A glance back assured Micah he’d done the right thing. The driver of the Jeep had his window rolled down, and a state trooper was talking to the guy but looking their way. The cop straightened, the sun’s reflection winking off his sunglasses, and said something over his shoulder to his partner in the squad. He never averted his gaze.
A bad feeling in his gut, Micah started the Thunderbird and tried to maintain an aura of calm as he drove down the aisle and turned back onto the road. The whole time he kept aware of what was going on in front of the store. The trooper got on the horn while the Jeep drove off.
Had the trucker he’d decked made an official complaint about him?
He imagined an APB with his description….
By the time they approached the expressway, his palms were damp and nervous perspiration coated his entire body. Seemingly unaware of how close a call they’d had, Angela mourned the loss of the new clothing.
“I can’t believe this…trapped in a wedding gown! I was close…so close…I can almost feel those new clothes on my body. Why did you have to drag me off because some idiot was speeding through a parking lot? He was the one in the wrong.”
“But he wasn’t the one the trooper was interested in,” Micah said. “He was fixated on us.”
“Of course he was. We were running, for heaven’s sake. No doubt he imagined we had reason to get out and fast.” She paused for a breath before asking, “You don’t have any outstanding warrants or anything?”
“I can always count on you to assume the best about me.” Exasperated with her one track mind when it came to him personally, he checked his mirrors for any sign of the state troopers following. “No doubt you’d get a bang seeing me behind bars.”
No state patrol car, but a semi was directly behind them. One with a red cab. Surely not the same truck.
He was so intent on the unexpected vision that he barely heard Angela’s “Not anymore.”
“What?”
“I did want to see you behind bars at first,” she admitted. “Either that or roasting over hot coals.”
She was grinning at him, and her eyes were sparkling, making him almost forget about the semi. Almost.
Speeding up, he checked the rearview mirror. The other driver must have stepped on it also, since the distance between him and the red cab stayed the same. If the guy were just in a hurry, surely he would go around…
“Did you get a good look at the semi that followed us off the interstate before?”
“I saw it, sure,” she said, her tone questioning.
“Check out the one behind us. Could that be the same truck?”
“Got me. But there’s another eighteen-wheeler coming up on the right.”
She wasn’t taking him seriously. Micah wasn’t taking himself seriously…until he glanced in the passenger side mirror and noted the color of the cab.
Bright yellow.
“Uh-oh.”
A glance in his own side mirror revealed a third truck with a blue cab coming up on him even faster.
“What the…”
“Micah, slow down!”
His gaze flew to the front windshield at the same time his foot lifted from the accelerator. They were bearing down on a fourth semi. He started to switch lanes…until the truck ahead swerved in front of him.
“What’s going on?” Angela asked with a frightened gasp.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this,” he muttered.
Which got even worse when he realized yet another truck ahead was slowing, as if getting into a predetermined position. Though he again tried to make a break, the driver cut him off. Then Micah knew for certain. Angela’s champion hadn’t used the CB to alert the authorities. He’d called on men who formed a much closer bond, who looked out for each other on the road.
Within seconds they formed a convoy. Half a dozen semis and the Thunderbird.
“We’re surrounded.”
“What’s going on?” Angela asked, whipping around in her seat to get a better look.
“I’d say you’re getting that help you were wanting so badly earlier.”
The trucks were slowing down and he could do nothing but follow suit. He had no choice. No out unless he wanted to take a serious chance with their lives. The worst the truckers would do would be to liberate Angela, beat him to a pulp and leave him for dead.
Micah guessed that was an improvement over an almost guaranteed seventy-mile-an-hour wreck.
Allowing the T-bird to be forced off the road at the next turnoff, he realized they were stopping at a truck weighing station. No exit to Eden, that was for certain. No witnesses. No one to turn to for succor.
They were trapped. He was trapped.
And Angela was probably eating this up.
But when he cut the engine and faced her, she didn’t seem to be gloating. A frown creased her forehead as she glanced out the front windshield. The drivers were climbing down from their cabs and she actually seemed to be worried.
At least, he hoped so.
“Uh-oh, I think you’d better leave this one to me,” she said.
Micah grimaced. “You want to close the lid on my coffin personally?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her almond eyes narrowed on him. “I got you into this mess. I’ll get you out.”
Finding that one hard to swallow, considering he didn’t trust her as far as he could throw her, Micah pictured himself lying facedown on the asphalt and her driving off in the Thunderbird, one hand on the wheel, the other waving his wallet at him.
But a half-dozen burly men were surrounding the car. He didn’t have time to play devil’s advocate with her. Besides, fool that he was, he wanted to believe she wouldn’t set him up again.
With a resigned groan, he muttered, “My life is in your hands.” For however long he still had it.
Getting out of the car, he experienced major claustrophobia when the two youngest and healthiest-looking drivers immediately closed in on him. They formed a human sandwich—with him feeling exactly like the meat in the middle.
