Before The Fall

by Patricia Rosemoor

  “You never picked up on names?”

  “Of course I know names.” She’d made it a point to learn the various players, if after the fact. “I gave you one—Frank Gonnella. But who was friend and who was foe?” She shook her head. “It’s more complicated than that. Sally Donatelli, Otto Usher, Harold Lipinski, Carmine Scudella—all serious business rivals of my father’s. But enemies?” She shrugged. “I don’t have a clue.”

  “Otto Usher?” he echoed.

  Angela wondered at his odd tone. “I take it you’ve heard of him.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “He’s an old man, and rumor is he’s been seriously ill, so he keeps to himself. Under the circumstances—”

  “What about his family?”

  “His son, Norman, is a long-term guest of the governor. The daughter doesn’t live in Nevada anymore.” Maybe she’d fled the infamy of her family, something Angela had been tempted to do. “So what’s the interest in Usher?”

  “Call it instinct.”

  Instinct? Or something more concrete? Was Micah holding out on her? She gazed through the dark, studied his profile in silhouette, but could read nothing.

  “Are you sure you don’t remember anything specific about your father’s connections?”

  Angela hated thinking about the past, but she forced herself back in time where a vague memory stirred.

  “The trial…near the end. One day Mama came home really upset about someone being in the courtroom. She said he had a lot of nerve showing his face. That he sat in the back the whole day and gloated.”

  “Who?”

  But the rest was elusive. What she’d focused on was her mother’s pain rather than the details.

  “If she ever mentioned his name, I don’t remember.”

  “Try.”

  Her stomach was already knotted. “I hate remembering! I hate everything about that time of my life.”

  “You hate your father?”

  Did she?

  “Shouldn’t I?”

  “You can hate what he did. That doesn’t mean you have to hate him.”

  “The great philosopher.” Bitterness surfaced. “What do you know about it? You’re not the one whose father was incarcerated, leaving his family impoverished. Your classmates didn’t ridicule you and exclude you.”

  “That was nearly twenty years ago. Get over it.”

  Micah spoke so dispassionately, they might have been discussing a bad prom date. He didn’t understand. He never would. And Angela didn’t understand why she was wasting her time arguing about it.

  “Those are the kind of memories you never forget,” she said. “And I’m as over it as I’ll ever be.”

  “Then I feel sorry for you.”

  “I don’t need your pity.”

  “You don’t have my pity, though you do have my sympathy, even if you weren’t the only kid in the world who got a raw deal. But some of us learn to shelve the past and get on with our lives.”

  Some of us? Him, specifically?

  What did he have to complain about? Wearing handme-down clothes or adjusting to divorce? Normal kid worries, as far as she was concerned.

  Angela might have asked what he’d meant anyway, if he hadn’t been beginning to sound like her therapist.

  How many times had Judith suggested she needed to resolve her anger with her father before she could be truly happy? But despite all the recommendations, she’d never been able to force herself to do so.

  Heading off the highway, Micah broke in to her thoughts. “Since you don’t know the dynamics of the past, you’ll have to ask someone who does.”

  “I won’t involve my mother.”

  “I was thinking of a more direct line.”

  Her father, of course. “I don’t want his help.”

  “You need it.”

  “I’ll go to jail before I ask him for anything! He never even said he was sorry for what he did to us.” She somehow got past the lump in her throat. “At least, not to me.”

  “Did you ever give him the chance?”

  Angela clenched her jaw. Why did it sound as if he was taking her father’s side again? Not wanting to continue this conversation, she was relieved when he pulled the car up in front of a motel.

  Until she got a good look at the place.

  The paint was peeling. A window was boarded. And the E in MOTEL was out.

  “Choice,” she murmured, assuming the bedding had to be as decrepit as the rest of the place. “Is this the best you can do?”

  “No one would think of looking for ‘a lady’ in a place like this, now, would they?” He left the car without waiting for her comeback.

  Figuring she deserved a good shot after the things she’d said to him earlier, Angela took it philosophically and waited for Micah’s return.

  Why did she let him get to her? He was a temporary situation. An inconvenience. Nothing more. So what if she’d responded to his kiss? Big deal.

  Her juices had been flowing from the little act she’d put on for the bystanders.

  The fact that she’d done something so uncharacteristic bothered her. Why hadn’t she demanded help? Or she could have left with the trucker—Micah couldn’t have stopped her with all those people around.

  Furthermore, she’d allowed him to draw her into painful discussions about her father that roused her anger. She’d barely expressed her feelings to Douglas, and she’d been dating him for several months. He respected her wishes and kept his nose out of her past.

  Micah Kaminsky was a total stranger—she really didn’t know a thing about him—and that’s the way she wanted it, Angela told herself. What prompted him to keep at her? Thankfully, she wouldn’t have to put up with his know-it-all attitude much longer.

  Concentrating on being a free agent again nearly put her in a good mood. When Micah opened the passenger door a few minutes later, he was twirling a motel key around his forefinger. A key, as in one.

  “Too much to think I’d get my own space.”

  “Too much,” he agreed.

