“Surely you don’t believe that.”
Taking a look at Joey Mariscano in his city suit, Micah imagined the gold bracelets decorating both hands as designer handcuffs. Jail, that’s where the bastard belonged, whether or not he’d arranged the hit on Angela. Only it would never happen, not without divine intervention.
“I wouldn’t put anything past a Mariscano,” he said.
Mariscano laughed. “And this from a Kaminsky. Rich. Real rich.” He was looking directly at Angela when he said, “You’re gonna regret this…depending on him.”
“I’d regret going to jail more.”
“Ask him about his old—”
Micah yelled, “I told you to shut up, Mariscano!” He didn’t know whether the crook meant to tell her about his father…or him. “C’mon, Angel.” Desperate to get her out of there, he held out his key ring. “Your turn at the wheel.”
His handing her the car keys was obviously the right move. She started for the door but stopped to pick up a tabloid from a table. The Las Vegas Star. Micah glimpsed a photo of Angela before she pulled it to her breast and faced the crook.
“You’re certain you don’t want to be more helpful?”
“As certain as you.”
She nodded. “If you’ve been telling me the truth, Joey, I have no reason to turn over the book or any other information I might have about you to the authorities. I only want to be free of this lie. And I want to survive. Stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”
“What about your old man?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Surprised by the pragmatic way Angela had offered the crook a bargain, Micah encouraged her right out the door.
Taking a fast look around on the way to the car, she asked, “Where are they?”
He knew she meant the thugs. “On ice…temporarily. Our friend Joey will find them pretty fast, so we don’t have time to dawdle.”
He was already wiping his fingerprints off the .45…just in case.
“What about Adolpho? The one who grabbed me.”
“This is his.”
Not wanting a gun in his possession, he wouldn’t put it back in the wrong hands, either, so he flung it into the wooded area behind the lodge and sent the ammunition in the opposite direction.
Angela started the T-bird and barely adjusted the seat and mirror before putting the pedal to the metal. The sandy earth whipped dust clouds around them and the car first dug in, then grabbed but fishtailed as if it were on ice.
“Easy,” he said, already regretting handing over the keys. “She’s a city car, and it might be tricky finding a tow service out here.”
“I don’t plan on getting stuck.”
Angela must have been paying attention on the way into the property, for she made all the right moves to get them back out to a paved road. She waited until they were some distance from the lodge before saying, “You wouldn’t think of letting me drive before. Why now?”
He couldn’t tell her the truth—that his doing so had been a ploy so she wouldn’t ask uncomfortable questions. “That knock on the head had me out for a while.”
Raw concern in her voice, she asked, “You think you might have a concussion?”
“Hopefully, no. I mean, I don’t think so. But there’s also no sense in taking chances.”
Thankfully, she accepted the statement without questioning him further.
Getting out of the woods and to a road that went somewhere proved to be a trial-and-error production. Finally they were speeding south, the state road all but deserted. Micah glanced over at the speedometer. His stomach knotted. The digital readout recorded eightyfive.
“You know,” he began more casually than he was feeling, “this baby makes it seem like we’re going slower than we actually are.”
“Uh-huh.”
He chose to be more direct. “It’s harder to control at this speed.”
“Don’t worry. I can handle it.”
With a grunt, he settled back in the passenger seat. He was sure Angela Dragon could handle anything in the world…with maybe a couple of exceptions, like her father…and his own past.
Since it was already midafternoon, Micah wondered how long they should drive and where to find the safest spot to stop for the night. Anyone looking for them would probably do so on the interstate to Cheyenne. Acting as navigator, he pulled out the road atlas and kept them to fast if less-traveled roads.
He also checked out the tabloid Angela had taken from the lodge.
“Anything interesting?” she asked, sounding calmer than he imagined she really was.
“Other than a reporter, speculating over your whereabouts?”
“They know I’m gone, then. How?”
“A tip from an anonymous source.”
One he was more and more certain he knew.
Relieved that they hadn’t gotten hold of his mug shot, he read her an edited version of the story, which mostly rehashed the past, but reiterated what he’d seen on the news about the two of them.
“I don’t understand why they think we’re fleeing together,” she murmured. “That’s a lousy reporter who can’t even identify you as a recovery agent”
Noticing that for once she was using a kinder term than bounty hunter, he muttered, “A reporter who works for a tabloid,” and was grateful she didn’t start speculating.
He decided paging through the newspaper—checking for any follow-up articles—would be wise. While there was nothing more on Angela, he did find something of interest.
“Desert Deals took a full-page ad.”
“Obviously Frank Gonnella’s not hurting for money.”
The advertisement featured a shot of Gonnella himself, standing before a Joshua tree. And a familiar graphic version of the desert plant with a coyote made up the dealership’s logo. Micah closed the tabloid and threw it on the backseat.
When they stopped for gas, he cleaned up in the men’s room, and they came away with colas and candy bars for an empty-calorie lunch.