The trucker he’d decked stepped forward, his concerned gaze hovering on Angela as if he were trying to make certain she was still in one piece. “Are you all right, little lady?”
“I’m fine.”
“And you’re gonna stay that way. When Billy Bob Johnson makes a promise, he comes through.”
Angela donned the most grateful, most embarrassed, most conciliatory expression Micah had ever seen.
“I can’t thank you enough,” she cooed, batting her eyes as if it came naturally to her.
And that after denying eye-batting was her style.
“You boys are real honest-to-goodness heroes.”
“Our mamas raised us to take care of our women,” an older driver said. “Not like some.”
He turned agate eyes on Micah, who was trying to decide if he’d actually said some…or scum. And his gut tightened as he figured Angela was going to reclaim her freedom at his expense.
What else should he have expected?
Angela couldn’t believe the mess she’d gotten them in, and this after she’d finally come to terms with Micah. Good thing she was expert at backpedaling. She made eye contact with her chief rescuer.
“I really do appreciate your concern and the fact that you acted when you thought I was in trouble, Billy Bob, but…and this is the thing…it’s all my fault…what happened at the state park, I mean.”
Billy Bob shook his head. “Men like him always make women think they’re in the wrong when they get busted up.” His gaze sweeping her tattered clothing, he shook his head. “Just look at what’s left of that wedding gown of yours. And your hair…tch, tch, tch.”
Her hand flew to her head and the bald spot she quickly covered by combing her hair with her fingers. “No, really. I was angry with Micah for not trusting me. Just because my old boyfriend wanted me back didn’t mean I was going to go with him.”
“She was trying to teach me a lesson.”
She
gave Micah a melting look despite the intensity of his gaze at her. Despite the fact that she wanted to scream at him to keep his mouth shut for once and let her handle things. Anxious that he’d spoil her strategy by saying something he shouldn’t, she quickly continued.
“I knew I was being childish when Micah hauled off on you. A mistake. My mistake.” Gazing around at her heroes—she’d really meant that part—she said, “I never should have involved anyone else.”
“What about his hurting you?”
“An exaggeration,” she admitted. “I was so angry I wasn’t thinking straight. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that you went to all this trouble for nothing.” She glanced from one suspicious expression to another. “Everything is fine, I promise Tell me how I can make it up to you guys.”
“I don’t know…”
“Please. If anyone got hurt or in trouble with the law because of me—” she emphasized the second to make them think twice before getting in deeper “—I would never forgive myself.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?” one of Micah’s bodyguards asked.
“Positive. Absolutely”
Her smile seemed to melt any belligerence the men had left against Micah. One of them started back for his truck.
“Hey, the lady has spoken,” he said. “Let’s leave them be.”
Grumblings were followed by agreement and the rescue party broke up. The men headed for their rigs, only Billy Bob still seeming reluctant to leave.
“Thanks again,” she said. “And I’m sorry Micah punched you before.” She couldn’t help herself. “If it would make you feel better, you could return the favor.”
He gave Micah a searing look that told her he was tempted. “I’ll pass,” he finally said. “But only because I don’t want to upset you all over again.”
Angela held her breath until every last one of them took off, after which she raised her eyes to the heavens and mouthed Thank you.
“Return the favor?”
Wincing at Micah’s incredulous tone, she mumbled, “I was hoping that would slip by you.”
He stepped closer, his eyes glowing with a strange light. “It didn’t.”
She swallowed hard. “Well, I didn’t think he’d do it, okay?”
“Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
Feeling his breath stir her hair, Angela stared up at Micah, saw beyond the belligerent expression, got all tangled up in emotions she wanted no part of. She might be sure of herself in most situations, but not with him.
Never with him.
For example, she couldn’t be certain which he desired more—to choke her for getting them into a fix…or kiss her for getting them out….
The second thought generated a curious trembling inside her. “We’d better get going…just in case.”
Just in case what?
In case Billy Bob changed his mind and came back to take the offered freebie?
In case the state trooper got a line on them and somehow identified her?
Or in case she took a step that would be irreversible…
Angela purposefully stepped back to the car, where she reclaimed her passenger seat, though she was tempted to slide behind the wheel to see what kind of reaction she’d get out of Micah.
Maybe later.
A glance through the rear window told her he was digging around in the trunk, making her regret getting into the car so fast. She’d like to see what he had stored back there. She didn’t imagine he’d tell her if she simply asked.
“The printout.” Micah handed the sheaf of paper to her and hopped in. “You can play I Spy while I drive.” He put the car in Drive. “Sorry I don’t own a decoder ring, either.”
Scanning the copy on the first page, she sighed. “If you were looking for a way to keep me out of trouble…”
A moment later they merged onto the interstate. Glancing back, Angela got a fleeting impression of a vehicle on the shoulder beneath some trees, but her mind was already preoccupied with the task at hand.