  She exited the car and waited while he locked up without taking anything. Wistfully, she glanced at the vest still hanging over the back of his seat. What she wouldn’t give to get her hands on that cell phone. She’d feel much more secure escaping into the night with a way to call for help if she got into real trouble.

  Not that she really knew where she was.

  When they entered the musty-smelling room with only one saggy double bed, and the intimacy of the accommodations struck her, she had to remind herself that she’d never sleep there, anyway.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Smells awful.”

  Micah crossed to the air conditioner stationed below the window and flipped the switch. The appliance groaned, screeched and rattled, but finally kicked in.

  The bathroom fixtures were equally well-worn. And only someone wearing hip boots would want to venture into the moldy shower. Wondering how the place was able to stay in business, she vacated the bathroom as quickly as possible.

  Drawing curtains over the window, Micah said, “It’ll probably take a while to cool down in here. I have some extra T-shirts in the trunk.”

  Imagining herself lying next to him wearing nothing but a layer of thin cotton, Angela quickly said, “I prefer the gown.”

  He shrugged. “It’s your problem.”

  “It’s not a problem at all,” she fibbed.

  The dress wasn’t bad, but the corset beneath made her feel as if she were encased in a body cuff. She wondered if she’d taken a truly normal breath since donning it. Kicking off her shoes, she flopped onto the bed, which responded with a series of metallic protests.

  “Great. The springs squeak,” she muttered, realizing this was not a plus for her getaway plans.

  “It won’t keep me awake.”

  “I hope not…that it won’t keep me awake, either,” she quickly finished.

  Micah flipped the wall switch so the overhead light went off. “There is a plus side to your not changing out of that t
hing,” he said, his voice holding a hint of amusement. “We might have some trouble getting you back into it if we have to ditch the place fast.”

  We?

  Thinking about his hands on her bare skin sent an involuntary shudder coursing through her.

  And when, silhouetted by the bathroom light, he stripped off his T-shirt, Angela closed her eyes…but not before she got a breathtaking view of his naked chest. The sound of a zipper gave her a start. Unable to help herself, she peeked out through lowered lashes.

  Her rationale: she needed to know where he put his jeans so she wouldn’t be fumbling in the dark to get at his wallet.

  Watching him move around the room in nothing but a pair of blue briefs, however, put her on information overload. She averted her gaze until he switched off the bathroom light.

  Her discomfort increased when Micah threw himself on the bed next to her, softly whispering, “Night, Angel.”

  Though his use of the abbreviated name annoyed her, she didn’t respond, merely stared into the dark, too aware of his closeness. Heat seemed to radiate from every pore of his body. She began sweating inside the wedding gown.

  Which activated her imagination.

  How could she help but envision the two of them in bed together under very different circumstances…his hands on her, not trying to force her or to drag her anywhere but to seduce her.

  Her body responded as if Micah really were making love to her. Her breasts tightened, as did the pit of her stomach. Shifting, she tried to find some relief, but no matter how she changed her position, some part of her seemed to be touching some part of him.

  This had to stop! Talk about losing control…

  Angela locked her thighs together and forced herself to recount meetings she had scheduled. Thinking about business was a sure way to kill lusty fantasies.

  Eventually the muggy, musty room cooled and she did, too. Thankfully. She sensed Micah relaxing, finally giving way to his exhaustion. His breathing deepened as he sank into oblivion.

  And Angela knew that her chance had finally arrived. Now or never.

  Pulse threading unevenly, she first tested the waters by repositioning herself closer to the edge of the bed to see if she would disturb him. Micah’s breathing remained even through several squeaks. He was out for the count.

  Oh, so carefully she slipped off the mattress, a single metallic protest following her.

  Barefoot, she sidled to the chair where he’d thrown his jeans, all the while keeping an eye on the lump in the bed. Her flesh rippled when he stirred—but he quickly settled down. His wallet nearly jumped into her hand. She withdrew most of the cash, leaving him with pocket change and his credit cards. After stuffing the wad into the front of her corset, she slid the wallet back into his jeans, where her fingers came upon the car keys.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She could take the Thunderbird and get to somewhere with a bus stop before he even knew it was missing. But his car… He was obviously fond of the old beater. Taking money she meant to return was one thing, but the other was out of the question. She was merely bending her ethics, not abandoning them.

  On the way to the door she stopped to pick up her shoes by the bed and check Micah’s breathing once more. Still deep and even. A sudden snore startled her and she feared he would wake himself. But he merely turned onto his stomach, his arm flopping over what was supposed to be her side of the bed. His hand landed close to her face.

  Too close.

  Heart thumping, she inched away, rose and tried to finesse the door. The sharp clicks of the lock sounded like gunshots. But Micah didn’t so much as twitch and her pulse quickly settled. She opened the door and slid into the night.

  Finally free, she stuffed her feet back into her shoes.

  She should have taken the car keys, after all, she realized suddenly—she could have left them on the dash. Not only could she have grabbed the cell phone, but she could have taken Mariscano’s phone book and the computer printout she hadn’t yet had a look at.

  Hesitating, she considered returning to the room for the keys, then thought better of it. Too risky. She had to get going, and fast.

