Lawman Protection

by Cindi Myers

  “That did not belong to me.”

  “Then why were you helping to transport it?”

  She shrugged.

  “Do not say anything else,” her lawyer cautioned.

  Graham studied her beautiful, proud face, and he had a sudden memory of Emma, regarding him with similar defiance. The image triggered an idea. “Do you always let men like him tell you what to do?” he asked Valentina.

  “I let no one tell me what to do.” The words came out sharp and crisp, as if she were giving an order. “I make my own decisions.”

  “So were you the one who decided to buy the missile, or were you just the errand girl?” Graham hoped to trip her up, and get her to tell him the missile’s intended recipient and purpose.

  “I am no errand girl!”

  “Right. So you bought the missile and hired Bobby Pace to fly it to Colorado for you. Then you shot him.”

  “I object to this line of questioning.” The lawyer glared—not at Graham, but at his client, who refused to look at him.

  “Let the lady answer,” Graham said.

  She pressed her lips together, but said nothing.

  “We have your prints in the plane,” Graham said. “And when ballistics gets done, we’ll know the bullet that killed him came from your weapon.”

  “Men are so stupid,” she said.

  “Was Bobby Pace stupid? Is that why you shot him?”

  Garcia stood. “This interview is over.”

  Graham waited for Valentina’s answer, but she stood and followed Garcia out of the room. Graham’s phone chirped and he answered it. “Ellison.”

  “Ballistics says Valentina Ferrari’s gun killed Bobby Pace,” Simon said.

  “That’s one more question answered,” Graham said, after he’d disconnected the call and given Michael the news. “But we still don’t know what she was doing with that missile or why.”

  “Speaking of questions,” Michael said. “I didn’t want to say anything until the interview was over, but the press is outside. They want a statement.”

  * * *

  GRAHAM FOUGHT A sense of déjà vu as he stood on the steps of the police station, facing the gathering of reporters and television cameras. He searched the eager faces for a tall, beautiful woman with red hair and generous curves, and his spirits sank when he didn’t see her. Maybe Emma didn’t need to attend a press conference to get the story on Valentina Ferrari, but he’d expected her to be there, if only to make sure the competition didn’t scoop her. Now, he didn’t have even her friendly face to help him get through this.

  “Why are you holding Valentina Ferrari?” A male reporter from one of the national papers fired the first question.

  Before Graham could answer, a second reporter said, “Senator Mattheson claims the arrest of an ambassador’s daughter is another example of harassment on the part of The Ranger Brigade.”

  “We have evidence linking Ms. Ferrari to the murder of Bobby Pace,” Graham said.

  “Have you formally charged her with murder?” asked a woman from the local daily.

  “No charges will be filed.”

  Graham turned to see Senator Mattheson, flanked by the district attorney and another man in a dark suit, emerge from the police station. Mattheson stepped up beside Graham. “Ms. Ferrari will be returning to her own country this afternoon,” he said. “This has all been a misunderstanding.”

  “Murder is more than a misunderstanding,” Graham said.

  The senator’s gaze could have chilled meat. “Venezuela is a valued ally of the US,” he said. “We will do whatever we can to protect and honor that friendship.”

  The press began shouting questions, their words blurring together. Graham ignored them. “Did Richard Prentice have anything to do with this?” he asked Mattheson.

  He didn’t know whether to be pleased or alarmed at the way Mattheson’s neck reddened at the mention of the billionaire. “Mr. Prentice is a friend of the family,” the senator said. “He spoke on behalf of the Ferraris.” He turned to the crowd. “I think that’s all we have time for today. Thank you for coming.”

  He started to leave, the other man in a suit following. Graham put out a hand to stop him. “Who are you?”

  “Ed Stricker. State Department.” The man didn’t offer a hand.

  “Are you one of Mattheson’s buddies?” Graham asked.

  “I’m the man who’s trying to prevent an international incident, no thanks to you.”

  “So it doesn’t matter to you that a man was murdered? Not to mention the question of trafficking in illegal weapons, even terrorism.”

  Stricker frowned. “International security takes precedence over one local murder, which we believe was an accident, anyway. As for the missile, we’ve taken that into custody and will be conducting our own investigation.”

  “You’ll let me know what you find?”

  “I wouldn’t lose any more sleep over this, Captain.” Stricker followed Mattheson back into the station.

  Graham turned to the DA. “What can you tell me about this?”

  “Our hands are tied,” the lawyer said. “The orders came from well above my pay grade.”

  “So she gets away with murder.”

  “You can send the evidence you have to the Venezuelan authorities and they may choose to prosecute.”

  “I’m not holding my breath.”

  The DA clapped his hand on Graham’s shoulder. “Let it go. There’s nothing you can do now.” He left to join the others.

