Night of the Hawk (LS 767)

by Victoria Leigh

  "You told me last night you were a meeting planner. Also that you were freelance." He finished the food and leaned back into the sofa's deep cushions. "Are you in the middle of a meeting now?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "Because if you're expected to be somewhere, someone will eventually come looking for you. Or asking questions."

  She hesitated as though deciding how to answer, and he interrupted before she'd made up her mind. "Why don't I make this easy for you and tell you what I do know before you answer that?"

  She shrugged carelessly, but that casual attitude disappeared before his first sentence was finished. "Your secretary doesn't expect you in the office for two weeks— although I'm not sure why—and your landlord is holding your mail for the same amount of time."

  "How did—" she began, but fell silent when he pressed on.

  "Your silver Lincoln Towncar has a Macintosh computer in the trunk, assorted fast-food wrappers on the floor, and a box of Godiva chocolates on the passenger seat. In your wallet you have credit cards for every major department store in the United States, a driver's license that's six months from expiring, and a signed donor card that gives everything but your eyes to science." He looked at her curiously. "Why not your eyes?"

  Disbelief gave way to embarrassment. "Something to do with a horror film I saw years ago. How do you know all those things about me?"

  "Sammy knew. I bought the information."

  "But how does he know?"

  Hawk shrugged. "It's part of what he does. As you haven't been reported missing to the police, we assume Constantine's people cleaned up the mess in the garage. The man I was fighting with was one of them."

  Her eyes went round in remembered horror. "He was bleeding all over the place."

  "Just his nose. Painful but not fatal." He stretched his arms high over his head, then dropped them to rest along the back of the sofa. "Anyway, he probably told them about your appearance and from there it was a simple matter of finding your car. You left a door open when you came over to see what the fuss was, right?"

  She nodded mutely, and he continued. "Constantine's people know you're with me. They're looking for both of us now, Angel, and trust me when I say they're leaving no stone unturned."

  He expected questions about related details, but she surprised him yet again. "Who is this Constantine you keep mentioning and why does he care if I'm with you or not? I've never done anything to him."

  "But he doesn't know that." Hawk leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs as he elected to ignore the first part of her question in favor of the second. "Constantine is jumping to the same kind of conclusions I did last night, only he's assuming you're on my side, not his."

  "But you attacked me," she persisted. "You threw that man at me and knocked the stuffing out of me."

  "He was still stunned from that blow to his nose. Fine distinctions like who was on top and why were beyond him at the moment. I put him to sleep before he had a chance to get his bearings."

  Angela looked at him for a long time, sorting through what she already accepted as fact, what Hawk had just told her, and how much of that she believed. So far, she couldn't find a lie in anything he'd said—not that she would know a lie one way or the other, but nothing certifiably untrue had jumped out and bit her yet.

  More to the point, what he was saying made sense. It explained everything, up to and including the horrible ordeal he'd put her through with the "cocaine" death threat. It explained it all, but that didn't mean she had to like it.

  "Last night, you wanted information from me. What does Constantine want that he thinks I have?" She put the empty mug aside and hugged her legs.

  "Me."

  "Excuse me?" She felt exasperation bubbling inside, but made an effort to maintain a calm, civilized manner. It was a tactic that served her well in business situations when screaming would only have added to the problem. Unfortunately, the discipline it took was currently making her jaw ache.

  Hawk flashed a quick grin, telling her without words he noticed her restraint. When he spoke, though, it was without a single hint of humor. "Constantine has been looking for me for eight months. If he thinks I've got ties to you— which he has to assume since you left the garage with me— he'll try to get at me that way,"

  "I wasn't exactly a willing passenger."

  "Like I said before, he wouldn't know that." There was something that almost resembled compassion in his gaze.

  A sinking feeling tugged at her stomach, and she covered her belly with her hand as though that would control it. "Just how badly does Constantine want you?"

  "Very." He looked down at his hands for a long moment, then raised his head. The look in his eyes was bleak and resigned, and, she thought, almost unbearably weary. "I took something very important from him."

  "What?"

  "His son." He didn't blink as he added, "I killed him, and Constantine won't stop hunting me until I'm dead too. Unless I get him first, but that's another story."

  "Yes," she agreed softly, "I imagine it is." She held his gaze and finally realized the enormity of what he'd been trying to tell her at intervals all day. She was in a lot of trouble. Big trouble, the kind that destroyed lives.

  For what she knew wouldn't be the last time, Angela wished she'd never picked up that damned gun.

  SEVEN

  "What were the other two lies you told me last night?"

  A feeling of mild disorientation washed through Hawk as he looked at Angela across the rim of his coffee cup. He'd just admitted to killing a man, and her first response was to change the subject. Somehow, he'd thought she would react more strongly than that. It was hard not to let his surprise show, but he managed.

  He said, "Aside from the big lie about the cocaine, you mean?"

  "Yes."

  "I told you there were people in that house where we first stopped, people who would as soon kill you as look at you." He set the cup on the table. "There was only one person inside and she gets paid to keep her eyes closed and her mouth shut."

  "That's two." She caught his gaze and held it. "What's the last one?"

