could watch the street below while keeping an eye on the door to the room, as well as the stairs leading down to the street. The metal fire escape outside the window would allow for a quick departure if that became necessary.

This was as close to privacy as she was going to get for a while. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the address book. She needed to sort through a few details.

She’d known her client, Marvin Dexter, her entire life. Honorary uncle and surrogate father since her dad’s death, when he’d approached her about tracking down Cabrini, she’d made an exception to her “no family” rule. It was the least she could do after all the ways Dex had helped over the years

And if that wasn’t enough motivation, her mother’s health insurance had gone up again. The extra money she earned for bringing in Cabrini would go a long way to help cover that bill.

She highlighted a number and punched “ok.”

Dex answered on the first ring, his cultured tones clear on the cellular connection.

“Hey, Dex. It’s me. I’ve got him.”

“Already?” The question followed a brief pause. “I hadn’t expected you to catch up with him so soon.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just that good. Which is why you hired me, right? Now that I’ve got him, do you want me to bring him down to your office?”

“No.” Another pause, longer this time, which was out of character for Dex. He was known in his political circles for his sharp intellect and quick responses. “I’m not ready to meet with Mr. Cabrini. There are still a few details I need to iron out.”

“What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime? I can’t very well keep him locked up in this room.”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.”

The endearment triggered a tiny ache in her chest. She could hear the echo of her father’s voice in the phrase, even after almost twenty years.

“The situation is quite complicated,” Dex continued, “and everything needs to be right before we can proceed.”

“You didn’t tell me there was a timing issue.”

“I know, and I apologize for that omission. Nevertheless, it would be extremely awkward for me to take custody right now.”

“Awkward for you? I’m the one with a man in custody and no warrant. Can you at least help me out on that?”

“I don’t have anything to take to a judge. At least, not yet.”

“I’m skating a thin line here, Dex.” She paced the short distance from window to door and back. Working blind did not leave her with a good feeling. “Can you at least give me a clue as to what this is all about?”

“He’s been poking around in some old cases.” Dex paused, then added in a lowered tone, “Of your father’s and mine.”

Her throat tightened. “Why would he do that?” She pushed a swallow through the knot. “Do you think he knows something?”

“I really don’t want to say any more right now. I need more time. Do you think you could take him out of town for a while?”

“How long?”

“A few days, that’s all. You could use my cabin until it’s time to bring him back.”

Angel weighed the offer, comparing it to other obligations, trying to make this new scenario fit. “I’ll need to make a couple stops first, but I think I can work it out.”

“Good, good. I’ll leave a key with your mother—I assume one of your stops will be there before you leave?”

“Of course.”

“Excellent. I’m about to leave my office for a few errands of my own. The key will be there when you arrive, along with some additional information.”

“Is there any chance you can get a warrant on him for something?”

“That simply isn’t a possibility at this time.” Dex’s sigh hinted at some annoyance. “Angel?”

“Yes?”

“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help in this matter. You do understand that, don’t you?”

“Of course.” Did he understand the risk she was taking for him?

“And you appreciate the need to keep this strictly confidential?”

“I am a professional.”

“I meant no insult. This is a delicate project, and you’re the only one I can trust to do it.”

“Sorry.” Angel reined in her momentary irritation. “It’s going to take me an hour or two to get things in order. I’ll stop at home last, before I leave town.” That should give Dex plenty of time to drop off the key.

“What are you going to do with Cabrini until you leave?”

“Good question. I’ll figure something out.”

“I have every confidence that you will, Angel. You’ve always impressed me with your resourcefulness. When I have everything lined up here, I’ll be in touch with you.”

“We’ll talk then.” Angel closed her cell phone and slid it into her front pocket. Dex wasn’t telling her everything, but he was family. She trusted him more than she trusted most. That entitled him to some leeway. She just wished he’d been a bit more forthcoming with information.

He hadn’t given her any more than what she already knew—that he wanted Cabrini brought in. There didn’t appear to be any legal charges against him, so it was more of a P.I. locate job.

Considering she had Cabrini in custody, in handcuffs, she could probably be charged with kidnapping. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d bent the rules to suit the situation. Still, the idea didn’t sit well. Comfort came from knowing such a charge would never occur to most of the lowlife types she dealt with.

But then, Frank Cabrini didn’t fit that stereotype. He was nothing like she’d expected. The rough exterior he presented was every bit a disguise, same as her faked accents and wigs.

His eyes reinforced the perception that he wasn’t what he appeared to be. Clear and steady, his gaze spoke of curiosity and intelligence. He had barely shifted his glance from her since he’d awakened.

Those damned blue eyes seemed to see into her soul. And that, more than anything, unsettled her.

She didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.



Frank tugged at the handcuff. He could probably work his way free, given enough time and a little ingenuity. Ingenuity he could handle, but the time factor was too big of an unknown. He didn’t like gambling when the odds were stacked against him.

In the hall, creaking floorboards betrayed the movements of his captor. The murmur of a one-sided conversation leaked through the thin wall. He caught a snatch that sounded a lot like, Do you think he knows something?

That finished any thoughts of attempting to escape—he wanted to know who the hell had ordered this bounty. He settled into a slightly more comfortable position and turned his attention to his captor.

First impressions didn’t yield much information. That, in itself, told him something. She was no rookie. She hadn’t let much slip, other than her accent. Even then, she’d run through so many variations, he couldn’t begin to guess what might be normal for her. Lacking that small bit of information prevented his figuring out her background, which could lead to more clues.

The fact that she had his real name could prove problematic. His assignment necessitated a cover story and false identity to work. He’d have to make sure he didn’t come in contact with anyone connected to his investigation.

Assuming she wasn’t somehow connected already. With no clues to her employer’s identity, he wouldn’t rule out that possibility.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood. Waves of dizziness threatened to swamp him, and he hung onto the cool metal headboard, taking slow, deep breaths until his balance returned to normal.

Other than leaving him with a faint nausea, the drug seemed to have no lingering effect on his system. He stretched his arms and legs and did a couple of cautious squats. Everything seemed to be in working order, limited only by the very short leash of the handcuff around his wrist.

The door opened. His captor returned, and she was looking none too pleased. When she saw him standing, she pulled her gun from the back of her waistband. She didn’t point it at him, which seemed encouraging. She knew how to handle a gun and didn’t appear to be trigger happy, just cautious.

“Take your seat, please.”

Frank complied, sitting to face her, with both feet on the floor and his free hand on his thigh, palm up. His cuffed hand rested on the pillow, also palm up. He had no intention of doing anything that could be misinterpreted as a threatening gesture.

“What size pants do you wear?”

The question came from so far out in left field, he didn’t respond immediately. The information was hardly classified, and there seemed to be no reason not to share it. Then again, he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for her query.

“Mind if I ask why you want to know?”

“We’re going out of town for a few days, and I figure I better pick up some things to tide you over. You’re going to need clothes. No razor, but shampoo, toothbrush…” She continued, adding items to her list.

“Out of town” didn’t work for him. Not by a long shot. “It seems like a waste to buy new when we could just go over to my place and pack my own things.” If he could talk her into stopping at his place, he could get his hands on—

“Nice try, but neither one of us will be going anywhere near your room.”

Room, not apartment or house. She knew how he lived, if not where.

