Before The Fall

by Patricia Rosemoor

  He signaled the driver—she heard a soft click—then reached over to open her door.

  Angela wasted no time jumping out and making her break. She flew from the limo and onto the sidewalk, where she hoped to have some protection with other people around her. But she’d barely gotten a half-dozen yards before bony fingers clutched her upper arm and spun her around.

  Leon Woerter had hold of her with one hand. He indicated the other hidden beneath his jacket. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you.”

  “You left your gun in Denver.”

  “And got another one here.”

  “When? How?”

  “From me,” said Douglas, appearing on her other side.

  Stomach plummeting, she addressed Woerter. “You don’t have to use that, you know. I came with you willingly. I’m still willing to go to the police with you.”

  Leon looked to Douglas. “What do you say? Should we let her do that, Wily?”

  Eyes wide, she turned to the man she thought she knew so well. “Wily? The Wily?”

  Douglas snickered and leaned so close his mustache brushed her ear. “At your service, darling.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “You probably don’t believe I shot at you in Union Station from behind my newspaper, then,” he murmured. “Or tried running you down in front of the Target store.”

  Details she hadn’t shared in her phone calls.

  Angela went sick inside. Douglas Neff was Wily.

  What had happened to her good judgment? One man who’d professed to love her and another with whom she’d fallen in love had both fooled her. The only bright spot was that she’d been wrong about Micah—he wasn’t the mysterious Wily, and he hadn’t been bringing her back to the man who wanted to see her in jail if not dead.

  But all those times Douglas had blamed himself for recommending the purchase of Picture Perfect, he’d been secretly laughing at her. Obviously he had been the direct arm used to set her up, and she’d been blind to anything but his charm.

  What choice did she have but to get back into the limousine and hope for another break? Her spirits fell even lower when she realized they were heading away from the city, and she imagined being left to die in the middle of the desert.

  The thought of death made her think of her family—of her father.

  Die…what if her father did?

  She couldn’t forget the way she’d just seen him: desperate to get to her, then stopped cold by his own physical shortcomings. The remainder of his mortality struck a blow to the invisible shield she’d raised to keep him out. She remembered something Micah had said about her father making a big mistake in judgment when he chose to hook up with the wrong people.

  Thanks to Micah, she had to face the fact that, despite everything, she still loved the man she’d shoved out of her life. Not believing her father was evil, she gave Micah’s theory credence. No doubt one wrong move led to another until he was trapped….

  Even as she had trapped herself.

  A quarter of an hour of silence later, they were passing Red Rock Canyon. She turned vacant eyes on its sandstone bluffs painted yellow and red, pink and purple, wondering how much longer she had to live.

  Some time later they turned off the main road onto a hard-packed earthen track. Within minutes, the oasis in the middle of the desert came into view. Stands of Joshua trees and what looked like a manicured lawn surrounded a building that was decidedly Gothic in appearance, with several turrets and towers. An iron-barred gate stopped them until the guard checked the limo’s passengers. Then he waved them through.

  A lump in her throat, Angela broke the long silence. “What does Frank Gonnella have against me?”

  Douglas shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Then why did he have you set me up?”

  He stared at her, his hazel eyes devoid of emotion, and beneath the mustache his lips curled into a nasty smile. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the suspense.”

  “WELCOME to the House of Usher.”

  Ensconced in a thronelike chair in the middle of the medieval-themed great room, complete with armor and weapons and crests, Otto Usher took a good look at his prize. Tomas Dragonetti’s daughter appeared battered and broken, exactly as he’d like her father to see her. Only, now that would never happen.

  She pulled away from Douglas Neff alias Wily and ventured closer. “I thought you were dying.”

  “The provisions for my funeral haven’t been made yet.”

  He didn’t miss the fire in her eyes—her father’s eyes, her father’s fire—when she said, “Maybe I can make the arrangements for you.”

  He laughed. “Ah, not quite beaten yet, I see.”

  Smirking, he indicated she should sit, but of course she ignored him. The only other person in the room, Neff, took a chair closest to the door, cutting off any possible chance of escape.

  “Can I offer you a drink? A last meal?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and loomed over him. “Is this all happening because of my father?”

  “What a smart young woman.”

  “Smarter than you gave me credit for.”

  “You know nothing.”

  “I know you were at my father’s trial. You were gloating. Happy that he was going to be put behind bars. Is that because you helped put him there?”

  His smile faded. “I didn’t like your father, either.”

  She paced before him, looking as if she were restraining herself from doing him bodily harm. Perhaps he couldn’t stop her. But Neff would and he’d enjoy it. He liked playing with his prey before devouring it.

  “So you were rivals,” the Dragon woman said. “My father’s being locked away left you free to pursue whatever interests you chose. Wasn’t that enough for you?”

  “Your father tried turning his misfortune on me,” he informed her. “I escaped prison. My son Norman didn’t.”

  And like a spider building his web, he’d patiently awaited his next turn.

  “Is that what this is all about? You’re miffed because your bad seed got his? Or because my father got even with you for your providing witnesses against him?”

  “Clever girl. Your father’s sentence was lightened by his helping the state, while my boy is rotting his life away. He’ll still be locked up when I die…which will be soon enough.”

