THE TROPHY WIFE

by Ginna Gray

  Another pickup blew by him, and Angelo growled and gripped the steering wheel tighter. "You ever heard of a turn signal, moron?" he hollered at the other driver. "Or a seat belt?"

  Angel was a careful driver. A very careful driver when he was on a job. The last thing he wanted was to draw the attention of a cop.

  One thing good he could say for Texas: it had fantastic-looking broads. Plenty of T and A, with legs up to here. And even they drove pickups!

  This traffic was insane. These freaking cowboys were maniacs behind the wheel. They were outta their freakin' damn minds, for crissake! Certified suicidal. All he wanted to do was take care of this business for the boss and get the hell back to New York.

  Following the onboard computer's directions, Angel maneuvered the jammed freeways and streets with extreme caution, finally turning into the covered driveway in front of his hotel.

  With a sigh of relief, he heaved his three-hundred-and-ten-pound, six-foot-four body out of the rental and gladly handed over the keys and a tip to the valet. Even though he didn't need their assistance, he tipped the bell captain and the bellman also, not too much and not too little. Either extreme and they would remember him if questioned by cops later.

  The garment bag he held slung over his shoulder by one crooked finger was his only luggage. He didn't plan to be here long.

  At the front desk the good-looking broad behind the counter said, "May I help you, sir?"

  "Yeah. I gotta reservation. Name is Petrie. John Petrie," he said, handing over the fake credit card and driver's license.

  The woman barely glanced at the ID, swiped the credit card and handed it and the license back to Angel. All the while he enjoyed the view down the front of her blouse.

  "How many days will you be staying with us, sir?"

  "I'm not sure. Keep it open-ended. I flew in to have Christmas with family, but if something comes up, I may have to leave on short notice. You know how business is."

  "No problem, Mr. Petrie. Here you are, sir," she said, handing him his copy of the paperwork. "You're in room 206. Is there anything else we can do for you?"

  "No." He started to turn away, then pretended to remember something. "I almost forgot. Do you have some packages for me?"

  "One moment, sir. I'll check."

  The woman went into the room behind the counter and reappeared moments later with five small boxes. The brown parcel paper had torn on one corner of the largest package, revealing cheery red foil Christmas wrapping underneath.

  "I'm so sorry about that," the desk clerk said. "But I don't think the package is harmed."

  "No problem," Angel said. "It's for my five-year-old niece. She'll have the whole thing ripped to shreds in minutes. That's why I had my gifts for my family sent here."

  She laughed. "Smart move. If there is anything else we can do for you, sir, let us know. Enjoy your stay."

  On the way to the elevator, Angel checked out the hotel restaurant and bar. It was only a little past six, and already a blonde with a surplus of cleavage sat at the bar. He might come back a little later and have a go at her, he thought.

  Inside his second-floor room, Angel turned the dead bolt, attached the chain and hung his garment bag in the dinky closet. Then he removed the brown parcel wrapping on the five packages and set the colorful Christmas boxes on the bed.

  Straightening, he smiled at the boxes and stretched and yawned.

  Damn, he felt creaky. And randy as hell. Stripping as he went, he walked into the bathroom and turned on the hot water.

  Twenty minutes later he came out of the steamy bathroom tying the sash on one of the hotel's terry-cloth robes.

  He thought about the blonde downstairs in the bar. She was tempting, but now that he'd cleared his head he decided that the fewer people who got a good look at him, the better. A cold smile curved his mouth. Besides, he could slake that hunger on the target.

  Tomorrow, maybe, if the weather cleared and luck was with him.

  Angelo picked up the room service menu and ordered a salad, a baked potato and a twelve-ounce medium-rare steak for dinner.

  An hour later, one hunger satisfied, Angelo rolled the dinner cart out into the hall, hung out the Do Not Disturb sign and locked and bolted the door.

  With Jay Leno giving his monologue on the TV, Angelo sat down on the bed and began to unwrap the boxes and remove their contents. Five minutes later he had his Glock put together. He held the gun up at arm's length, aimed toward the window and dry-fired. The solid click brought another cold smile to his mouth. Perfect.