He nodded in understanding. She wasn’t going to risk being seen in the rooming house he’d called home for the past two months, with him or without him. “In that case, thirty-four waist, thirty-six inseam. If you’re getting jeans, Levi’s fit best. I prefer my shirts extra large, tall if you can get them. Otherwise, short-sleeved would be easiest.”

She stared at him, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.

“I prefer clothes that fit well.” He shrugged, not feeling particularly apologetic.

“I see. Anything else?”

“Yes.” A slow grin pulled up one side of his mouth. “Boxers.”

Soft color flooded up her neck, darkening her cheeks. Well, well. Now that was interesting.

“It’s going to take me a little while to gather everything together.” She crossed to the dresser, where a bottle of water and several plastic cups shared space with a battered television with rabbit-ear antennae. She turned on the TV, tuning it to the least static-filled station, and turned the volume to a reasonable level—loud enough to hear, not so loud that any possible neighbors would object.

“My assistant isn’t available to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I can’t take any chances right now, so you’re going to have to take another sedative.”

“I don’t think so.”

“You really don’t have the option of whether or not to take it.” She pulled a small dopp kit from the top dresser drawer and opened it. “You can choose how. Either take it orally or I can give you a shot. My recommendation is go for the drink. I’ve never been very good with needles.”

“In that case, line ’em up, barkeep.” Orally also held the advantage of being able to regurgitate the sedative once she left.

She emptied two capsules into one of the glasses and filled it with water. So much for plan A. She handed the glass to him then stepped back and waited.

He eyed the mixture, sizing up the quantity of liquid. He could still do this—pretend to swallow, and once she left, spit it out. His system would probably absorb some of the sedative, but not enough to incapacitate him for long. He raised the glass in a mock salute and drained the contents.

“Mistah Cabrini, suh?” She was back to the southern accent. “You may as well go ahead and swallow for real. I won’t be leaving until the drug has taken effect.”

Ah, hell. He was beginning to hate that southern-belle act. He swallowed.

“Thank you. Now, why don’t you rest your weary head on that pillow and get comfortable. It won’t take but a few minutes for you to drift off.”

He stretched out on the mattress, tempted to fight the lethargy already beginning to weigh down his limbs, but knowing it would be futile. He folded both hands beneath his head, crossed his ankles and glared at her until he faded into oblivion.




Chapter 2


Angel tossed the bull’s-eye-spotted bags in the trunk of her car, glad to have that portion of her list out of the way. The credit gods had been merciful—most of the items she needed were on sale. Better still, these particular charges wouldn’t come due until well after she’d received payment for this job.

The car rattled as she slammed the trunk shut, and she gave the dented fender an affectionate pat as she rounded to the driver’s door. Old Rusty’s body had seen better days, but it served its purpose. Few would guess the dilapidated red shell hid a chassis-and-engine combo that could outrun just about anything on the road. The engine purred to life, and she pulled out of the parking lot.

It didn’t take long to reach her last stop, even with a detour through the drive-up ATM. The modest rambler, shaded by several old oak trees, sat back from the quiet street. Traffic cruising past Cedar Lake seldom came down these twisting streets, providing the illusion of seclusion in the middle of Minneapolis.

“Grampa Fred,” head of the Neighborhood Watch and honorary grandfather to every kid in a four-block radius, waved as she drove by his corner house. He provided the illusion of continuity and security.

The garage door opened with the touch of a button, and she backed into her space with practiced ease. She slipped through the connecting door into the kitchen and down the stairs to her basement office.

Shedding the wig and contact lenses, she transformed to her “normal” blue-eyed, sorta blond self before heading back to the kitchen. She crunched on baby carrots from the refrigerator as she sifted through the mail. Bills, junk mail, a couple of bank statements.

Not for the first time, she considered consolidating the money into one bank. But the mostly inactive savings account, inherited from her father, provided some emotional touchstone for her mother. That alone made the few extra pieces of paper a minor inconvenience.

“I thought I heard you come in.” Corie Anderson, her mother’s companion and caretaker, came around the corner from the dining room.

Angel turned and smiled. “Hi, Corie. How is she today?”

“Today was mostly a good day.”

“Mostly?”

“She spent much of her time reading a book.” Corie crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a diet pop. “We watched a movie. Then Mr. Dexter stopped by. He left an envelope for you—it’s on the front hall table.”

“Did he visit with Mom?”

Corie nodded, but a frown shadowed her face.

“What?” Angel prompted.

“She’s just been very moody lately. Mostly sad.”

Angel looked out the window over the sink. The grass needed mowing again. Already. Had it been a week? Probably longer. She shook her head and pulled back from the momentary escape. “I have to go out of town for a few days. As soon as I finish packing, I’ll come in and see if I can get her to talk some.”

“I wonder if it’s her medication.”

“You think she’s having a bad reaction?”

“It’s not that so much as I don’t think this new stuff is as effective as the original prescription.”

“Dr. Brenna said it would take some time to transition, and for the new meds to reach optimum levels.” She pulled a bottle of spring water from the refrigerator. “Until then, we’re bound to see some symptoms of the depression and paranoia.”

Corie nodded. “I guess that makes sense. But I keep wondering if maybe you should get a second opinion? I know of another doctor….”

Angel sighed. “I don’t know. Between Dr. Sanders all of a sudden disappearing without a word, Mom’s files getting lost, finding a new doctor and now this new prescription…it’s been a lot of change. At least she seems to like Dr. Brenna.”

She exchanged a look with Corie. Her mother’s moods had taken a marked downturn nearly two months ago. The change had been difficult for all of them.

Angel held the cool water bottle to her chest, wishing it would soothe the ache building there. She wanted her father, wanted their little family whole. Except some bail jumper— She shook off that line of thought.

“Tell her I’ll be in in just a few minutes. It won’t take me long to pack.”

“Sure.”

Angel turned back to the window. “The lawn needs mowing. You better call a service and get it done. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“I’ll take care of it. You pay me enough to do more than sit around all day.”

Angel smiled. Since joining their little household two years ago, Corie had become indispensable. “Don’t sell yourself short. Having you is a godsend. I don’t know how we managed without you.”

“Then we saved each other.” Corie gave her a quick hug. “If you hadn’t exposed my ex for the rat he was, I’d probably be dead now. The best thing I got out of that disastrous marriage was this job.”

“Thank Dex for that. He came up with the idea. All I did was make the offer.”

“As far as I’m concerned, the offer is all that counts. I’ll tell Maryam you’re home.”

Angel watched the seconds tick off as she drained her bottle of water. Precious time—time spent away from Mom—chasing shadows and ghosts that might not even exist anymore.

The chase was essential, and lately it seemed like she was actually making some headway. She was closer now than she’d ever been to tracking down the arsonist who’d killed her father. If she could keep at it a little longer, she’d succeed. She knew it in her bones.

Then, maybe, she’d capture the person she most needed to find—her mother.

Dropping the empty bottle into the recycling bin, she headed back to the basement. Ten minutes and a change of clothes later, she stowed a small suitcase filled with a range of wardrobe options in Rusty’s trunk, along with a gym bag now filled with the clothes and supplies she’d picked up for Cabrini. Another five minutes, and she had her overnight bag packed and sitting by the back door, ready for her departure.

She pulled a pint of Godiva chocolate ice cream from the freezer, grabbed a couple of spoons and headed for the living room.

The afternoon sun wrapped the butter-yellow room in a golden glow. At the center, her mother, dressed in tan slacks and a pale green cotton sweater, sat next to a side table piled with books.