  Though evidently his death was not imminent, as people suspected, Angela thought. He still seemed pretty lively.

  “And so you thought you’d get a few licks in first. Murder? That certainly will impress your Maker.”

  “Another death on my conscience?” He shrugged as if there had been so many that one more wouldn’t matter. “I didn’t mean for you to die. I have nothing against you. I merely wanted your father to suffer over you the way I have over Norman.”

  “An eye for an eye?” She laughed. “But your precious Norman is alive.”

  “As would you continue to be if you’d left well enough alone.”

  “You mean, gone to jail like a good little girl? Not bloody likely.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “If I hadn’t figured it out, someone would have. Like my father.”

  His attention was caught by one of his guards standing in the doorway. “Mr. Usher, unexpected company.”

  “But I am expected,” Micah Kaminsky insisted as he pushed his way into the room. “Right, Otto?”

  If she were the kind of woman who fainted, Angela thought, Micah’s unexpected appearance would be reason enough. Instead, a burst of adrenaline shot through her.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded as the old man waved off his thug.

  Micah ignored her. “What about it, Otto?”

  “To tell the truth, Kaminsky, I thought you might slink away and take care of yourself.”

  “But our business isn’t finished.”

  Business? Micah and Usher? Angela was getting that sick feeling again.

  “You kept your part of the bargain…as well as
you could…given the circumstances,” the old man said. “I have the woman. Consider your debt cleared.”

  Shaking, Angela sank into a chair. Though he might not be Wily, Micah had come after her on Usher’s orders. That both men she’d gotten involved with had been working toward the same goal took her breath away. Talk about smart women, foolish choices.

  Even so, she found her voice. “Great job, Micah. Congratulations. You should be an actor.” What was left of her nails dug into the chair arms. “You gave an Academy Award quality performance.”

  “Angel—”

  Cutting him off, she said, “Otto, you have no idea what a valuable tool you have in Kaminsky here. He’d go to any lengths to complete an assignment. Would you like the details?”

  “Angel, stop this,” Micah ordered.

  Furious, she lunged to her feet and faced him. “Stop what?”

  “Believing the worst about everyone. I know it looks bad, but you can trust me. I meant it when I said I’d help clear your name.”

  “Trust you?” she echoed, amazed at his audacity.

  He gazed deep into her eyes, softly imploring, “Trust me, Angel. I won’t let you down.”

  For a moment the room went still but for the accelerated beat of her heart. She might be in love with Micah, but having made that mistake once, no way could she justify trusting him again. What reason had he given her to do so?

  Then again, why would having her trust be to his advantage now, unless he felt something for her….

  “How very touching,” Douglas said dryly.

  The simple comment set off the differences between the two men. Douglas talked about caring but had never done a thing about it. Micah had saved her life more than once. She couldn’t for a moment imagine him cooling his heels waiting for long-distance reports while the woman he loved was getting herself deeper and deeper into trouble. What was she thinking…Douglas was the trouble.

  And Micah was here…almost directly on her heels.

  That could mean only one thing. Despite his fear of flying, he’d come to her rescue using the only possible means of getting to her on time. He’d boarded an airplane. For her.

  Her heart thundered. Praying all the hope she was feeling was reflected in her gaze, she nodded.

  “Otto, look,” Douglas said, sounding highly amused, “they’re not merely lovers in the physical sense. They’ve actually fallen in love with each other.”

  Micah scowled at Douglas, then addressed the wizened crook on his throne. “You made a big mistake when you pulled my chain, Usher. You made me believe that you and Tomas Dragonetti were best buddies. That you were concerned about Angela for his sake. That all you wanted was her back home, safe and sound, before it was discovered that she’d jumped bail.”

  “And you were willing to believe anything so you could clear your debt to me. We both got what we wanted.”

  “I don’t like being lied to. And no one uses me.”

  “Your old man used my son.”

  “Norman chose to protect Pop from that prison gang. If he’s anything like you, he had his own reasons.”

  “He’s alive, right?”

  “I’m grateful, but not that grateful, Usher. Force my

  hand, and I’ll play on your field. Believe me, you’ll lose.”

  “What is it you want?”

  “Let Angela leave here with me.”

  “Hah! She’ll never keep that mouth of hers shut.”

  “What makes you think I’ll keep mine shut?”

  “What makes you think I’ll let you leave?” Usher’s

  smile was ugly. “And your father has another year or so to serve on his sentence. A year is a long time. Anything can happen….”

  Angela recognized that Usher was threatening Harold Kaminsky’s life. Would he stop at nothing to satisfy his warped thirst for revenge?

  “If you let us go willingly, the only charges you may need to worry about will have to do with your setting up Angela,” Micah went on, “because we’re going to clear her name even if it means destroying yours.”

  Usher laughed. “Who would believe your word against mine?”

  “My word…and Joey Mariscano’s.”

  “Even if Joey knew what I intended, he wouldn’t talk.”

  Seeing where Micah was going with this, Angela joined in. “He doesn’t have to. Joey takes notes on everything.” She moved closer to Micah. “Every conversation…every telephone call…every inquiry into certain Las Vegas operations.”