Chapter Nine
“Joey Mariscano has more upstairs than I gave him credit for,” Angela admitted much later. “It would take a genius to unravel his personal code in its entirety.” More genius than she was capable of at the moment. “Too bad I didn’t learn a few secretarial skills in high school. Maybe if I’d taken shorthand…”
“I doubt Mariscano’s version would have any relation to the system found in old business textbooks. And I can’t imagine you taking notes—or anything else—from anyone.”
Having penciled in notes all over the printout of his Las Vegas file, she’d gathered it to be a running transcript of the shady businessman’s telephone calls about select operations in her home city. A good night’s rest would do wonders for her brain—she could play fill-inthe-blanks and get a more complete narrative. With a sigh, she dumped the sheaf of paper at her feet. She’d worked on the file both before and after their dinner stop. Her eyes were beginning to cross—added to which, night would soon fall.
Enough was enough.
Seven hours plus of concentrated effort and she’d come up with nothing that would further her own defense. Nor did she have a clue as to the identity of Mariscano’s chatty Las Vegas contact.
The mysterious Wily?
Discouraged, she stared blankly out over the South Dakota terrain that grew spookier with every mile that passed. The landscape had already taken on a raw quality. Ahead to the west and south, the plains gave way to the barren area known as the Badlands—corrugated stone walls and jagged spires seemingly on fire with the last rays of the setting sun.
“I’m glad there’s still some light left,” she murmured. Just thinking about traveling through the area after dark was enough to put her on edge.
“Look.” Micah indicated a roadside billboard that loomed at them through the growing dusk. “Only twenty-five more miles to Wall Drugs.”
He’d pointed out one of the first of the myriad giant announcements back in Minnesota when there’d been five hundred miles to the small town of Wall, their destination for the night. At first she’d made fun of the billboards. Now she thought of them as beacons that reached across the sea of yellow coneflower-dotted prairie. Wall had become an oasis on the other side of the horizon.
Anything that heralded civilization was okay with Angela.
The number of vehicles on the road had decreased and their speed had increased incrementally for every hour since they’d crossed the South Dakota border. The state boasted only two citizens for every square mile, so traffic remained light even around exits to towns. She’d glanced over at the Thunderbird’s control panel a while ago—though the digital readout had been seventy-five, other vehicles had been passing them handily.
“I was hoping you were getting somewhere when you found your initials,” Micah said, reminding Angela of the promising entry she’d spotted less than an hour ago.
“I did get somewhere, but I’d have to be a mind reader to figure it all out.” She shook her head in frustration. As she’d told him earlier, Mariscano indicated he was going to make her a buy-in offer…and then nothing. “Why wouldn’t he have kept track of his plans for me?”
“Maybe he started a new file—one I missed.”
“Maybe.” But it didn’t seem likely.
“Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Right.”
Another day closer to her being incarcerated. To learning firsthand what her father’s life had been like for nearly twenty years.
For the first time, she wondered how Tomas Dragonetti had felt when he’d been cut off from everything he knew and everyone he loved. And she wondered if he’d ever talked about his feelings with anyone.
For the first time, she wished she could talk about her own feelings with someone.
That someone being Micah Kaminsky, bounty hunter.
Her longing held a certain amount of irony—wanting to be comforted by the very man determined to bring her in.
What was happening
to her? How had she grown so soft in only two days?
Opening a vein was not her style. Normally she kept anything questionable—anything that would make her seem weak or vulnerable—to herself. Had Micah been any other man, she had no doubts he would have seen the last of her long ago.
So why hadn’t he?
Why was she still with him?
What made her believe he could—and would—see her through this mess until the end?
Wanting in the worst way to understand his power over her, she suddenly asked, “Who are you really?” She fleetingly thought of Mesmer, the controversial German physician who had developed the use of “animal magnetism” or hypnosis in psychotherapy.
Micah started. “What do you mean?”
Noting the odd strain in his voice, she said, “You’re a confusing man, Kaminsky. I started out being afraid of you.”
“And now?”
And now she couldn’t imagine why. “You’re no pussycat, but you’re not a slathering beast, either.”
His posture relaxed. He laughed, the timbre of his voice and the slight dimple in his right cheek culling a response from some mysterious place deep inside her. Her heart beat a little faster.
“Slathering beast, huh? I’ve been called a lot of things, but—”
“Like what?”
She had a sudden need to know everything about Micah, even the ignominious names he’d had thrown at him.
“Rough around the edges, for one. And then there’s pod person—”
“I didn’t exactly call you that,” she objected.
“But my personal favorite is bozo.”
Reminded of the woman trucker, Angela chuckled. “I could go with that, if you like.”
“The Dragonlady asks my permission?”
Her smile faded. “Is that how I appear to you?”
“Sometimes.”
“Nothing like brutal honesty.”
“I can lie if you want.”
“I hate lies.”
“I sensed that,” he said, jaw tightening for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, and though he seemed to be staring straight ahead, she was certain he was casing her. “I prefer Angel myself.”
Angela thought of her double-decade bias against the nickname her father had given her. Somehow she didn’t mind it so much coming from Micah.
Before The Fall Page 13