  Who knew how long Micah would be dead to the world?

  A quick look down the road revealed another truck stop with half a dozen vehicles parked outside. Surely someone would let her hitch a ride to the nearest town. She’d invent a cover story as she went.

  But she’d gotten only steps from the motel-room door before it crashed open behind her.

  Almost tripping over her own feet, Angela whipped around. Her stomach knotted as she faced the angry man who filled the doorway. Bathed in moonlight, Micah’s skin seemed to glow. And what a lot of it there was. Continuing to inch backward, she assessed the situation. Shoeless and dressed only in his briefs, the bounty hunter was powerless to stop her.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he asked almost too calmly.

  An adrenaline rush charged through her, and she took off, yelling over her shoulder, “Anywhere away from you!”

  Her euphoria was cut short when she heard the slapslap of bare feet hurtling after her across the parking lot.

  Chapter Seven

  Panicked, Angela ran blindly. She had to get away. She had to regain control of her life, such as it was. Continuing to be held in Micah Kaminsky’s grasp was a bitter pill she couldn’t choke down.

  But no matter that she ran as fast as her legs could pump, he caught up to her even before she set foot off the property. She imagined his breath on her neck. And she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm.

  “Not again!” she screeched, jarring to a halt.

  Refusing to give up so easily, she turned, free arm swinging. Her fist connected with the side of his face and she stomped his bare toes.

  Micah howled in pain and hopped on one leg. But while his grip loosened, he managed to hang on. Dredging up a self-defense move she’d learned in college, she was able to hook her foot behind his knee. Only when she pulled did she realize she’d gone wrong somewhere. He came toppling like a felled tree, all right, but she was directly in his path. He smacked into her and sent her flying.

  “No-o-o!”

  But shouting couldn’t stop gravity. Down she went, Micah on top of her, crushing her into the asphalt.

  Trapped beneath his weight, she could barely move. Or breathe. Forget freeing herself.

  Panting, she glowered at him. “Get off me!”

  He was in no hurry to obey. “You’re the one who put me here.”

  “My mistake.”

  “Trying to run was your mistake.”

  “Not as far as I’m concerned.”

  Starting to get claustrophobic under him, she gave moving him herself the college try. But going at him with hands and hips didn’t so much as budge him.

  “Not bad.” His murmured response made it sound as if he’d enjoyed the experience. “Feel free to try that again.”

  Angela bit back an expletive and shoved again. A

  r-r-rip of material was her only reward.

  “How far did you think you’d get without money?” Micah asked.

  That threw her. The wad of cash suddenly itched where she’d wedged it in the corset.

  She managed to force out “Far enough. C’mon, Kaminsky. You’re crushing me.”

  “Micah,” he corrected her. “And being crushed a little is the least you deserve. But I’ll make nice if you promise not to try to run again.”

  “I don’t lie well.”

  “I could probably fall asleep right here.”

  Angela clenched her jaw. He’d probably do it, too, unless he got what he wanted. Considering the difficulty she had breathing now, she’d probably be asphyxiated in no time.

  “All right. I won’t try to run again…tonight.”

  “I guess that’ll have to do.”

  His weight lifted, yet he didn’t so much as offer her a hand as he stood. Filled with disappointment at her failure, furious with herself for not taking the c
ar keys after all, Angela awkwardly clambered to her feet. Micah didn’t take his eyes off her. And his fingers manacled her wrist in a velvety trap that wrenched a response from her that she didn’t want to acknowledge. She would not be attracted to this man anymore. That had been her problem from the first.

  He started back across the parking lot, his pulling on her adding insult to injury. She jerked her arm, hoping to free it; his came, too.

  Purposely staying a step behind him, she said, “Treating me like a child isn’t necessary.”

  “I beg to differ.”

  “I gave you my word.”

  “The word of a Dragonlady.”

  “Stop calling me that!”

  “Then stop acting like one. Angel.”

  “I hate that.”

  “Make up your mind.”

  Meaning he was determined to call her one wretched name or the other?

  As he towed her toward the motel, a pair of senior citizens exited the office. Clutching their room key, the man practically danced along the sidewalk, his hand on his companion’s behind. The woman giggled like a schoolgirl. Catching sight of her and Micah, they stopped as one, eyes wide, and blocked the way.

  “Look, sugar,” the man said. “Newlyweds.” He beamed. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Micah returned sociably…as if he weren’t prancing around nearly naked.

  The woman gave him an appreciative once-over. Angela used the distraction to work on prying his fingers from around her wrist.

  The woman clucked at her. “Don’t worry, dear. No matter what your mother told you, the physical aspects of being married are quite enjoyable. Nothing to run away from.”

  The kindly lecture making her want to sink right into the ground, Angela stared at the pavement beneath her feet. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She had to do something about the damn gown. Surely she could find a way to alter it so she wouldn’t be mistaken for a newlywed again.

  “Good luck,” the man said, scurrying his sweetie off to their room.

  “Don’t worry, Angel,” Micah said, purposely speaking loudly enough for them to hear. “I’ll make this a night you’ll never forget.”