by Cindy Stark
He stepped out the door and into the early evening light, grateful for the quiet Aspen streets. He put the phone back to his ear. "I'm good, man." Except for the annoying bandage on his arm. "How are you?"
"Great. Sounds like you're a celebrity now."
The side of the brick building scraped his shirt as he leaned against it. "Heard about that, did ya?" Milo knew a couple of national networks had run a brief report on the standoff during the early morning news shows, but he'd expected the story to fade after twenty-four hours without much notice.
"I did, and I have to say it couldn't have come at a better time."
He drew his brows together. "How so?"
Quinn chuckled. "I'm about to make your loss my gain. I need a favor. I need to place a witness under your protection."
"A witness?" The proposal surprised him. "You know I'm no longer a marshal, Quinn."
"Exactly why I need you. This particular witness has been compromised four times already, and I'm starting to suspect our organization has somehow been infiltrated. She's a high profile witness in the Trasatti trial, and I need to keep her safe for another four weeks."
"John Trasatti, the mobster?" He'd guess that pretty much anyone who'd turned on a TV during the past year had heard about the arrests of several members of the infamous crime family. It had been a sweet coup for the Chicago Police Department. "You think they have someone on the inside? That's hard to believe." The Marshal's Service prided itself on its flawless protection record.
"They want her pretty bad."
"Her?"
Another long silence crawled across the phone line. "The witness is Trasatti's daughter."
Milo whistled. "She's turned on her family? Wow. That had to take guts. She may never be able to show her face in public again."
"Yeah. She definitely has…uh…tenacity. Not to mention, her testimony is vital to bringing down several key players. Chicago PD has the granddaddy by the balls, but, with what she's giving them, the DA will be able to cripple the organization so badly, they'll never stand again."
Milo wondered if the girl knew exactly what she was getting herself into. She'd grown up with the mob, so she had to know they'd use whatever means necessary to seek her out and destroy her. The Trasatti organization was worth millions of dollars. Even if the grandfather sat rotting in jail, the rest would never go down without a fight.
"Okay, let's say I'll consider helping you. I still have a day job." Even though he was currently cooling his heels. "Also, the higher-ups are not going to be too keen on you using someone they now consider an outsider."
"Milo." Quinn used a cajoling tone. "These aren't things you need to worry about. You know me. I've already spoken with Sheriff Williams. He said you'll be down at least two weeks healing and waiting to be cleared for work again. Good ol' Bill also said he'd be more than happy to extend your time off if needed."
"Good ol' Bill? Since when have you been on first-name terms with my boss?"
Quinn chuckled. "Like I said, you know me, Milo. I need someone extremely discreet that could shoot the balls off a chipmunk from two hundred yards away, and you're that man."
It was Milo's turn to laugh. "Damn, you make me sound good."
"You are good, and I need you. What do you say? Can you meet me in Salt Lake to take custody of her?"
He sighed. "Why the hell not."
Back inside, he dropped a five on the bar for a tip. "I'm outta here," he told Scott. "Looks like I've found me some entertainment for a few days."
"Must have been a good phone call. What's up?"
"I'm headed to Vegas. An old friend is getting hitched, and he just invited me to attend." At least the old friend part was true, and if Scott and his other buddies expected him to be out of town, it would give him a chance to get this woman hidden before anyone started nosing around. "It sounded like a good excuse for a wild weekend, and it's not like I'm doing anything else." He glanced at his bandage. "Well, semi-wild weekend."
* * *
Milo woke with a start and automatically reached for the Glock he kept on the nightstand. He had his hand wrapped around the butt of the sidearm before he remembered he was in a hotel room on the outskirts of Salt Lake, and the noises that had woken him were from other guests. He'd honed his knee-jerk reaction from his days in the military, and sometimes when he wasn't quite coherent, his old training automatically kicked in.
He flopped back on the bed, hot and sweaty. The temperature had registered 95 degrees when he'd driven into town late yesterday afternoon, and it hadn't cooled one bit.
He glanced at the clock. Five minutes to six. Quinn and the woman would be touching down in another hour. If he got up now, he'd have time to gas up, grab some snacks for the way home, and eat a decent breakfast before he was supposed to meet them.
As he showered and dressed, he couldn't shake the strong feeling that agreeing to help had been a mistake. Sure, he and Quinn were friends, but he'd left the Marshal's Service because he didn't want that kind of stress and pressure in his life. Now here he was, right back in the thick of things. Maybe, deep down, he really hadn't shaken that underlying need to make up for what had happened three years ago.
Sixty minutes later, Milo pulled into a secluded neighborhood park in a suburb of Salt Lake, not surprised to find it deserted except for a man and a woman. He recognized Quinn immediately. Brown hair, muscular build. He sat on a shady bench facing away from Milo. Next to him was a woman wearing a white ball cap, her dark ponytail sticking out the hole in the back of her hat.
Milo exited his truck, a hot wind blowing in his face. Quinn caught his eye before he had taken two steps toward them. Always the alert one. That's part of what made his friend so good at his job.
As Milo drew closer, he could hear the woman speaking.
