“Easy. Real easy.”
Fearing their attackers had caught up to them, she forced her brain awake and did as he said, slowly sitting up. The breath caught in her throat. Danger stood all around them in the forms of dozens of huge, ugly beasts. A whole herd of them, many whose mangy, oversize heads hung to the ground while they foraged on edible grasses.
“Buffalo?”
“Bison. They came for water from the creek. They’re not particularly friendly animals…and they’re easily excitable.”
Great. She’d survived a would-be assassin, a near hitand-run and motel muggers—not to mention the snake with her name—only to face a potential stampede. Shoes in hand, she slipped to her feet and cautiously took a few steps back on the hard-caked earth.
“What about the bedding?” she whispered.
One of the unkempt beasts was already snorting all over hers.
“The blanket’s expendable. You’re not.”
“I’m touched.”
She inched toward the car, as instructed making no sudden moves. One of the bison turned baleful eyes on her, snorted and pawed the ground. Her heart thundered in her breast.
“Angel-1-1.” Micah was already at the car.
“I’m doing the best I can,” she protested, inching faster.
Only when she neared the Thunderbird did she notice the backpack on the ground where Micah had left it. She pulled a face. No doubt the cellular phone was still inside—it, too, being superfluous.
How was she supposed to get in touch with Douglas, as she’d promised?
Calling collect in the middle of the wilderness would be quite a trick.
A loud snort and baleful cry put wings to her feet. Heart in her throat, she flew into the car even as the irate bison rushed it. He turned to the side at the last second, though his powerful shoulder grazed the fender. The vehicle bounced on its shocks.
“Can we get out of here?” she begged. “Now?”
“Your wish…”
As if she could command him to do anything.
Angela didn’t settle down inside until the herd was safely behind them.
“So you think this camping thing will catch on?”
“You have no appreciation for nature, Angel. Think about the awesomeness of waking up in the middle of a bison herd. How many people can say they’ve done that?”
“I don’t know. How many lived to tell?”
The sun was rising over the horizon, casting deep and defining shadows throughout the peaks and canyons of the Badlands. A panorama of color played across the seemingly barren mudstone. Shafts of light painted the layers of sediment with purple, red and gold—the brilliant colors presenting a startling contrast to the deep green of the closer grasslands, prickly prairie that the bison had left temporarily to quench their thirst.
Angela ignored her own thirst and hunger and gave in to the heavy-lidded feeling that came of not having had enough sleep.
She drifted in and out for a while, finally awakening to find they’d left the north wall behind. The vista had changed yet again, flattened land around them thick with tall grasses. Ahead, pale brown bodies leaped through a field of pink coneflowers.
“Pronghorns,” Micah said. “And over there…” He pointed off to her right. “A golden eagle.”
Wings spread wide, the magnificent bird soared on an updraft. She watched for a moment, mesmerized.
But even in the face of such an awesome sight, she couldn’t smother her empty-stomach testiness. “Are we there yet?”
“Define there.”
“Any place with food.”
“Coming up.”
She sank back into silence, finding a grudging appreciation in the raw beauty of her surroundings. And amidst nature’s splendor, bits of fenced and farmed land encircled scattered houses that reflected their owners’ poverty. A quarter of an hour later they entered a small town whose Native American roots were made obvious by the bronze-skinned citizens going about their business.
No doubt about their being on reservation land.
They stopped at a combination gas station, grocery store and fast-food joint. Angela’s tour of the ladies’ room convinced her she was a hopeless case. What was left of her gown was tattered and dusty, her skin was dirt streaked and her hair poked out wildly. She washed up anyway and ran damp hands through her hair, making certain to camouflage the bald spot.
Getting food was a self-service operation. Micah handed her money and told her to knock herself out. While she waited for coffee, eggs and fry bread, he got on the pay telephone near the rest rooms.
Who could he be calling now? Surely not her mother again.
But it seemed he wasn’t successful in getting through to his party. His expression reflecting his frustration, he slammed the receiver into its cradle just as she arrived at the cashier’s station.
The Lakota woman sitting behind the cash register inspected her thoroughly and made no attempt to hide her amusement as she took the twenty and made change. Her wide grin filled her broad-cheeked face.
“Some honeymoon, huh?”
“It’s been a real hoot.”
Angela didn’t miss the speculative gleam in the other woman’s eyes as Micah arrived in time to carry the food tray. He looked big and wild—thanks to the two days of beard growth—and irresistibly sexy. She followed directly behind him, muttering to herself about having more hormones than brains.
Micah set the tray on an empty table and gave her a quizzical look. “Did you say something?”
Not about to repeat the self-observation, she said, “I was wondering who you called.”
“Would you believe the motor club?”
“No.” Not that she would recognize the truth should he ever tell it. “Try again.”
“The weather?”
Ticked at his continuing evasiveness, she asked, “They make predictions for the middle of nowhere?”
“Movie times.”
Her voice rose sharply as she asked, “Is that the best you can do?”