At least the sugar fix gave them both a boost in energy. Before long, however, Angela was squirming in her seat as if finding it impossible to find a comfortable position. She was also yawning. No doubt all her normal energy had been used up in the altercation with Mariscano and his men. And driving mile after mile through uninteresting flat land whose vegetation was baked yellow by a late-summer sun and lack of rain didn’t help. Nothing interesting to look at to keep her awake.
“Maybe I should take over driving,” he suggested.
“With a head injury? I don’t think so.”
“I’m feeling fine.”
“Or you could be delusional.”
Flashing him a look, she raised both eyebrows, making him wonder if she’d known all along he’d used the head-injury excuse to manipulate her into leaving the lodge.
“We’ll have to stop soon, anyway.” The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned. “We need some serious food. Besides, neither of us got enough sleep last night.”
“When was the last time you saw a sign for a motel?” she asked. “For that matter, when did you last see a sign for a town?”
She had a point. Talk about wide open spaces—Wy oming had more than its share. He could count on one hand the number of vehicles they’d passed going in the opposite direction—and on the other, the ones traveling in the same direction that had passed them as though they were standing still. And this despite the fact that Angela was continuing to test the upper limits of his speedometer.
“We need to stay somewhere tonight,” he insisted.
“I can make it to Cheyenne.”
He feared she was the delusional one. “Cheyenne might not be the best idea—if they look for us anywhere it’ll be there.” They being any one of several possibilities. He pretended to check the road atlas, although he already knew what he was going to suggest. “There’s a state park nearby.”
“You can’t be serious. Another close encounter with Mother Natu
re?”
“A much gentler one,” he said, hoping he was correct about that. “I’m serious about needing a full night’s rest. We can’t go on the way we have been. We were lucky to get out of one bad situation today, but should we run into more trouble…”
She sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
Her agreement relieved Micah more than he could believe. Not only would stopping this early give them both some well-needed wind-down time, it would delay their arrival in Las Vegas by a few extra hours.
Peaceable hours that he would spend in her company.
When exactly had his attitude changed? Micah wondered. They’d been bound at the hip for what seemed like forever, and yet not much more than forty-eight hours had passed. From the first, he’d been anxious to be rid of Angela. Now the last thing in the world he wanted was to let her go.
Not that he would have much choice, Micah knew. Too many things stood between them. Her fiancé, Douglas, for one. But even if her heart were free…
Angela might be attracted to him. She might even care about what happened to him, a bond having been formed by the danger they’d shared. But if she knew the truth—the whole truth—she would loathe him.
Micah meant to be long gone before he could see that particular expression darkening her beautiful almond eyes.
“I’LL MAKE IT QUICK,” Micah promised before slamming the passenger door.
He had insisted on getting the groceries, leaving her alone with the car. And the keys. The ring dangled from the ignition seductively. She could start the engine and drive right off…but to where?
Angela simply didn’t want to go anywhere without Micah. Besides, he trusted her.
Trust. The concept was a little less foreign to her now than it had been.
Micah had done that. His rescuing her from Mariscano when he could have gotten away made her believe she could count on him. For once, she didn’t feel so alone. And for one night, at least, she would be safe, despite Mother Nature’s best efforts. No way would anyone threatening be able to find them so far off the beaten path.
Realizing Micah was taking a bit longer than she’d expected, Angela leaned forward and peered through the windshield and the store’s plate-glass windows. She spotted him immediately. He stood close to the front door, a paper sack filling one arm, the pay phone in his free hand.
She started at the unexpected sight. He hadn’t said he would be making any calls. Who was at the other end? She figured finding out was about as likely as her learning her name had been cleared while she’d been gone.
Trust, she reminded herself.
Surely he would tell her…
But he didn’t.
She waited until he dumped the groceries in the back and himself in the passenger seat. Waited until they were on the road. Until she spotted a sign announcing the state park ahead.
Then she casually said, “You took so long, I thought you were buying out the store.” For emphasis, she glanced back at the single bag of groceries.
“Just dinner and breakfast” was all he said.
No mention of the phone call. She swallowed her disappointment, but told herself his not volunteering information didn’t mean anything. Perhaps he’d just called her mother again—not that she’d figured out why in the world he’d done so in the first place. Or maybe someone in his own family.
Once inside the park, she took a road that wound upward around a river that had been widened and deepened into a reservoir. The resulting cliffs were striated with red and copper, the setting sun intensifying the colors to a polished glow. Trees hung out over crevices as if reaching to the river below, while the water itself sparkled as if cast with thousands of diamonds. The landscape was as beautiful as both the Badlands and the drive through eastern Wyoming had been harsh. And since it was after Labor Day, visitors were scarce, so they would have plenty of privacy.
Angela could almost pretend the nightmare away.
They staked their claim on a camping area set on a high point of land enhanced by a stone fireplace and shelter that the Civilian Conservation Corps had built in the 1930s. While she carried the bag of groceries to the plank table, Micah dug around in the trunk that seemed to contain a never-ending supply of useful items.