“Hi, Mom.” Angel flopped down next to her on the chocolate leather couch and handed her a spoon. “Time for dessert.”

“We haven’t eaten dinner yet.” Her mother’s voice held a curious mix of amusement and sadness.

“There’s always time for chocolate. You two can do the healthy dinner thing later.”

“What about you?” Her mother looked at her with sad, gray eyes.

There had been a time, when Angel was very small, that her mother had laughed all the time. The memories acted as a beacon, reminding Angel of what life could be, would be, someday. If she found her father’s killer, her mother could heal and maybe even be happy again.

Angel dug her spoon into the ice cream. “I have to go out of town for a few days. I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but I’ve got my cell phone so you can call me anytime.”

“Where are you going?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, Mom. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“When you get back, we should talk.”

Angel shot a quick glance at Corie. Corie shrugged and shook her head. “Talk about what?”

Maryam shook her head.

“Do you like your new doctor? Is that what you want to discuss?” Angel tried another tack.

Again, Maryam shook her head, this time casting a furtive glance at her companion.

“Would you prefer to go back to the old medication?”

“No.” She picked at the crease of her twill pant leg. “That stuff made me feel…fuzzy, like I’m looking at the world through a big wad of cotton gauze.”

“So, the new stuff is better?”

“Better? Yes, but it’s still not right. Nothing is right. Nothing’s been right since…” She stabbed her spoon into the ice cream.

“I know it was hard to lose Dr. Sanders after all these years. If you don’t like Dr. Brenna, we can see about someone else.”

“I never trusted that man.” Maryam half muttered.

“Who? Dr. Sanders?”

Maryam looked her in the eyes. “It’ll be better soon.” She smoothed Angel’s spiky blond hair away from her face, her hand lingering on her cheek. “You have such beautiful blue eyes. I see your father looking at me every time I look in your eyes.”

Tears, hot and unexpected, burned the back of Angel’s throat. She bit her lip, fighting the urge to curl into her mother’s arms like she was a little girl again. Their roles had reversed too many years ago to go back. Now she needed to be the strong one. The sane one.

Her mother tugged at the short blond hair again. “I wish you’d stop bleaching your hair. And this cut—it’s so short and punk. You’d look nice with something more feminine, something like a chin-length bob.”

“You know I’m too lazy to spend that much time on my hair.” Besides which, short hair fit beneath a wig much better than long hair. Changing identities was easier when she didn’t have to worry about her own hair peeking out.

“Where are you going this time?” Her mother switched topics with her usual randomness. Years of practice made it easy for Angel to follow.

“Just up north. I have to take a…friend to a cabin for a little vacation.”

“Is that why Marvin came?” Maryam jabbed her spoon into the ice cream again.

“Yes. He asked me to check on his place, since I’m going to be so close.”

“I don’t think I trust him very much, either.”

“Mom, how can you say that? Dex has been a rock for us. Not many men would take on their partner’s family as their own.”

“Don’t judge a book by its cover.” Maryam picked up one of the paperbacks in the pile next to her. “I thought this one would be funny. The cover looked funny. But the story was sad.”

Angel’s head fell back to rest on the couch cushion behind her. Every time they came close to a serious discussion that lasted longer than a few sentences, Maryam drifted off onto another topic.

The antique mantel clock struck the hour and Angel jerked upright. “I need to get going. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Be careful, sweetie. I need you to come back.”

“I know, Mom. I will.” She leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother’s soft cheek. “I love you.”

Her mother kissed her in turn. “You take such good care of me.”

They hugged and Angel stood to leave. Her mother clung to her hand. “You need to stop the bad men.” Her voice sounded so fragile and lost.

Angel nodded. “That’s what I do, Mom. Stop the bad men.” But she hadn’t found the one bad man who counted—her father’s murderer. She spun on her heel and fled the room before the tears returned. On the way out, she grabbed the key and envelope Dex had left for her.



“Mister, wake up.”

Frank groaned. Not again. Didn’t he just go through this?

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. We don’t have much time, we gotta get outta here. Wake up, wake up, wake up.”

A slap stung his cheek, followed by a shaking of his shoulders. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog. Definitely different this time. He’d have to be completely unconscious to miss the urgency in this woman’s voice.

One of the hands shaking him let go of his shoulder. He covered his head and rolled in anticipation of another slap. The fact that he could move his arm without hindrance registered. The handcuff dangled from his wrist, swinging back and forth when he rolled into a sitting position.

“Can you stand? C’mon, we gotta move. Now.”

“Wait a second. What’s the rush?” He waved one hand in the air, the other still holding his head against the possibility of falling off—which probably wouldn’t be a bad thing, considering how it pounded with each beat of his pulse.

“What d’ya think? We can’t stay here.”

He pried his eyes open and looked over his shoulder. On the other side of the bed knelt an elf, glaring at him with eyes so blue they couldn’t be real. She also had bleached blond hair with an inch of black roots showing and a nose ring.

“Where do you think you’re going to take me?”

“Away from here. We’ll figure out the details once you’re in the car and we’re on the road. Now c’mon.”

The elf stood. She was very tall for an elf. He shook his head.

Holy hallucinations, he needed his brain back. Until he could think straight, he’d buy a little time and follow his rescuer’s urgings. At least he was out of the handcuffs.

He stood, swayed and caught himself on the headboard.

Elf rounded the bed and slipped her arm around his waist, grabbing his belt to support some of his weight. “C’mon.”

He draped an arm over her shoulders as she practically dragged him across the room to the door. She paused to peek outside, then pulled him down the hall to the head of the stairs.

“Do you think you can make it down without falling and killing yourself?”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath, clearing his head a little more. A faint scent teased his nose, but he couldn’t make a connection that made any sense. Time enough for that later. First things first, and that meant getting out of wherever it was he’d been held.

Leaning against the railing and Elf equally, he managed to get to the bottom of the steps without incident. “See? No problem.” He didn’t try to repress the foolish grin he shot her way.

She surprised him with a grin of her own, which revealed a dimple in her cheek.

“Told you.” He met her gaze and his smiled faded. “You have beautiful eyes. Are they real?”

She chuckled, a husky murmur that sent a shiver of interest streaking down his chest.

“They’re real. Rusty’s over here.”

He stumbled to a halt. “Who’s Rusty?” Maybe it would be better if he just parted company with her now, sexy laugh or not. No sense getting tangled up with yet another stranger.

Elf glanced up at him. “Rusty is a what, not a who.” She tugged on his belt and got him moving again. They rounded the corner of the building and he spotted a seventies-era Mustang with rusted out spots, a coat hanger for an antenna and a pair of fuzzy, red dice dangling from the rearview mirror.

He looked down at Elf and raised an eyebrow. “Rusty.”

“Yepper.” She opened the passenger door and pointed. “Hop in.”

He eased into the seat. It was a tight fit, but he wasn’t about to complain. As long as the bucket of bolts held together, and he got as far away from his kidnapper as he could.

She slammed the door shut. He got his first focused look at her as she trotted around the car to the driver’s door. Her cherry-red cropped T-shirt teased the low-riding waist of her rumpled tan cargo pants. Thick-soled sneakers finished the outfit. She looked… “How old are you?”

“Legal and then some in every state.” She leaned across him, snagged the passenger seat belt and pulled it across his lap. While she fumbled with the latch, he slumped into the seat, enjoying her closeness and the warm scent of vanilla that clung to her skin.