Heat rose along her neck when Micah started. Angela acknowledged she was acting weird. Even before she had got to know him personally, when she would have done anything to get away from him, she hadn’t felt so…irritable.
So…disappointed.
Trying to work up some righteous anger of the sort she was used to was an exercise in frustration. Something had changed between them and she suspected they could never go back to the way things had been.
Correction. She could never go back.
Angela wasn’t certain what he was capable of.
Quietly, expression serious, he asked, “What is it you want, Angel?”
“How about the truth?”
But he couldn’t seem to manage it.
“Are you always this cranky when you’re hungry?” He gestured to the food. “Sit and eat.”
She should have known better than to give him a crumb of honesty. Glaring, she took a seat and wolfed down her eggs and fry bread with a vengeance, then waited for him to catch up. All the while, he seemed as if he had something to say to her, yet he remained equally silent.
More silence strained the hour’s drive to Hot Springs. Angela was surprised when he slowed down and tooled around town like a tourist. They passed turn-of-thecentury homes, resort hotels and sanatoriums, many of the older structures built of sandstone.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, even as she admired the buildings’ intricate carvings and ornamental designs.
“Looking for the ATM.”
“The ATM?”
“They’re few and far between in this part of the country. We probably won’t have another chance to get money until we hit Cheyenne or Denver.”
He found the cash station outside a bank. Figuring she had a day of straight driving ahead of her, Angela left the car also to stretch her legs and back.
Vaguely aware of a dark sedan pulling in to the lot, she paid it no mind as she paced back and forth, trying to get rid of the st
iffness already binding her muscles. But when a second similar car rolled in, she took better notice, since most vehicles in these parts were built to withstand unpaved roads.
These were city cars.
Internal radar blipping, she turned to alert Micah as two men walked up to the cash machine, the scrawny one looking around, the bigger one intent on him. The stranger’s hands were gloved and the right one wasn’t empty.
“Hey, you!” she yelled.
Too late. His arm swung, the weapon in his hand cracking Micah across the back of the head. He went down like a sack of potatoes.
Angela choked on his name and tried to run to him. A hand grasped her arm and brought her to an abrupt halt.
She swung around to face a mean-looking bear of a man, one narrowed eye distorted by a nasty scar. Her pulse leaped as she recognized him.
“Mr. Mariscano wants- you should come with me to see him.”
Not that Adolpho gave her any choice.
Chapter Eleven
Joey Mariscano was pacing the length of the hunting lodge’s great hall like a caged animal when he heard the cars pull up.
Caged. The very word made him shudder.
Business notwithstanding, he was a careful man. He indulged in neither unnecessary violence nor slipshod operations. Sometimes one goal conflicted with the other.
That happening made Joey decidedly unhappy.
He took a big breath and seated himself in the largest of the chairs bookending the couch and the stone fireplace. The furniture was primitive—lots of chunky wood and Indian-blanket upholstery. His own taste ran to fine leather and highly polished surfaces, but this wasn’t his call.
The door banged open and a decidedly unkempt Angela Dragon flew inside, propelled by Adolpho’s hamlike hand. Filling the doorway, his lieutenant looked as if he might enjoy hurting the woman to get her to talk.
“That’s enough,” Joey said, staring at what was left of the wedding gown.
“Sure, boss.”
“You find it?”
“Nah, not yet, but the boys’ll take the T-bird apart.”
“Good.”
“What about the other one? He’s out for now, but you want I should take care of it so he stays that way permanently?”
Joey sighed. Adolpho was from the old school and stubbornly clung to his narrow views of organized crime. “Just have him brought in.”
Adolpho backed out of the room.
The Dragon woman was trying not to shake. “Micah’s alive, then?”
He could see that meant a lot to her. And after Kaminsky had dragged her out of the expo center like some kind of caveman. Surprise, surprise.
“So far he is.”
No sense in letting her think he was soft, because he wasn’t. He was smart, was all. Smart enough to cover his tracks and keep his butt out of the slammer.
“What are you going to do to us?”
“Now, that’s up to you.” He gazed at her intently when he said, “You took something that belongs to me.”
Her pained expression when she asked, “As in…?” was blatantly put on.
“A little black book.”
“Girlfriends?” She managed to sound shocked. “Does DeeDee know about this?”
The reminder of the way she’d set off his daughter didn’t please him. “You got a mouth on you. Close it unless you’re ready to deal.”
“Sorry.” She tried sounding contrite. Standing in back of the other chair, she fingered the material, the only evidence of her nerves. “What makes you think I have this black book of yours?”
He put a beringed hand into his breast suit pocket and pulled out the pearl he’d found beneath his desk. He rolled it between forefinger and thumb. “Familiar?”
She shrugged, but he could see the truth in her eyes.
“You’re gutsy.” He threw the pearl at her, but she made no attempt to catch it. It landed on the chair cushion and rolled to the floor. “I admire that.”
“Is that why you set me up so I’d be indicted?”
He shook his head. “Not my doing.”
“Like I really have reason to trust your word. You came to me.”