  From Usher’s expression, she was certain he was aware of Mariscano’s little quirk.

  “He’d never turn over his notes, either.”

  “But his computer is another story,” Angela said, even as she scanned the medieval arsenal around them and wondered how long it would take to jump into a protective suit of armor. “Where do you think he stores his records?”

  “Which I printed out for myself.” Micah whipped the sheaf of papers from one of the larger pockets of his vest and handed it to the old man. “They’re in Mariscano’s personal shorthand, but that wouldn’t be too hard for a professional to decipher. Oh, in case you’re wondering, that’s just a copy. I personally placed the originals in safe hands. And should anything happen to his daughter…”

  “You gave details of my operations to Tomas Dragonetti?” Usher gave Micah a long, cold look. “You’ve made yourself a deadly enemy.”

  “Good thing I removed his venom first,” Micah said softly. With an expression that would put the fear of God into any man, he added, “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me.”

  Usher’s face reddened. “Get out, both of you!”

  “C’mon, Angel.”

  Needing no more encouragement, Angela turned to find Douglas blocking the way. “Not so fast.” He waved a gun at the two of them.

  “Let them go,” Usher ordered, “or they’ll bring down my entire operation!”

  “Shut up, old man. If I let them go, they’ll bring me down, and I can’t have that.”

  “Douglas, surely you wouldn’t shoot me after all we’ve meant to each other,” Angela said, so that Micah would know exactly who he was.

  Douglas stared at her coldly. “I don’t do time. Not even for a pretty piece like you.”

  She sidled away from Micah and closer to Douglas as if realigning herself. “Are you sure I wouldn’t be worth it? He thought so.”

  “Angel!”

  She spun on her heel, edging a few more inches away from Micah. “Don’t Angel me! You got me in this mess, you…you—” she gave him an intense look, hoping he would understand what she was trying to do “—bozo!”

  Micah took the blow of the dreaded nickname by taking a step back, putting a bit more distance between them. “I got you into this?”

  “If you had booked a flight back to Las Vegas, my life never would have been in jeopardy.” She gazed at Douglas, held his attention. “Would you believe he’s afraid to fly? A grown man.”

  “Hey,” Micah said indignantly, “that was between you and me!”

  Douglas snickered. “You sure know how to pick them.”

  “I picked you, Douglas,” she said, taking a tiny step to his side. She and Micah had danced far enough apart that Douglas couldn’t threaten them simultaneously. He would have to choose whom to shoot first. “I was planning on marrying you. I still will, if you want me.”

  “What is this?”

  “I don’t want to die.” From the corner of her eye she saw Micah tensing to make his move. She had to keep Douglas’s attention on her. “A wife can’t be forced to testify against her husband. And you’ll be rich, calling all the shots. What do you say?”

  “I say…” Douglas raised his gun. “Forget it!”

  Ducking to the side, Angela heard Usher yell, “Not in here!”

  Micah was on Douglas even as the gun went off. Angela swore the bullet cut so close it put a new part in her hair. Her hand flew to her head, checking for another bald spot.

  The
men crashed to the floor, limbs in a tangle. A second shot went wild. Micah smashed Douglas’s hand against a heavy mahogany side table. The weapon went flying, Angela directly after it.

  Though she hated guns, she knew how to use them and she certainly felt more in control with it in her possession. When the hall door flew open, she aimed at the guard.

  “Close the door and go sit by your master like a good dog.”

  She kept one eye on him, the other on the men trading punches. Considering she had the gun, she probably could stop the fight at any time…but she didn’t like being lied to or used, either, and figured they could work out some of her anger for her on each other.

  Micah had the advantage of size and strength. He easily used both to send Douglas flying halfway across the room. Having no sense of fair play, however, gave

  Douglas a different sort of advantage. He rushed to the wall, where he grabbed a weapon—some sort of medieval ax.

  Angela feared she’d made a mistake by letting this go on. “Stop this now, Douglas!”

  Good thing she liked the sound of her own voice. No matter that she pointed his gun at him, he went after Micah with a vengeance.

  Before Angela could decide what to do next, Micah grabbed a lance and used its length to deflect the blow. Another strike. Micah danced out of the way at the last minute, practically giving Angela heart failure. The blade split a small table in two, drawing an oath from Usher. His own fault, she thought, for keeping the edge so well honed.

  When Douglas raised the ax again, Micah followed up with a move so perfect it seemed choreographed. He sent the butt end of the lance into the advancing man’s gut. Douglas made a choking sound and dropped his weapon. Micah moved in and aimed again, sending the length of the wood across the other man’s chest.

  Douglas flew straight back into one of the suits of armor on display, then dropped to the floor, bombarded by pieces of metal crashing down on his head.

  Indicating the gun Angela was again holding on Usher and the guard, Micah sucked in long drafts of air. “Thanks for the help.”

  Throat tight with relief, Angela said, “You did fine all on your own.” She wanted in the worst way to throw herself into his arms and rain grateful kisses on his face, but she figured letting down her guard against the crime boss wouldn’t be a wise move. “I certainly feel better.”