Memory surfaced just as she settled back into her seat and latched her own seat belt. “Aw, hell.” He tried to raise his left arm. The handcuff had him manacled to the frame of the car seat, next to the seat belt buckle. “It’s you.”

Elf turned the key in the ignition and the engine purred to life. “Perfect timing.” She pulled away from the curb.

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

She shrugged as she turned onto a busy one-way street. “I needed to get you out of there with a minimum of fuss. Your hungover cotton-brain zoned in on the clues it had to work with and produced the desired results. You’re here and we’re on our way.”

“This is kidnapping, you know.”

She pulled a pair of sunglasses off the dashboard and slipped them on, hiding behind them.

“False imprisonment.” He took another poke at her, testing her level of discomfort.

She turned left onto another busy street. Lyndale, he realized, as they drove past the coffee shop and tattoo parlor. They were headed towards downtown. Maybe she was going to take him to the county jail after all.

“I’m a bail bond enforcer.” She enunciated each word. “I’ve taken you into custody, not kidnapped you.” That she didn’t like the situation came through loud and clear.

She eased up on the gas as they neared an intersection with a red light. The signal changed to green and she sped up again.

“Except, I’ve never jumped bail, and you said your client was a private party. That doesn’t work so well, does it?”

Traffic slowed in front of them. He spotted a police car parked on the cross street and, for a split second, considered trying to signal for help or trying to overpower her. But he wanted to find out who her client was more than he wanted to escape. At the moment, anyway.

She changed lanes to bypass the backup of cars turning into and out of the Wedge Co-op parking lot, then shifted back into the right lane in time to squeak through a yellow light. They hit the on-ramp to Highway 94, heading east.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I told you earlier, before we left.”

“Yeah, well, the last few hours are pretty hazy, thanks to the drug-induced stupor I seem to be in. Why don’t you refresh my memory?”

A gap in traffic opened and she changed to the exit lane for Highway 35W north. “My employer didn’t expect me to catch up with you quite so quick.”

“Gee, I’m sorry I was such an easy mark. If I’d known I was being hunted, maybe I could have made it more of a challenge for you.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “He’s not ready to meet with you and asked me to take you out of town for a few days, until he has some other details in order.”

“If all he wanted was a meeting, why the kidnapping?”

She clenched her jaw. “This isn’t a kidnapping.”

“You couldn’t tell by me.” He rattled the handcuff. “From where I’m sitting, it sure feels like one.”

She glanced at him but didn’t respond.

“Come on, Elf. Give me a good reason, just one, why I don’t turn you in for what has got to be a major ethical breach.”

This time she glared at him. “Elf?”

That got a rise out of her. He smiled. “It seemed to fit when you were crouched next to the bed. I’ll admit, you’re a bit tall for an elf, but you’re still plenty shorter than I am.”

“There is nothing elfish about me.”

“I don’t know. You’ve got the pixie haircut, a pointy chin, big eyes. The bleach job and nose ring aren’t quite in keeping with the concept, but I’m a tolerant guy and can allow a little creative license in the interpretation.”

She snorted—a decidedly unelfish expression.

“Maybe,” Frank continued, “if I knew your name, I wouldn’t have to make one up for you.”

“Angel.” The road split, and she shifted lanes again, staying with the northbound traffic.

“Angel. No, I don’t think so.” Frank looked her over. “What happened to your long, brown hair? And your gray eyes?”

“They served their purpose. As did the auburn curls, the black pageboy, the brown eyes, the green eyes.”

A soft whistle escaped his lips. He leaned toward her and studied her features in profile. Satisfied, he nodded and settled back against the seat. “You’ve been following me for a few days, haven’t you?”

“Almost a full week, actually.” She flicked a glance in his direction. “You lead a particularly uneventful and rather predictable existence.”

“Like I said, if I’d known I was being hunted, I could have made it a little more interesting.” A week. And he hadn’t spotted her. Even if he wasn’t expecting a tail, he should have spotted someone following him for that long.

He ran through a quick mental log of his activities over the past seven days. Her mastery of disguises was very impressive, and he needed to find out if she might have stumbled onto anything that would jeopardize his investigation. He didn’t think so, but he’d have to be sure.

The city landscape dwindled and changed. Elf/Angel settled a little deeper into her seat and accelerated. The speedometer crept higher, leaving sixty behind and pushing seventy. He waited for the car to protest the speed with various vibrations and rattles. Instead, the engine purred like a very contented cat.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re taking me.”

“It’s Friday afternoon. We’re going where all the good Minnesotans go on a summer weekend.”

“I’m not from around here. Enlighten me.”

“On the weekend, everyone goes up north to the cabin on the lake. We’re going up north.”

“That I can see. Where up north?”

“To the lake.”

“The lake. According to your license plate, there’s more than one.”

“True. But the only one that counts is the one we’re going to.”

“And that would be…?”

“The one where the cabin is.” She smiled and her dimple winked at him. “You’re kind of slow, aren’t you?”

“You’re killing me, Elf.”

She chuckled, and the husky sound sent images of late-night intimacies flashing through his mind. He shifted, trying to get more comfortable. Between tight legroom and tightening pants, it wasn’t easy.

“Any chance you’ll be stopping for gas? Soon?”

“Just filled the tank before I picked you up, so no, I’m not planning on it. I’d like to get mostly there before full dark.”

He muttered a soft curse and shifted again, still finding no comfort.

Elf gave him a quick once-over, a frown creasing her forehead. “Something wrong?”

“Nothing access to a rest room wouldn’t solve.”

“Ah.” The frown deepened. “Hmm.”

“I take it you hadn’t considered the need for rest stops before you hustled me out of that room?”

“No.”

“Understandable. You can’t be expected to think of everything.”

Red crept up her neck and stained her cheeks. Interesting. Was she embarrassed by the situation or mad at not having thought of the eventuality?

“Of course, it wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t forced that glass of doctored water down my throat.” He twisted the guilt knot a little tighter.

The flush deepened. “Sedatives are a workable, short-term convenience.”

Short-term. She hadn’t planned on keeping him in custody for very long. Another interesting detail. “Your planning skills could use a little work.” He waved his free hand. “Never mind, I’ll manage.”

They were approaching an exit ramp. Elf flipped on her turn signal. The ramp led to a rest stop where a steady procession of cars and trucks pulling campers and boats performed the weekend drivers’ ballet.

If he could get away from her, it would be easy enough to catch a ride out of there.

She maneuvered into an empty parking spot some distance from the main building. The car keys jingled in the silence when she pulled them out of the ignition and dropped them into a lower pant-leg pocket. “You’re left-handed, right?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Just working out the logistics.” She stretched between the bucket seats and grabbed something from the back seat before getting out.

Her vanilla fragrance still floated in the air. If it hadn’t been for that scent, he wouldn’t have made the connection between Elf’s disguises nearly so fast; the change in her appearance had been so complete.

She stretched, giving him an unexpected glimpse of her bared midriff. Was that…? She rounded the car to the passenger door and pulled it open. He got another glimpse, just before she hunkered down beside him. It was. She had a pierced navel. And a pierced nose. He wondered what other parts of her body sported nontraditional jewelry.