  Michael moved up alongside Graham. “Frustrating,” he said.

  “I don’t like not having answers,” Graham said. “And I don’t believe Valentina Ferrari is the only one getting away with a serious crime here.”

  * * *

  WHILE HER COMPETITION attended the press conference at the police station, Emma called every contact in her list, trying to track down anyone who could put her in touch with Valentina Ferrari. The story of a fashion model and diplomat’s daughter turned murderer—and possibly terrorist—was the biggest of her career. But even more than that, she wondered if Valentina could help her find Lauren Starling. The fact that Valentina had connected Emma with the search for Lauren made Emma believe the young woman had more than a casual interest in the case. Maybe she knew something that would help.

  Two calls to the Venezuelan consulate, several unanswered to Richard Prentice and one each to the State Department, Valentina’s modeling agent and a foreign correspondent she’d met once at a party yielded nothing, however. She stared at the phone, out of ideas and wondering if she should have gone to the press conference, after all.

  The phone rang, startling her. The screen read Unknown Number. Curious, she answered. “Hello?”

  “I understand you wish to speak to me.” The softly accented, feminine voice was unmistakable.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “I’d really like to hear your side of the story.”

  “I am going home to Venezuela this afternoon, but if you come to the airport now, I will give you a few minutes.”

  Almost giddy with excitement, Emma hung up the phone and prepared to leave. She slipped fresh batteries into her recorder and stuffed it, along with a notebook and extra pens, into her purse. She grabbed her keys, but stopped when she reached the door and pulled out her phone. She had worked alone for years, valuing that independence and the ability to shape her own fate. But maybe it was time to share this triumph with someone else.

  Graham answered on the second ring. “Emma! Is everything all right?”

  “Everything’s more than all right. Can you meet me at the airport in about fifteen minutes?”

  “What’s going on? Are you leaving?”

  “No. Just trust me and meet me at the airport. And maybe you’d better change into civilian
clothes. What I’m asking you to do is very unofficial.”

  He hesitated, then said. “All right. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

  Twenty minutes later they met outside the FBO. As she’d asked, he’d changed into slacks and an oxford shirt. Minus the uniform and utility belt, with no visible weapon, he looked a little less threatening, though no woman, at least, would mistake his muscular arms and broad shoulders. “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Valentina Ferrari has agreed to talk to me. I thought you might like to listen in.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “Persistence. And luck.” She turned toward the plane parked at the edge of the tarmac. The Venezuelan coat of arms shone in the afternoon light. “Come on.”

  Two guards stopped them at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the plane. “Who is this?” one demanded, nodding to Graham.

  “My bodyguard,” she said. “He won’t say anything. He’s just here to observe.”

  Playing along, Graham kept quiet and allowed them to frisk him. Then one guard led the way up the stairs, while the other fell in behind.

  They found Valentina alone in the luxurious cabin, dressed in designer jeans and a man’s white dress shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a red silk shell and plenty of cleavage. Her feet were bare, toenails polished crimson. She studied Graham through narrow eyes. “What is he doing here?” she asked.

  “Graham is only here to listen,” Emma said. She was prepared to argue for him if it came to that, but Valentina merely shrugged.

  She motioned for them to sit on one of the two leather sofas, then she half reclined on the other, feet tucked beneath her. “I suppose you want to talk about Bobby,” she said, without preamble.

  Emma took out her notebook and switched on the tape recorder. “Yes. What happened with Bobby?” she asked.

  “I agreed to do a favor for...for some friends. They wanted me to pick up a...a package in Newport and fly it to Colorado.”

  Graham leaned forward, as if to speak, but a look from Emma silenced him. Valentina fussed with the sleeves of her shirt, carefully unrolling and rerolling them, smoothing the crease. “What happened?” Emma prompted.

  “He didn’t want to do the job at first. He was afraid it might be illegal, since I asked him to keep it a secret.” She smiled. “I told him I was a famous Brazilian fashion model, and I was trying to avoid the paparazzi. He liked that.”

  “You were the woman someone heard arguing with him here at the airport,” Emma said. The other pilot had gotten the day wrong, but that was an easy mistake to make.

  “I suppose so. In the end, he agreed to do the job. He said he had a sick boy and needed the money. We flew to Newport the next day and everything was fine. I picked up the package and we started back here. But when we got ready to land, he became very nervous. He wanted to fly to the airport and land, instead of in the wilderness area. He was being silly.” She shook her head.

  “Did you shoot him?” Emma asked.

  Valentina smoothed her long fingers down her thighs, nails bright red against the dark blue denim. “It was an accident,” she said softly. “I pointed the gun at him to scare him, but he lunged toward me, as if to take it from me, and it went off.” She bit her bottom lip and shook her head, eyes glistening. “I didn’t mean for him to die. If he’d only done what he agreed to do, nothing would have happened.”