  Angelo loaded the piece and slipped it beneath his pillow. Carefully, he gathered up and folded every scrap of the red foil wrapping paper and ribbons and stowed them in the bottom of his garment bag. The brown wrapping paper he stuffed into the trash can in the bathroom. After double-checking every window and lock, he turned off the TV and the lights, dropped the robe and lay down naked in the bed.

  Lacing his fingers together at the back of his head, for a few seconds he relished stretching out his full length, feeling his tense muscles relax, one by one.

  He stared up at the ceiling, studying the patterns made by the outside lights slanting in through the gap in the draperies. Tomorrow he would case the target's Houston home. From the information and the maps the client had given him, it was the best place to strike. The damned driveway at that godforsaken farm was a mile long and flanked by open fields. No way you could get from the road to the house without being seen.

  No. Definitely, he'd have a much better chance here in Houston. And the Houston place was a helluva lot closer to the airport. With luck, he could do the job and be on a plane on his way back to New York before anyone knew she was dead.

  Tomorrow he'd drive around, get the lay of the land, check out the comings and goings of the help and their employer.

  Angel pictured Elizabeth Stanton and smiled to himself in the darkness.

  Except for a few veiled barbs that Camille managed to slip by their aunt, the rest of the week was uneventful. On Tuesday morning Mimi left to keep an appointment in Houston and the day after that Max and Troy left to fly to Dallas.

  By the time Friday morning rolled around Elizabeth was fed up with listening to Camille fuss and goad and whine. Though her stomach was feeling decidedly queasy, she could not abide another day with her cousin. She kissed her aunt and her mother-in-law a quick goodbye, waved to her cousins and Martha and practically ran out the front door with Bar Code in her travel kennel.

  Normally Elizabeth would have left the kitten at Mimosa Landing, but she was afraid of what Camille might do to the poor animal while she was gone. At the very least, she wouldn't put it past her cousin to boot the kitten out into the cold before she got to the end of the drive.

  An hour later when Elizabeth lugged the carrier into the Houston house, Gladys's only comment was "If you keep lugging that animal back and forth with you she isn't ever going to know which place is home."

  "I know. But this is only temporary. I don't trust Camille not to take her and dump her somewhere if I'm not there."

  "Humph." The housekeeper put fresh litter into the box in the utility room, then let the kitten out of the cage.

  Elizabeth was primed with excitement, but before she could tell Gladys and Dooley her good news, Gladys demanded to know if she was sick. Sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and reading the newspaper, Dooley folded down one corner of his newspaper and looked at her over the top of his reading glasses.

  "No. Why do you ask?"

  "Someone from Dr. Wright's office called yesterday to confirm your appointment this afternoon. Isn't he your gynecologist? Did they find something on your last mammo or pap smear? Something you're not telling us?"

  "No. Of course not."

  "Then why are you seeing a gynecologist?"

  "Because Dr. Wright is also an obstetrician. I'm pregnant," Elizabeth said with a soft smile.

  Astonishment, then joy flashed across the couple's faces. "A baby!" Gladys cri
ed. "Oh, my goodness gracious! A baby!"

  The older woman surged forward and enveloped Elizabeth in a hug. The combined scents of coffee, fresh-baked bread and vanilla that always seemed to cling to Gladys filled Elizabeth's nostrils, reminding her of those times as a child when she'd skinned a knee or received a slight or was hurt in any way and Gladys would comfort her. Smiling, she hugged Gladys back.

  Gladys and Dooley had been yearning for grandchildren for years, but as of yet, neither of their sons had provided any.

  "Oh, child, I'm so happy for you," the housekeeper said, wiping her wet cheeks and eyes with her apron as she released Elizabeth. "This is so wonderful. Oh, Dooley, did you hear? There's gonna be a baby in this house again!"

  "Of course I heard her, woman. What do you think I am, deaf?" the crotchety old man snapped, but when he stood up and turned to Elizabeth, his face and tone softened.