A handcuff closing around his right wrist broke into his ponderings. She reached over and freed his left hand, then stood, tugging him out of his seat. Her left hand, warm and slightly callused, held his right hand, and he realized she’d cuffed them together. The dark blue sweatshirt she’d pulled out of the back seat draped casually over her wrist, hiding the cuffs.

Interesting. He couldn’t wait to see what she had planned next.

The rest stop consisted of one main building and a couple of smaller structures spread across a wide, grassy expanse. She led him on a meandering path towards one of the outbuildings, which sported a Family Rest Room sign. A mother with two small boys exited the structure and Elf tugged him in, locking the door behind them.

He gave the facility a quick scan, then turned to her. She was studying the cinderblock construction of the rest room, too. “Elf?”

She shrugged. “This is the best I can manage until we get to the lake. You better not have a bashful bladder, because that window’s too low, too large and on the wrong side of the building for me to cover both exits.”

Figures she’d notice the same things he had. “You expect me to—” He looked around the large, open room. Sink, towel dispenser, wastepaper can, diaper-changing table…. No stall door. No stall. Everything was out in plain view. “This is a joke, right?”

She shook her head and glared at him. “And I’m not taking the cuffs off, so don’t even bother to ask.”

“You know, this just isn’t right, on so many levels, I can’t begin—”

“Then don’t bother. Or do, but do it while you’re…” She gestured towards the urinal.

He shook his head and crossed the room, with her a half step behind him. He began undoing the button fly of his Levi’s. Her arm moved in unison with his. She pulled the sweatshirt off their wrists and stood beside him, staring straight ahead.

“Uh, Elf?”

“What.”

“About those logistics you were working out?”

“Yeah, what?”

“I am left-handed, but for some things, I need to use my right hand.”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes as they widened with realization. “You’re kidding.”

“Trust me, I’m not.”

She looked around the room. A tiny groan and a hang of her head told him she noticed the same problem he had—no exposed pipes she could cuff him to while he took care of business.

By his best reckoning, there were two options. Either they stayed cuffed together, or she let him loose.

Without cuffs on, he could use the advantages of his height and strength. Would she take that risk?

Or had she been at this job so long, she wouldn’t mind dealing with a little intimacy usually reserved for couples not held together by stainless steel bracelets?

She tilted her head from side to side, like she was trying to ease tight muscles, and heaved a deep sigh. “All right, already. Get on with it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He let loose with a big sigh of his own.

This would go down in agency history as one of the oddest situations ever. Not that he’d tell anyone about it. He’d never live down the jokes.




Chapter 3


Angel got Cabrini back in the car without incident. Traffic was light and no highway patrols were in evidence. After the bathroom incident, the rest of the trip up north seemed downright boring.

The uneventful drive gave her plenty of time to mull over the current situation and her reactions to her passenger. They were going to be in close confines for the next couple days.

She needed to get a grip… The image of them standing side by side in the rest room floated by her mind’s eye, triggering a warm shiver.

If she didn’t get her thoughts under control, she wouldn’t have to worry about the weekend, because she’d never last the first night.

Focus on Dex’s woodland retreat. That should be a safe topic, and it held the biggest concern.

“Cabin” really was a misnomer for the place. It called up images of seclusion and rustic living. The most rustic aspect of Dex’s place was the lack of a phone. Otherwise, with three bedrooms, two baths, a whirlpool tub and indoor sauna, his cabin was better fixtured than many homes. It seemed like such a waste, out in the middle of nowhere.

Even so, with all those amenities, there wasn’t much available to keep a reluctant guest in place. She would have to rely on the remote location to dissuade Cabrini from trying to run anywhere.

For his part, Cabrini held his own counsel. He seemed much more interested in tracking their progress as the towns became smaller and the birch and pine woods closed in on the two-lane road. He made no effort to initiate any kind of conversation with her, which suited her just fine.

She made good time to the secluded tract of land, located on one of the many lakes that Swiss-cheesed the northern Minnesota landscape.

Twilight settled as she left the secondary road to take the narrow, gravel lane leading to Dex’s cabin. By the time she reached their final destination, full dark lay beneath the tall pines.

Inky shadows surrounded and filled the small clearing. The sky overhead resembled a swath of black velvet with diamonds randomly strewn across it. The new moon provided little light.

She swung the car around the curved drive in front of the cabin, stopping when her headlights shone on the door.

“Hang tight for a second. I’ll get the door open and some lights on.”

“Don’t worry about me, Elf.” Cabrini rattled the handcuffs holding him to his seat. “I promise not to wander off too far without you.”

Her jaw tightened. Ever since he’d realized she didn’t like the situation, he seemed to take great delight in reminding her how close she skated to legal lines.

Had her client been anyone other than Dex, she would have walked away from the assignment at the first hint of illegality. The car door rattled as she slammed it shut.

The summer warmth had cooled slightly with the sunset. She pulled on her navy blue zip-front sweatshirt before she grabbed one of the bags of groceries from the trunk and climbed the steps to the full-length front porch.

The same jiggle of the key she remembered got the lock open. The screen door sighed shut behind her. She left the solid wood interior door standing wide as she walked farther into the room, finding light switches from memory. By the time she deposited the grocery bag in the open, spacious kitchen, the first floor blazed with lights.

Angel made another quick trip to haul in their clothes and the rest of her supplies, but took her time returning to get Cabrini. The whole situation of having him in custody and bringing him here created a logistical nightmare.

Under normal circumstances, when she took a bail jumper into custody, she turned the perp over to the closest law enforcement agency at the first available opportunity.

She’d never taken one away for the weekend. Dex better have a very good reason for putting her in this position.

What was she going to do with Cabrini? That he hadn’t resisted in any way didn’t mean he wouldn’t at some point in the future.

She couldn’t keep drugging him, not for the whole weekend. The very idea churned her stomach.

Locking him up somewhere wasn’t viable. There was no place to tie him up, either. Her stomach did another grind.

She never should have agreed to Dex’s request. Especially when he wouldn’t give her all the details. There were just too many variables, and none of them felt particularly comfortable. Especially the fact that Cabrini seemed to be guilty of nothing more than sticking his nose where it didn’t belong.

She jammed her fists into her pockets. Something sharp jabbed her hand. She pulled the envelope containing Dex’s note from her pocket and ripped it open. The typed message was short and to the point.

New arson cases have prompted a reopening of our old arson files. Cabrini is a central figure and must be kept sequestered at this time. You’ll appreciate the need to keep details confidential for a while longer.

Well, that helped. But not much.

Her cell phone played the first notes of “The Hokey Pokey.” The screen displayed a familiar number, along with the symbol showing limited reception.

“Hello, Dex.”

“Are you someplace you can talk?”

“We just got to your cabin.”

“You made it okay? No…incidents?”

The image of standing next to Cabrini as he relieved himself, her hand in far too near a proximity to his bare flesh, flashed through her mind. “Incidents? No. Everything went…fine.”

“Where is Cabrini?”

“He’s still in the car. I haven’t quite worked out how I’m going to keep him contained until we head back.”

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Easy for him to say. Angel began pacing back and forth in the foyer, glancing out at the car each time she passed the open door. Dex wasn’t facing forty-eight hours of close contact with a dangerously attractive stranger.

“Did you get…I left…the key?” His voice cut in and out as the reception weakened.

“Yes.” Her hand clenched around the cell phone and she stood still. “You didn’t give me very much to go on.”

“The investigation…my attention. Potential for blackmail…”

“What? Dex, repeat. I’m losing the signal.”