“I was interested in expanding my business outside of Chicago. A friend suggested you might be open to a partnership. You weren’t.”
“And so you threatened me.”
“So, I got a temper.”
“And tried to have me killed.”
“I don’t condone murder.” He waited a beat and to scare her added, “Not often, anyhow. Not usually a woman.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want, then.”
“This black book of yours…what’s it worth to you to get it back?” she asked, coolly seating herself as if she was in a position to dicker.
“Then you got it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
Joey was running out of patience. He had no doubts she and Kaminsky had been in his home the other day. So who else should he look to? He wanted the damned book before it fell into the wrong hands.
“Look, you help me…I help you.”
“Help me what?”
“How about stay alive?”
The Dragon woman went unnaturally pale. “Then that was your hireling who tried to kill me.”
He sighed. “What kinda world is this where a man’s word ain’t good enough?”
“If it wasn’t you, then who was responsible? And don’t tell me you don’t know.” When he remained tightlipped, she said, “Someone in Las Vegas…Wily.”
“Wily.” Joey nodded and gave her a wolfish grin. “And where might you have gotten that name?”
Color flushed her cheeks. He had her. Cornered, she went on the offensive.
“How did you know where to find us?”
“Your boyfriend has a big mouth.”
“Douglas?”
Who did she think she was kidding? He pulled a face. “The one outside.” Suddenly remembering he’d sent Adolpho to fetch the man, he muttered, “Where is he, anyhow?”
“Micah? He told you?”
“That’d bother you, wouldn’t it?” That she’d fallen for Kaminsky in so short a time wrung a little sympathy from him. He had a feeling that when she knew what was what she wasn’t going to be too happy. “Let’s say Kaminsky didn’t put me onto you directly.”
Joey could practically hear her brain computing. He could tell she wasn’t certain she could really believe in the man, but she wanted to believe him enough to convince herself…at least for the moment.
Working up some righteous indignation, she asked, “Where the heck are we, anyway?”
“An associate’s place in Wyoming.”
No sooner had she digested the answer than the name “Frank Gonnella” popped from her lips. “He did set me up, right?”
Not about to give her anything more pithy than a hooded look, he said, “The phone book, missy.” When she held fast, he raised his voice a notch. “I ain’t playing around here. I mean to get that book back, but I can’t give you a name in exchange. It wouldn’t be healthy for me…know what I mean?”
“Then how are you going to keep me alive? Or do you plan on locking me away, holding me in a different sort of prison than one with bars?”
“I was considering taking on negotiations…if you and me can come to terms.”
“What’s there to negotiate? What does this man want?”
“That’s not my business.”
“You made it your business when you came to me!” If she had any fear, she was hiding it well. “You think my father will forget about you if something happens to me? Tomas Dragonetti ties up loose ends…know what I mean?”
A trickle of sweat started down Joey’s spine. “Your old man’s outta the business.”
“Is he?” Her smile was cold and she held his gaze long enough for that sweat to get halfway down his back. “So what can you do to clear my name, Joey?”
“Not a thing.”
“My
father won’t like that.”
She was backing him into a corner. He didn’t like that. The name Tomas Dragonetti was not without consequence, even now. His fingers dug into the rough wood of the chair arms as Joey decided he didn’t like her.
About to say so, he lost his opportunity when, again, the door banged open.
This time a nasty-looking Micah Kaminsky filled the doorway.
Kaminsky and the .45 in his hand.
TO MICAH’S PROFOUND RELIEF, Angela popped out of the chair unharmed if a little alarmed. He’d been imagining all kinds of scenarios, none of them good. Thoughts of holding her lifeless body had nearly sent him over the edge. He’d been hard-pressed not to do the bastards responsible for this situation permanent damage. Seeing her intact, he wanted nothing more than to rush to her side and take her in his arms…to protect her…to admit how much he would care if anything bad happened to her…but he needed to keep his wits about him for both their sakes.
Her wide eyes glued to his face made his chest squeeze tight. And when she said breathlessly, “You’re bleeding again,” he almost imagined she felt something as strong for him as he did for her.
He also suspected he looked even worse than he had earlier. “Don’t sweat it. I’m all right.” Other than feeling like someone’s personal punching bag. He stepped into the room and swung the door closed. “Did he tell you anything?”
“Nothing I shouldn’t have,” Mariscano said, tone taunting.
“Shut your mouth. I was talking to the lady.”
Angela moved closer, her very nearness distracting him.
“Joey claims he didn’t set me up and that he didn’t try to have me killed,” she told him. “He’s also willing to provide me with protection in trade for his little black book.” Nerves were making her talk a mile a minute. “His men didn’t find it, did they?”
“I’d say not. I didn’t give them much of a chance.”
He’d played dead so convincingly he’d managed to get the drop on the bastards who’d blindsided him. “But we probably should get out of here while the going’s good.”
“Can’t we take him with us for insurance?” she asked, adding in a lowered voice, “Maybe we can figure out a way to make him talk.”
“And have kidnapping charges brought against us?”
Before The Fall Page 16