  Hawk exhaled a deep breath and wished he'd never told her there were three lies. He could, he knew, simply refuse to answer, but that would only make her suspicious of everything else he needed to tell her.

  "You asked," he said, "if I had a name other than Hawksworth."

  "You lied about your name?"

  "Yes." He kept his expression carefully stern in the hope that she wouldn't press him. He should have known better.

  "And here I thought we were talking about important stuff," she said. "So what is it?"

  "Not something you need to know."

  "You're not going to tell me?"

  "No."

  A look of pure mischief lit up her eyes. "If I put my mind to it, I could make you tell me. I saw a canister of flour in the kitchen while I was cooking."

  Hawk just stared at her, keeping his mouth shut and expression blank in lieu of knowing now to react. It hadn't been twenty-four hours since he'd threatened her with death via cocaine/flour, and she was joking about it? Clearly Angela was possessed of a wicked sense of humor.

  "What's wrong, Hawk?" she asked, smiling. "Is it against the rules to make a joke?"

  Her smile filled him with a kind of pleasure he hadn't known since long before the nightmare had begun, and it gave him hope. At least he thought the vaguely familiar emotion was hope. There had been so damned little of it in the last few months that he wasn't sure.

  "Sorry, Angel," he said with an answering smile. "You took me by surprise. I'll do better next time." Getting up from the sofa, he gathered his dishes and took them into the kitchen.

  "Hawk?"

  He turned and met her gaze. All humor was gone from her expression, erased so well that it was hard to believe she'd been near laughter just moments before. "Yes?"

  "Are you going to tell me about the man you killed?"

  "I'm going to hav
e to sometime," he said, "but it's getting late. Like I said before, I need some sleep. There are things I have to do tomorrow."

  "We're staying here another day?"

  "Yes. It would be helpful," he added, "if I knew where you were supposed to be going for the two weeks your secretary said you'd be out of the office."

  "Why?"

  "Because I don't want anyone running to the police when you don't show up as planned." He knew she wouldn't tell him, but even a lie would give him a little information.

  "Ask Sammy," she snapped. "He seems to know everything else." She got up and brought her cup over to the sink, being careful, he noticed, not to chance brushing against him. She was, he acknowledged with a sigh of regret, a very smart woman.

  She paused and looked up at him. "You really should do something about that scratch."

  "Taken care of. I had some Bacitracin in my bag."

  "Of course you did," she said with a harrumph of annoyance. "I should have known a man who carries Vaseline and Ipecac wouldn't travel without antibiotic cream. I'm surprised you didn't have your own razor."

  "I do," he said, without rising to the bait. "By the time I realized I should have used it and not the one Sammy provided, I was out of the mood."

  Hawk could have sworn that almost got a smile, but she ducked her head before he could tell for sure, and turned away. He let her go into the bedroom first, giving her a shot at the bathroom and waiting until he heard her climb between the sheets before following. When he did, she'd already turned out the lights. He moved easily in the dark, positioning the sports bag where he could find it and his gun where she couldn't. Then he pulled off his shirt and socks, lifted the blanket, and eased his tired body down on top of the sheets.

  It wasn't the way he preferred sleeping with a beautiful woman, but the only one he could think of in order to keep a chaste distance between them. Reaching for her in his sleep wasn't beyond his imagination, and he doubted she would appreciate the natural physical reaction that holding her tucked tight against his hips would provoke.

  He turned his head on the pillow and was surprised to see the whites of her eyes as she looked at him in the dark. "What is it, Angel? Can't sleep?"

  She closed her eyes without answering, leaving him with his own thoughts for company as he waited for her to fall asleep. It was a full hour before he was certain her rhythmic breaths were consistent with those of a woman sleeping, and he used the time to try to come up with a backup plan in case the next day's excursion proved unproductive. By the time he followed her into sleep, he still didn't have one.

  Hours later, when Angela turned to Hawk in her sleep and laid her hand trustingly on his chest as she'd done the night before, he covered it with his own and knew that while his priorities hadn't changed, the motivations behind them had.

  He still had to stop Constantine. Now, though, he would do it not just to avenge the dead, but to protect a woman who was very much alive.

  * * *

  Hawk didn't think he'd awakened Angela when he slid out of bed at six and went to shower and shave, but she was up and drinking coffee in the window seat when he came out of the bedroom fully dressed. She didn't respond when he said good morning, so he went across to the kitchen, where he found a pot of coffee on the stove. After taking off the funnel to dump the filter and wet grounds into the wastebasket, he poured himself a cup and went across the room to top off hers.

  She held out her cup without meeting his gaze, then waited until he'd put the pot back on the stove and returned to sit on the sofa before looking at him. Her hair was still mussed from sleep, a thick, luxurious tangle that spun the morning light into red gold.

  "You said last night you have things to do today," she said. Her voice was low and rusty, a sensual rub on his senses that made him yearn for a world in which he could wake up to that voice every morning. She cleared her throat and added, "Does that mean you're going somewhere?"

  "Yes."

  "Where?"

  "I can't tell you." He took a cautious sip of the richly aromatic coffee, then another when it didn't scald his tongue. She made good coffee, he thought, but decided against telling her. She appeared to have something on her mind that precluded nonessential conversation.