  "Yes indeed, it is wonderful," Dooley said, every line in his weather-wrinkled old face creasing deeper with his grin. He pulled her to him in a clumsy but tender embrace. Returning the hug, Elizabeth smiled and lay her cheek against his chest. Dooley, as always, smelled of the outdoors.

  He released Elizabeth and shot his wife a look of exasperation. "Ever since that call yesterday, Gladys here has been driving herself and me and Miss Mimi crazy trying to figure out what could be wrong. It never occurred to us that you could be having a baby."

  He reached out again and took Elizabeth's hand, holding it between his callused and scarred ones. "We're real happy for you, Miss Elizabeth. Real happy. Why, it seems like only yesterday that your mama, God rest her soul, sat right here at this very table and told Gladys and me that she was expecting you.

  "We couldn't be happier about this child if you were our own daughter." Dooley paused, took off his glasses and knuckled his eyes as though they were tired, but both Elizabeth and Gladys saw the tears he'd tried to hide. He sniffed and snorted and added in a gruff voice, "Fact is, you've always seemed like our own daughter, anyway."

  "Thanks, Dooley. I love you, too," was all that Elizabeth could manage, her throat was so tight with emotion.

  "And speaking of babies, you'd better get a move on, girl, or you'll miss that appointment," Gladys ordered.

  "Eek. I didn't notice the time." Elizabeth jumped up and grabbed her bag and started toward the door. "No, Bar Code, you can't go this time." She picked up the kitten and handed it to Gladys, then took off.

  "And call Miss Mimi," the older woman added. "She said for you to call her as soon as you arrived."

  "Okay. I will."

  Elizabeth made the call as she drove out of the driveway. When her friend answered she put her on speaker phone so that she could drive with both hands.

  "Hi, sugar. So? Did you tell them?" Mimi demanded.

  "Yes, I told them. They're on top of the world, just like everyone at Mimosa Landing."

  "Thank goodness. Now I can quit fibbing to them. You have no idea how difficult it's been for me to pretend that I didn't know that you had an appointment with Dr. Wright or what was wrong. Poor old things. All day yesterday Gladys was wringing her hands and imagining the worst. I gotta tell you, sugar, I almost cracked under the pressure."

  Elizabeth laughed, and even to her own ears the sound was joyous, something she had not heard coming from herself in a very long time. Her euphoric laughter gentled into a warm, but no less deeply felt, happiness that filled her being. Emotions overflowed her heart, so exquisite they were almost pain. She splayed one hand over her flat tummy, awed by the miracle of it all.

  A window curtain on the third story of the house across the street from Elizabeth's home twitched open an inch.

  "Well, well, well," Angel murmured to himself. "Wouldya look who's here. Where you going now, pretty lady?"

  Through his binoculars, he'd watched Elizabeth arrive only minutes ago, lugging a kitten in a cage into the house with her. That was a good sign that she was staying for a day or so. Women tended to take their furry little creatures with them.

  Now, he observed, she practically skipped down the front steps, climbed into her car and zipped back down the long drive to the boulevard street in front of her property. There she stopped, turned on her left-turn signal and took off when it was clear to do so.

  "Good girl," Angel praised. He approved of careful driving.

  Lowering the binoculars, he decided it was safe to go somewhere and get a bite to eat and still get back here before his target returned.

  He'd been lucky finding this place. In a hoity-toity neighborhood like this owners did not do anything so crass as put out a For Sale sign, so he'd just looked for a telltale Realtor's key box. Picking one of those was a piece of cake. So was breaking into the garage, where he'd hid his car, just in case a nosy cop came snooping around. And disarming that ancient home-alarm system was kid's play. These people were just asking to be burglarized.

  He'd had a close call this morning, though, when a Realtor brought clients by to see the place. But Angel wasn't the best in the business for nothing. He knew his job. He never made a mess, never moved anything without returning it to its prior place. Nothing was amiss, no doors or windows were unlocked, the joke of an alarm system was on.