  “Did Richard Prentice have anything to do with your ‘package’?” Emma asked. “Was he helping you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about the package anymore,” she said.

  Emma and Graham exchanged glances. Maybe she could work the conversation back to the topic of the missile and Prentice later. “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “I called you because I heard you have been looking for Lauren Starling.”

  Emma’s heart raced at the mention of Lauren, but she tried to reign in her excitement. “Do you know Lauren?” she asked. “Have you seen her?”

  Valentina nodded. “We first met at the party at the embassy. She was...very sweet. Not all women are so kind to other women, especially when the other woman is younger and beautiful. She was different. She was a strong, American woman, but she was also very fragile.”

  “Fragile? In what way?”

  Valentina shook her head. “I can’t explain. She just looked...vulnerable.”

  “Have you seen her since the party?” Emma asked. “Do you know what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth, hesitating. Then she lifted her head and met Emma’s gaze, her expression calm and determined. “But you should ask Richard Prentice that question.”

  “Richard Prentice knows what happened to Lauren Starling?” Emma’s hand shook as she scribbled the words on her pad.

  “I can’t say more.” Valentina stood. “You must go now. My flight will leave soon.”

  “Wait, no! I—” Emma rose, also, but Valentina turned her back and hurried into a rear cabin, shutting the door firmly behind her.

  The two guards emerged from the shadows to escort them out of the plane once more. Graham looked as if he might resist, but Emma took his arm. “Come on. We’ve got everything we can here.”

  He waited until they were in the terminal before he spoke. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

  “I think she’s telling the truth,” Emma said. “About Bobby, anyway. I don’t think she meant to kill him.”

  “She wasn’t willing to incriminate Richard Prentice.”

  “He’s a powerful man. Maybe she’s afraid of him. Or maybe he’s innocent.”

  Graham grunted. “What about Lauren Starling?”

  “I think she’s the real reason Valentina wanted to speak with me. I think she wants to help Lauren.”

  “Are you going to talk to Prentice?”

  “I don’t know. It might be better to do some checking around first.”

  He put a hand on her arm. “Be careful.”

  She leaned into him. “I will. I’ve learned my lesson. Being independent doesn’t mean I have to do everything myself.”

  “What’s the next step?” he asked.

  “There are lots of next steps,” she said. “As soon as the insurance pays out, I have to buy a new car, and find another house.”

  His eyes searched hers. “What if I made you a better offer?”

  “I’m listening.”

  He took both her hands in his. “Do you think you could put up with a stubborn, overprotective law enforcement officer?”

  “You forgot grumpy and mistrustful of the press.”

  He nodded. “That, too. Though there’s one member of the press I’ve learned to trust with my life.” He squeezed her hands.

  She wet her suddenly dry lips. “What are you saying, Graham? I mean, do you want to keep living together or dating or...”

  “I want to marry you.” He slid his hands up her arms to grasp her shoulders. “No half measures. I love you. I’m asking if you love me enough to stick with me, for better or worse?”

  She wasn’t sure she remembered how to breathe, much less speak, but the words came out, anyway. “You won’t try to smother me or change me, even when I make mistakes, or do things that drive you crazy?”

  “I might try sometimes, but I won’t ever fool myself into thinking you’ll let my judgment trump yours. And I won’t try to change you. I love you exactly the way you are.”

  “And I love you—bossiness, grumpiness and all.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes, I love you. And yes, I’ll marry you.”

  He kissed her, then brushed his knuckle along the side of her mouth. “This is either the bravest, or the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” he said.

  “It’s the bes
t thing I’ve ever done,” she said. “You and I are going to make a great team. You just wait and see.”

  * * * * *

  Cindi Myers’s THE RANGER BRIGADE

  miniseries continues next month.

  You’ll find COLORADO BODYGUARD

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from LEVERAGE by Janie Crouch.

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  Leverage

  by Janie Crouch

  Chapter One

  Sometimes a man just wanted to be left alone.

  Dylan Branson didn’t think that was too much to ask. He’d served his country for years, both on American soil and off, and had the scars—both physical and emotional—to show for it. But that was behind him now. Far behind him.

  Not that you would know it from the voice talking at Dylan from the phone.

  Dylan held the phone out at arm’s length, staring at it as if it were a snake about to bite him. He’d rather be handling a snake. Seriously, give him a cottonmouth over what was at the other end of this phone line.

  It was Dennis Burgamy, Dylan’s boss when he worked at Omega Sector, a covert interagency task force. A crime-fighting, problem-solving, get-stuff-done unit, made up of the most elite agents the country had to offer. And Dylan had been one of the best of the best.