  "How long will you be gone?"

  "A few hours, maybe all day." He knew why she wanted to know and that worried him. "Nothing's changed since yesterday, Angela. You still can't leave here. While I'm out, someone will be by to check on you every hour. Hiding won't get you anything except hot and cramped."

  "I'll go mad sitting here all day with nothing to do."

  "There are books and magazines," he reminded her. "Sorry about the lack of TV and radio, but they would give you too much information about where we are."

  "There's a jigsaw puzzle in the cupboard," she said. "It's a picture of the Bridge of Sighs in Venice. Is it safe to assume that's not a clue?"

  Hawk felt his mouth twitch with a threatened smile. He mastered it. "We're not in Italy."

  "I didn't think so."

  "While I'm away I don't want you visiting Sammy or talking with any of his men. You can't convince them to let you go because I've paid them to keep you here. Nothing you have to offer will change that."

  "I wasn't about to put my body on the line, if that's what you're worried about." She ducked her head and pulled the terrycloth robe down to cover her toes. When she looked up at him again, there was a glint of frustration in her eyes. "Why don't you want me to talk to them?"

  "Because Sammy doesn't trust you."

  "Me? What have I done to him, or is this another of those assumptions like the one your friend Constantine made?"

  "Constantine is no friend of mine."

  "Whatever." She waved her fingers in the air between them. "Tell me what I've done to Sammy."

  Hawk finished his coffee and got some more before answering. "It's who you are, not anything you've done. Most of the people who avail themselves of Sammy's services don't have the kind of regard for law and order that you do. It would never occur to them to tell the authorities about his setup here."

  "And he thinks I would?" she said, her tone ringing the "how dare he?" bell so clearly, the words were superfluous.

  "He knows you will." The quick blush in her cheeks confirmed his assumption. He decided it was time to tell her exactly what that meant to her position. "I've told you Sammy won't let you escape because I'm paying him not to let that happen. What I haven't told you is that if Sammy thinks you'll compromise him in any way, he won't let me take you out of here when it's time. Once he's made that decision, no amount of money will convince him otherwise."

  "And just what does he plan to do with me in that case? Hide me here until I die a natural death?"

  She was trying to attribute normal behavior to an abnormal situation, he realized. He couldn't let her do that. It wasn't safe for either of them.

  "Use your imagination, Angela," he said, keeping his voice even because there wasn't any need to confuse things with emotion. She needed to understand the content without being sidetracked by how he felt about things.

  He'd brought her to Sammy's because there hadn't been any closer options. The risks were acceptable. As long as she did what he told her, Sammy would let them both leave without feeling the need to silence Angela forever.

  If, in her bid for freedom the previous night, she'd managed to get through the barrier of trees that surrounded Sammy's compound and seen what lay beyond, no amount of discussion would have saved her. Even at night, the landscape in and around the Napa Valley was distinct. Fields of grapes in their tidy rows would narrow the search to this and the Sonoma wine country. Angela might not have known where she was, but a trained investigator would have figured out where to begin looking. Hawk knew he should have had this discussion with her last night, but he'd elected to soothe her fears, not compound them.

  Now, though, her hands shook visibly as she put her mug aside and took several deep breaths. "But I don't even know
where we are. How can I tell anyone anything?"

  "That won't stop you from trying. I know that. So does Sammy." He put his own mug on the table and touched his steepled fingers to his unshaven chin. "Stay in the cottage, Angel. When they come to check on you, it would be best if you didn't appear to be studying their faces for later reference. Don't meet their eyes if you can avoid it, and don't ask any questions."

  "I suppose you don't want me to look out the windows, either," she said, with a touch of her old fight.

  "If I didn't, you wouldn't be sitting there now, but, frankly, outside of locking you in the bathroom, I don't see how I could enforce such a directive. I'd rather not have to do that."

  "I can't believe that locking me in the bathroom would offend your sensibilities."

  "It wouldn't. I just don't see the necessity. You can't see anything useful from here. The house and grounds could be anywhere, and Sammy is keeping out of sight. The only activity you'll see is guards in the distance and the one who comes to the door." He paused, then added, "If you need anything, tell the guard when he comes."

  "I don't want to stay here." There was a plea in her expression that he forced himself to ignore.

  "I can't take you with me." He didn't tell her what to do if he didn't come back because he'd already covered that with Sammy. He knew Sammy would protect Angela until it was no longer feasible. Police pressures, as well as those Constantine might exert, could alter circumstances beyond Sammy's immediate control.

  There were no guarantees, but Hawk hadn't had any choices either. The one man he had decided to trust with the problem of Angela was in Denver, and Hawk didn't want to send her to him without insurance—which was why he had to take the chance today and go back to San Rafael. Without the material he'd left hidden in Mrs. Avery's living room, the job of protecting Angela would be a lifelong one.

  He got up and took his mug into the kitchen, then went into the bedroom for his things. When he came back, the leather shoulder holster was hidden beneath his jacket and he carried his and Angela's dirty clothes in one hand and the sports bag in the other.