“Cabrini…your father. I need you to…”

“Dex? You need me to what?”

“…hear you. Trust… You’ll underst—”

The line went dead. Angel pulled the phone from her ear and glared at the display screen now showing the no service symbol. Modern technology sucked when it didn’t work.

She homed in on what portion of Dex’s conversation she had been able to hear. Arson, blackmail, Cabrini, her father. How did they fit together?

She ran her free hand through her hair, giving her scalp a good scratching. Related to Dad’s murder? The odds seemed awfully high against that possibility. Related how?

Someday, please God, let it be, she would track down the person responsible. Then, maybe, her mother could recover and they could find some peace.

Was it possible she was closer to that day than she realized? How did Cabrini tie into all this?

She paced back and forth, trying to get the pieces of the puzzle to fit, but there was just too little to work with. On one level she found it flattering that Dex had asked for her help. It was an indication of his trust. On another level it angered her that he hadn’t trusted her enough to tell her everything.

If he wasn’t family… She stopped the thought. He was the closest thing she’d had to a father since she was ten years old. He trusted her enough to ask for her help. She should trust him enough to believe he wouldn’t endanger her livelihood. Or her life.

She just wished she had her real father to turn to for advice.



Frank watched Elf pace back and forth behind the screen door. Whoever she was talking to wasn’t making her happy. Maybe it was her client.

Who was her client and what kind of hold did he have on her? She clearly hadn’t liked using drugs as a means of control, yet she had taken that risk to accomplish her assignment.

Loyalty and determination were strong motivators. In his field, those traits could mean the difference between success and failure, life and death.

She flipped the phone closed and stowed it in one of her many pants pockets. He expected her to come get him, but instead, she stood with her fists braced on her hips, staring down at the ground.

He could almost feel sorry for her. With her short, spiky hair and current costume, she almost looked waif-like. Of course, waifs didn’t normally pack snub-nosed revolvers.

She began pacing again. Something bothered her, which was only fair considering she’d been bothering him since the first glimpse he’d caught of her.

It wasn’t every day a woman got the better of him.

He’d tasted sweet revenge, brief as it was, back at the rest stop. That satisfaction had come with a price and he’d paid with a constant state of discomfort, aggravated every time his traitorous memory opted to review the image of her hand so close to his. Which seemed to happen with every mile marker they had passed in silence on their long drive to the middle of nowhere.

She’d given no indication of how long they would be staying here. He’d lay odds they wouldn’t leave until her client instructed her to do so.

Her client’s identity would be an extremely helpful detail to know right about now.

Someone had broken his cover. He wanted to know who and why. And he wanted to know how and why this woman was involved.

Elf looked up and met his gaze head-on. He could see her take a deep breath before she headed back to the car with a determined step.

“Okay, Cabrini, here’s the deal.” She pulled the passenger door open, but made no move to release him. “We’re going to be here for a couple days. Maybe longer. While this place is fully equipped, it does lack anything that resembles a jail cell.”

“I can see where that might pose a problem.”

“Especially for you. I don’t have a secure place to keep you, and my options seem pretty limited.”

“Exhausted your supply of knockout drugs, did you?” How much did she dislike holding him against his will?

In the dim light from the car dome fixture, her deep blue irises looked black. He could almost hear the crackle of anger in her eyes.

Quite a bit, it would seem. “No iron bed to handcuff me to?”

A muscle in her jaw pulsed as she ground her teeth.

“No woodshed, root cellar or pool house?” He pushed a little more.

She slapped the roof of the car as she straightened away from the door. “Having fun, aren’t you?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” He winked at her.

She stomped away a few steps, spun around and jammed her fists into her pockets. “Okay. Fine. Now that you’ve enumerated what we don’t have, would you like to make any suggestions about what would work?”

“You could just ask me.”

“Ask you what?”

“To cooperate.”

“Of course.” She smacked her forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that? The clientele I deal with is always cooperative and trustworthy.”

“I thought we established that I’m not your usual kind of target.”

She crossed back to the car, rested her hands on the roof and leaned down to look him in the eyes. “Mistah Cabrini, suh?”

Oh, hell. Southern.

“Would you all be so kind as to behave yourself while we’re all alone out here in the middle of nowhere?” She batted her long, black eyelashes at him.

“Sure.”

“Yeah. Right.” She pushed away from the car again but didn’t move.

That put him eye to belly button with her again. The tiny red crystal beads dangling from the gold ring piercing her navel winked at him, teasing him with intimate images. His fingers itched to slip under her clothes and explore her vanilla-scented skin.

He cleared his throat. “You could try trusting me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“We’ve established there’s no legal grounds for you to hold me.” He shrugged. “Have I done anything to make you distrust me?”

“No. But then, you’ve been restrained most of the time.”

“True enough. How about this? How much do you trust your client?”

“What do you mean?”

“Would he ask you to kidnap someone and take them out of town if he thought that person was dangerous?”

“That may be exactly why he asked me to bring you here. I do this for a living. He knew I’d be safe and that he could trust me.”

“Is that what he just told you?”

Her hand brushed across the pocket holding her phone. “The signal kept breaking up. I couldn’t make out everything he said.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Enough to know you’re in the middle of something.”

“That’s a lot of help. Any idea what?”

She studied him through narrowed eyes. “What do you know about arson?”

His heart skipped sideways for a beat. Did she know about his investigation, or was she fishing for information? “Enough to know it’s not a good idea.”

“Blackmail?”

He shook his head. His agency’s client hadn’t mentioned blackmail, but he wouldn’t be surprised if it did crop up somewhere during his investigation. “Same thing. All around bad idea.”

“Who are you, really? What do you do?”

“You’ve been following me for a week. Why don’t you tell me?” He wanted to hear how much she’d learned while shadowing him.

“You live simply, which is probably a good thing since you have no visible means of support and you don’t seem to be in any hurry to find a job. You don’t seem to have a circle of friends, either, so you’re probably new in town. You don’t eat out much and seldom have more than one beer. More often than not, when you went to the bar you drank straight tonic water. With a twist of lime.” She paused, then added, “And you like clothes that fit well.”

“That’s it?” It might sound like an impressive list, but there was nothing in her recitation to indicate she had stumbled onto anything of significance.

“You drive a Taurus, which seems a bit odd.” She gave him a once-over. “But, the tags are going to expire in a few months. So you may have picked it up cheap at a police auction or something. More often than not, you take the bus to the library, where you spend a lot of time. What are you researching?”

Scratch the part about nothing significant. “You’re sure it’s research?”

“It’s not porn sites and it’s not day-trading. Mostly you’ve been visiting newspaper archives, with old property records and court reports thrown in for variety.”

“I like to get to know a city when I arrive.” He shrugged it off, pretending it held little importance.

She shook her head. “Maybe, but my instincts tell me there’s a lot more beneath the surface.”

Her instincts were good. Damn.

His investigation was still intact—there was no way for her to pinpoint exactly what he was digging into—but she knew more than he’d expected.

His best course would be to control how much more she uncovered. With a little luck and a lot of skill, he could lead her where he needed to go.

“Gut reactions can be pretty reliable. Maybe you should trust yours.”

“Why?”

“You mentioned arson. I’m digging into some cold cases that have been ignored for too long.”

She squatted beside him, bracing her hands on either side of the door frame, and stared at him with rounded eyes. “What?”