“How civilized,” she murmured, setting down the groceries and having a good stretch. “Too bad a real bed doesn’t come with the place.”
She’d just realized she’d said bed—singular—when Micah said, “You can always sleep in the Thunderbird.”
Or in his arms, she thought, at once disturbed and intrigued by the image that idea conjured.
Joining her, Micah unfolded a plastic cloth and covered the table, then produced a candle in a glass holder. The bottle of wine that followed from the grocery bag convinced Angela he was trying to make the evening into something special. She couldn’t quite say why she was so eager to embrace the idea.
“Uh-oh, that bottle has a problem.” She pointed to the cork as she sat on one of the benches.
“And I have the solution.”
With a flourish, he produced a corkscrew from one back pocket and two stemmed glasses from the other.
She murmured, “You’ve thought of everything.” While he worked on the bottle, she began spreading out foodstuffs. Her stomach growled as she looked over the prepared sandwiches, containers of salad and fresh fruit. “Should I put some of this aside for lunch tomorrow?”
“No need. We’ll be in Denver by then.”
Another state closer to home.
She should be anxious to get back. Having learned all she was going to from Joey Mariscano, she needed to work on Frank Gonnella himself.
Truth be told, she was still reluctant to recross the Nevada state line, though she realized her reasons were far more complicated than they had been back in Chicago. Micah-complicated. While he’d vowed to help get her out of hot water, she feared that once he’d made good on the promise he would disappear from her life.
Her chest squeezed tight at the thought. And her stomach knotted.
How would she do without him to challenge her, to get her juices flowing, to raise her temper to new heights?
Micah Kaminsky didn’t belong in her life, she reminded herself. But now the insight left her sad.
“To clearing your name.” He handed her a wineglass and clinked glasses. “And putting away the bastard who framed you.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
The long swallow splashed into her empty stomach and bounced straight to her head. Maybe that’s why she felt so unsettled and empty at the possibility of never seeing Micah again.
As they started eating, Angela couldn’t stop herself from watching his every movement. She knew the time she had left to spend in his company was limited. His hands especially fascinated her. Those large hands could be like steel when he so chose but, she suspected, could also be gentle.
Seductive.
Imagining those hands exploring the intimate parts of her body, she gulped a mouthful of wine.
“So what do you think about our dinner reservations?” Micah asked. He was smiling at her, the natural expression playing up his dimple.
“I can’t imagine finer,” she said, to her own surprise. She’d never been a nature girl. “The decor is glorious.
The service sublime. The food gourmet.”
He laughed. “You were even hungrier than I thought.”
Angela longed to hear more of that laughter. She thought she would never tire of it not if she heard it every day of her life. At the thought, she found herself wondering what it would be like…living with Micah…spending the rest of her days with him.
Taking another long sip of wine, she marveled at the direction of her fancy.
She didn’t even know the man.
Or did she?
Considering the question, Angela admitted she didn’t have a handle on the little details. Didn’t have a clue as to what his daily life was like. What she did have a grasp on was the impor
tant stuff.
Micah was strong, smart, razor sharp. He was also an ethical man who couldn’t be bribed. Someone she could count on in tough situations.
He prickled. He confronted. He made her feel so very alive every moment she was with him.
What more did she need to know?
Mariscano’s parting shot—that she would regret depending on Micah—still rankled, but considering the source, Angela vowed to put it out of mind.
When they finished eating, Micah suggested they watch the last rays of sunset disappear beyond the horizon. Amazingly, he pulled yet another item from his magic hat of a trunk. While he spread the tarp over a grassy area closer to the very tip of the promontory, Angela poured the last of the wine and joined him.
Handing him the glass, she sat on the ground next to him, stretching out her legs and crossing them at the ankles. A sharp breeze gusted over them, ruffling her skirts. The material fluttered up, leaving her legs exposed to midthigh, but she saw no reason for false modesty. Though she hoped to appear relaxed, in reality raw tension vibrated along her nerves. She had never been so aware of Micah as a man.
She gazed at him through lowered lashes. The wind ruffled long strands of golden brown hair around his face, and the beard growth softened his sharp features. He lay resting on his elbows, his pose defining the musculature of his arms and shoulders. And for a wicked moment she wished she could touch him freely.
Competing with the physical attraction, unanswered questions rose to disturb her. Despite her earlier resolve on the subject, the crime boss’s taunt replayed itself in her mind.
And so she really couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Why did Mariscano say I’d regret depending on you?”
“He was rattling your cage.”
Being so close to Micah was enough to rattle her. Distracted by stray imaginings of what could happen between them if they both let go, she nearly put aside her questions. But, feeling as if she needed something to bring her to her senses, she pressed the issue.
“And his crack about your being a Kaminsky…what was that? He said it like the name is notorious.”
“Might be—” Micah stretched out on his side and relaxed his top leg so his knee touched her thigh “—in some circles.”
Before The Fall Page 17