  Every item that he'd brought into this house stayed with him. Most people buying a house this pricy didn't bother to look at the garage, but if they did, ninety-nine out of a hundred would think the car belonged to the home owner. It was a simple matter to tuck himself away in the attic while the Realtor showed the couple around.

  It was early yet, only about a quarter till five, but Angel's stomach was still on New York time. He doubted that any Realtor would be showing the place at this hour. The utilities were off and it would be dark soon. Nevertheless, he policed the area to make certain he wasn't leaving anything to arouse suspicion.

  When done, he loped down the grand stairway at the front of the house and made his way through the gathering gloom to the kitchen and out the back. He'd been careful to back the car into the garage, in case he needed to make tracks fast.

  Lowering his bulk into the car's front seat, Angel sighed. He'd like to get a big Italian meal with all the trimmings, but he'd have to settle for fast food. He wanted to be back here watching when his target returned.

  * * *

  Eighteen

  « ^ »

  Was it possible to be this happy? Elizabeth wondered, almost six hours later, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She leaned in closer and patted moisturizer onto her clean face and smiled at her glowing reflection.

  Bar Code twined around her ankles, mewling pitifully, but Elizabeth didn't give in to the kitten's demand to be picked up. "Not now. Bar Code, I'm busy. But if you're good, just this one time, while Max is away, you can sleep in here with me."

  As though she understood the promise, the kitten jumped up on the marble surrounding the soaking tub and prowled impatiently back and forth, as though saying, "Well? What are you waiting for? Let's get on with it."

  Chuckling at the kitten's impudence, Elizabeth began to rummage through the plethora of little pots and potions and bottles that covered the top of her bathroom vanity when Bar Code made the strangest noise she'd ever heard come out of a cat. Looking down at the kitten, Elizabeth's eyes widened with astonishment. "What in the world?"

  Back arched, teeth bared, tail straight up and big as a bush, the kitten made a noise somewhere between a hiss and a growl, its wild-eyed gaze fixed on something in the bedroom behind them. Every hair on the creature's body stood straight out, as though she'd stuck her paw into an electrical socket. "Kitty, what—"

  Then, in the mirror, she saw it—a shift in the shadows behind her, a movement so subtle she almost missed it. Elizabeth's heart began to pound. The only light she'd left on in the other room was the lamp on her side of the bed. The room was full of shadows, she tried to tell herself even as she pretended to search for something on the vanity top.

  There it was again. That slow, stealthy mo
vement. Oh, God! The closer it came, the clearer the outline of a man emerged. An extremely large man who carried a short length of heavy cord, the ends wrapped around his hands.

  Oh, dear God! It was the man from New York! Panic and bile surged up inside Elizabeth. She had to get out of there. He was only a few yards from the bathroom door. Think. Think!

  Still pretending she hadn't seen him, as casually as possible, she fluffed her hair. With no warning, she spun away from the mirror, slammed the door shut and pressed down the old-fashioned lever lock. The man rammed into the door a mere second after the lock clicked into place.

  Then came an enraged sound and the big man's bulk hit the door again and again, but it held. All of the doors in this old house were solid wood, in this case solid mahogany, not those hollow-core, flimsy things that they put in houses these days.

  In a panic, barefoot and dressed in only a long black silk nightgown, Elizabeth ran through the connecting door into the closet. The kitten streaked past her in a flash of black and white.

  Elizabeth didn't dare turn on a light. He might see it under the door between the closet and her bedroom and know she was there. There were no locks on the closet doors.

  The ferocious banging and cursing continued. With each thud Elizabeth jumped and tried to stifle her need to scream.

  Feeling her way along the line of Max's suits, choking back the little sounds of desperation that clogged her throat, she finally located the door that led into Edward's old bedroom.

  She opened the door so fast she nearly fell into the unused room. Straining to listen for the man, she hurried across the bedroom and cracked open the door into the hall. The thudding and cursing instantly seemed louder. The only lights on were the dim sconces on the wall that followed the curving stairs.