That surprised her. Good. “You’re interfering with an ongoing investigation.”

She stood in a rush and stumbled back a few steps. “Where are you from?”

“Washington, D.C.” Let’s see where that leads her.

“FBI?” She took another step back. “ATF?”

He didn’t want to outright lie to her, so he tilted his head and let her draw her own conclusions for now.

“Aw, sh—boygan!” She began pacing.

“Sheboygan?”

“My mother doesn’t like it when I swear.”

“Sheboygan?” he repeated. “You’re a bounty hunter and you don’t swear?”

“Profanity shows a lack of imagination.”

“The folks in Sheboygan probably wouldn’t appreciate having their town taken in vain.”

“They can get in line with the folks from Keister.”

He laughed.

He sat there, north of who knew where, handcuffed to the seat of a rusting shell that hid a high-performance engine. A two-month investigation was in jeopardy. He’d just manipulated the assumptions of his captor, a woman who had drugged him and held him at gunpoint—and managed to look too damn sexy doing it, even punked out like she was.

And she made him laugh.

Laughing felt good. It had been a long time since he’d laughed. “Come on, Elf. Trust me. What have you got to lose?”

“Only my self-respect.” She kept pacing, kicking at the gravel drive. “I don’t suppose you can prove who you are? No official ID or anything like that?”

“What kind of undercover agent would I be if I carried proof of my real identity on me? Before you ask—” he held up his free hand when she opened her mouth “—you won’t find proof in my room, either.”

“Any suggestions on how I can verify who you say you are?”

“Unfortunately, it’s Friday night and even my boss, workaholic that she is, leaves the office for the weekend.” No need to let on that his boss was always reachable—not yet, anyway.

“Convenient.”

“True, nonetheless. We could try calling her. She might have her line forwarded.”

“No phone in the cabin and the cell phone is intermittent, as I just learned. This doesn’t make sense. Why would Dex—” She interrupted herself. “This is crazy.”

Dex? Her client? “It’s up to you, Elf.”

“What guarantee do I have that you won’t rabbit the second I turn my back?”

“None. Except my word.”

“Oh, that’s real reassuring.”

“Look. I’m from the east coast. I’ve never been to Minnesota before this assignment. I have no clue where we are, where the closest town might be or if there even is a town within hiking distance. All I know is that we’re near a lake and the mosquitoes—” he smacked a specimen trying to suck his neck dry “—are hungry little buggers. Could we at least go inside?”

She stopped pacing and approached the car. “You’re keeping the cuffs on, at least until I figure out…something.”

“You’re the boss.”

Her Yeah, right sideways glance at him made it clear just what she thought of that statement’s credibility. “Sit on your right hand.”

He obeyed, sliding his free hand under his leg. She pinned his leg in place with her knee, putting more weight than necessary on it, as she leaned into the car and released the handcuff from the seat frame. Her warm scent surrounded him, filling his head with all sorts of imaginings better left for late nights and soft beds.

She backed out of the car, but kept a firm hold on his handcuffed wrist. “Let’s see if we can do this nice and easy. Swing your legs out of the car, stand up and turn around.”

He followed her directions, hesitating for a couple heartbeats when he stood at his full height. She was close. Close enough he could feel her warm breath fanning the exposed skin of his throat.

Close enough he could see her swallow and watch the dawning awareness in her eyes.

Close enough she’d notice exactly how…aware he was in a couple seconds. He turned his back to her.

A soft breeze brushed the back of his neck.

Or maybe it was her sighed release of a held breath.

Blood heated low in his belly. If he didn’t watch out, this attraction would get out of hand way too easily. He’d already broken one of his rules by talking to a civilian about his assignment. He stood dangerously close to breaking a few more.



Angel snapped the handcuff into place around Cabrini’s right wrist. Beneath her fingers, his pulse beat with a heavy rhythm that matched her own heartbeat. She forced out a calming breath and, along with it, the memory of the hungry desire she’d read in his eyes.

Was he really a federal agent? If he was telling the truth, what the devil was Dex up to and why had he involved her?

Anger bubbled up and she embraced the emotion. Anything was better than the desire Cabrini’s proximity generated.

Another mosquito landed on Cabrini’s neck and she slapped it, maybe a little harder than necessary, judging by his startled glance over his shoulder at her.

“The bugs seem to have a particular liking for your taste.” Sweet or salty? The thought sent heat flashing over her neck and cheeks. She kicked Rusty’s door shut and nudged Cabrini in the direction of the house. “Let’s get inside before they make a meal of you.”

Once inside, she shut and locked the inner door and turned off the porch light. She tapped Cabrini’s shoulder and nodded toward the breakfast nook. “Have a seat.”

He folded his length onto the bench and slid into the corner. It gave him a power position from which he could observe her, but it also severely restricted his mobility. If he made any unexpected move, she’d have her gun out and at the ready before he could do more than slide to the end of the table.

“Thanks.” She acknowledged his tactic.

“I figure the only way to earn your trust is to behave in a trustworthy manner.”

“Let’s really put you to the test then.”

He sat up a little straighter. “What do you have in mind?”

“Cooking.” She shrugged at his raised eyebrows. “I’m not very good and have a rather limited repertoire. Tonight’s options are mac and cheese or tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“Kind of heavy on the cheese, aren’t you?”

“Just doing my part to support the local economy.” She began unpacking the grocery bag. “Pick your poison—which will it be?”

“I’ll leave it to you.”

“Macaroni and cheese it is.” She put water on to boil. “It’s more of a one-handed meal, which is all you’ll have available after I cuff you to the table leg.”

It only took a few minutes to stow the rest of the groceries in the cupboard, then she set about readying the ingredients for their meal. All the while, she was acutely aware of his steady gaze on her as she moved around the kitchen work island dicing ham and cheese.

“No box?” His question caught her by surprise.

“Nope. Scratch.” She tossed the cheese and ham into the pot with the drained pasta, added some milk and stirred.

“Isn’t a box easier?”

“Not really, and this tastes a whole lot better.” Satisfied with the progress of their meal preparation, she turned her attention to the next item on her agenda—securing Cabrini while they ate. “Which hand do you eat with?”

The wicked twinkle in his eyes told her he was remembering the rest stop and her logistical error. A slow smile curved his lips. An answering heat crept up her neck.

Manitoba. She hadn’t blushed this much since…ever.

She had a bad feeling she better get used to the heat.




Chapter 4


Frank lounged back against the cushioned kitchen banquette. In spite of her warning, the meal had been rather tasty, if heavy on the dairy products and lacking in the vegetable food group.

The handcuffs rattled as he stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. His dining posture left something to be desired. The table leg she’d cuffed him to was positioned too far under the table for him to sit upright.

He rattled the cuffs again, drawing her attention. “Could I interest you in undoing these?”

“Why would I do that?” Eating hadn’t noticeably improved her disposition.

“It’ll be easier for me to do the dishes without the bracelets.”

“You want to do the dishes?”

“I’ve never known anyone who wants to clean dishes. It just seems a fair offer to make since you did the cooking. It was quite good, by the way. I don’t think I’ve had macaroni and cheese since I was twelve.”

“Hmph.”

“Figure out your problem yet?” They’d eaten their meal in silence. Neither of them had offered any conversation openers. He’d spent the time mulling over the situation and trying to come up with a plan.

“What problem?”

“Whatever it is that’s been eating at you for the past half hour.”

“The problem part is easy. It’s the solution that has me stumped.”

“Let me guess. I’m your problem?”

“Perceptive, aren’t you?”

“Still haven’t decided if you believe me?”

“Whether or not I do, I’m still stuck.” She dropped her head into her hands and dug her fingers into her hair. “Which agency did you say you work for?”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you take the cuffs off and I’ll answer all your questions while I deal with the dishes.”

She didn’t answer.

“Consider it a test.”

She blew out a breath and pushed away from the table. “You’ll answer all my questions?”

“All that I can without jeopardizing my investigation.”

She snorted. “That’s convenient. Anything I ask that you don’t want to answer, you just claim classified, is that it?”

“Even if it is, you’ll still get the dishes washed and the kitchen cleaned up. That must be worth something.”

“Fine. Turn around.”

He complied, twisting his right arm behind him as he faced the wall. She was still plenty wary and not taking any chances. Every time she uncuffed him, she made sure he was in as awkward a position as she could come up with.

The cuff loosened and he waited for her next direction. He really wanted to win her trust, and figured it would be in his best interest to comply with her requests and not move until so ordered.

“Stand up.”

He turned slowly and found her standing across the table from him with her gun drawn. Laying both hands on the table, he slid to the end of the seat and stood.

“I didn’t find any soap for the dishwasher, so you’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way. There’s dish soap in the cabinet under the sink.”

He nodded, gathered up the dishes and moved to the sink. The black of night beyond the glass turned the window over the sink into a mirror. He could watch her as he worked with his back to her. Water splashed, suds grew and silence fell.

“No questions?” he prompted.

She stood behind him, her arms crossed, her gun resting at the ready. “Who did you say you work for?”

Time for a little more trust-building. “Actually, I never said.”

“You aren’t really a Fed, are you?” An undercurrent of anger shaded her words.

“No.”

He heard something that sounded suspiciously like “Sanibel.” Was she more pissed off that he hadn’t told her the truth or that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion? “If it makes you feel any better, I was with the ATF up until about a year ago.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” Nothing he’d talk about. “Just time for a change.”

“Are you freelance or part of an agency?”

“The Diamond Group is a moderate-sized, highly respected private investigation firm in Washington D.C.”

“Isn’t that nice. What’s it got to do with you?”

No more assumptions on her part. He smiled. She learned quick. “I’m on the staff.”

“So, what are you doing in Minneapolis?”

“We’ve been contracted to look into an old case that never closed.”

“Who hired you?”

He shook his head. “There we’re getting into client confidentiality. You can appreciate that, I’m sure.”

The distortions of the window didn’t lessen the impact of her glare at him. He waited for her next question.

“If you can’t tell me who your client is, will you tell me what you’re investigating?”

“Arson.”

She straightened and their eyes met in the dark glass.

“I don’t suppose you can tell me what you’ve learned.”

“Sorry, Elf. I’m a long ways from writing the final report. Especially with this unexpected interruption in my schedule.”

Her sigh told him his little dig had landed on target. He wiped his hands and draped the dish towel over the dishes in the drainer. When he turned around, he caught her in midyawn.

“Tired?” He glanced at the clock on the wall then double-checked the time with his watch. It was nearly one in the morning. “Strange. It’s late, but I’m not that tired. In fact, I’m feeling rather well-rested.”

She scowled at him. “We’re back to my problem. How am I going to secure you for the night?”

“Do you suppose the owner of this place is into bondage? Maybe he has an extra set of cuffs….”

Elf turned a furious red from her collarbone to her scalp. He grinned. “Guess not, huh?”

“I would find it highly unlikely.”

“So this place isn’t yours? Who does own it?”

“My…uncle.” Her slight hesitation didn’t escape his notice. “He was good enough to let me borrow the cabin for the weekend.”

“Cabin?” He looked around at the butcher-block counters and stainless steel appliances. The kitchen was as well-equipped as his back home. If the rest of the house was as modern, it would fit right into some of the newer housing developments he’d seen around the Twin Cities area.

“Oh, don’t even go there. It’s ostentatious and ridiculous, I know. He never had a family of his own to spend his money on, so it all went to…stuff. I wish he could have found better use—” Her mouth snapped shut with a sharp click of teeth. “Turn around.”

She had him cuffed and moving towards the stairs before he could figure out what her outburst might mean. He tucked the information away for later.

Upstairs, the bedrooms carried through on the promise of the first floor. Decorated in what some designer probably considered rustic charm, the rooms reminded him of a bed-and-breakfast he’d stayed in once. He’d intended for that weekend outing to end with a romantic proposal. Then he’d discovered the truth about his almost-fiancée’s “love.” He shied away from any more memories of the disaster he’d barely avoided.

They stopped just inside the door of the second bedroom. It was the smallest and farthest from the top of the stairs. Colorful rag rugs warmed the hardwood floor. The bed was a roomy queen with a Shaker-style headboard.

“Good. I hoped this bed was still here.” She nudged him into the room. “This will work just fine.” The gym bag she’d carried up landed on top of the blanket chest at the foot of the bed.

“You’re pretty familiar with the place.”

“We used to come up here during the summer when I was little, but I haven’t been since high school.” She motioned him farther into the room. “I wasn’t sure how much of the furniture I remembered would still be here.”

“You and your uncle?”

“And Mom.” A sad tone entered her voice. Another bit of information for future consideration.

She zipped open the bag and pulled out a few items. “The bathroom.” She nodded toward the door and followed him into the short hall.

The two smaller bedrooms shared a bathroom with a single entrance from the hallway. She turned on the light and stepped aside for him to enter. As she unlocked the cuffs, his quick recon of the room revealed pretty much what he’d expected. No second door and no window big enough for him to squeeze through to freedom.

He turned to face her and she pushed the small pile of items into his hands. “Five minutes. Plenty of time for you to come up with some sort of weapon. Unless you’re serious about wanting me to trust you.” She stepped back and pulled the door closed.

He set the soap, toothbrush and toothpaste, all still in their wrappers, on the counter and shook out the last item.

“Hey, Elf. What are the shorts for?”

“To sleep in.”

“I don’t normally—”

“This isn’t normal. This is Minnesota and you’ll sleep in shorts.”

“Testy, testy.” He smothered a chuckle and silently thanked her for the foresight. Sleeping in the nude might be his preference, but he didn’t care for that sort of exposure in this sort of situation.

Between his boxers and the shorts, he might stand a chance of disguising the evidence of his body’s intense reaction to her every time she got close to him.



Three minutes later, two minutes before she intended to pound on the door and roust him, the bathroom door swung open to reveal a half-naked Frank Cabrini.

Angel’s breath caught in her throat. Helsinki. He’s gorgeous. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, golden tan. A light dusting of coal-black hair covered his chest, narrowing over his six-pack abs and disappearing into the waistband of the navy knit shorts she’d picked up as an afterthought.

She kind of regretted having had that afterthought.

Insane or dead. She was going to be one or the other before the weekend was over.

“Keep looking at me like that and I won’t be held responsible for the results.” He reached out and tapped her chin, confirming her fear that her mouth had fallen open. “Do you want to search me, in case I did come up with a weapon?”

She didn’t want to but couldn’t stop from dropping her gaze to the front of his shorts. A wave of heat started somewhere in the vicinity of her chest, flowing up in embarrassment and rolling down in hunger.





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