"…ridiculous. I don't understand why I can't stay here close to the city. This place is out of the way. No one will find me here. And it's not so far from civilization that I feel like I might suffocate."
"You know the mob is everywhere, Ariana. Your family might not have direct connections with anyone here, but word gets out."
Milo paused a few feet from their bench to allow them to finish their conversation before he interrupted.
Ariana slumped her shoulders. "I'm so tired of this game. Why can't I testify now, give a deposition or something and be done with it? If I'd have known what this entailed and how drawn out it would be, I might have made a different decision."
If first impressions were correct, it appeared Milo might have a spoiled diva on his hands. If so, he'd be giving Quinn hell later for not mentioning that part of the deal.
"You made the right choice. You only have to tough it out for one more month."
"This isn't right. It seems I'm being incarcerated along with my father. When this is over, I expect you to send me somewhere warm and tropical. Hawaii. San Juan. Somewhere far away that has a pulse, with perhaps a library and a university nearby. These nowhere towns are stifling."
Milo took a step forward, but stopped when she continued speaking.
"I don't understand why you think this small town cop can protect me better than anyone else has. You haven't been able to keep me off the radar so far. How is some backwoods deputy going to be a match against the Trasatti men?"
Quinn cleared his throat and looked over his shoulder at Milo. "Ariana Trasatti, I'd like you to meet Milo Sykes. Milo, this is Miss Trasatti."
The smart-ass remark Milo had poised on the tip of his tongue evaporated when the woman turned. The unusual color of her eyes fell somewhere between green and blue and completely captivated him. She blinked a couple of times, her long lashes fluttering as her mouth turned downward into a frown. She tossed a nasty look at Quinn. "You knew he was behind me, didn't you?"
CHAPTER TWO
Quinn had been a constant thorn in Ariana's side from the moment he'd been assigned to her case. Of course she was grateful he'd done his best to keep her safe, and yes, she wasn't the easi
est person to protect, but it was the snarky little things he did like letting her make an ass out of herself in front of Deputy Sykes that got under her skin. He obviously enjoyed one-upping her every chance he got. That was fine. Anything that challenged her these days was a godsend.
The small-town deputy certainly was not what she'd expected. She'd pictured him older, maybe overweight, with definitely a lazy expression on his face, not this blond Viking god with eyes the color of the Mediterranean Sea. If he wasn't wearing cowboy boots, she'd wonder if he was a mirage she'd conjured from spending too much time in the heat.
Ariana stood, tilting her head upward to meet his gaze as she extended her hand. "Deputy Sykes."
He smiled and grasped her hand, his eyes twinkling. Confidence radiated from his self-assured stance, and he didn't seem insulted at all by her unflattering remark. In fact, he seemed somewhat entertained by it.
"Miss Trasatti." The firmness of his grip along with the intelligence in his startlingly blue eyes set her on edge.
Quinn stood and shook Milo's hand as well. "Good to see you, buddy. You're looking fit. Except that little band-aid on your arm."
Indeed, he was. Ariana took advantage of their focus on each other to give the deputy a closer inspection. She wondered about the white bandage circling his arm, but said nothing.
The curve of Milo's grin showed obvious affection for his friend. "I could say the same. Life seems to be treating you well. Settled down yet?"
The dark-haired marshal shook his head, giving his friend a half-cocked smile. "Never. I've managed to elude that distraction this long. I think I'm safe."
Milo's brows shot upward. "Yeah, but you're so afraid of falling in love that you avoid the ladies. Think of all the fun you're missing." His gaze slid to Ariana's. They connected for the briefest of seconds, but it had been long enough to stir her blood and send her mind wandering.
She wanted to ask him if his look had been a warning or an invitation. Perhaps the look had been an unconscious view into his thoughts. Or maybe it had been nothing more than a coincidence that he'd glanced at her the moment he'd uttered those words.
It was also possible that utter boredom might have short-circuited her brain, causing her to imagine sexual encounters with the handsome deputy.
"How about you, Milo? I don't see a ring on your finger." Quinn threw the challenge back in his friend's face.
"Too busy having fun." Again, he looked at her.
"What?" She couldn't let the glance go unanswered this time. "Why do you keep looking at me?"
Milo kept his face expressionless as he studied her. Not a lifted brow, smile or frown to give away what he was thinking. "I'm just wondering how much trouble you're going to cause me with the ladies if I take you home...to keep you hidden, that is."
Again with the sexual innuendos. Both he and Quinn regarded her with interested looks. "I'll try to stay out of your way. Wouldn't want to damage that ladies' man reputation you seem so fond of."
Both of the men had the sense to appear chastised.
The smile dropped from Milo's face. "I apologize, Miss Trasatti. That remark was out of line. This is a business meeting. I'll try to remember that."
Quinn agreed. "I'm sorry, too. I've been around you enough I guess I got too comfortable, and I shouldn't have." He nodded at Milo. "And this guy has the tendency to bring out the worst in me." They exchanged quick grins.
Their apologies took her by surprise. She hadn't had her feelings recognized or valued by a man her entire life. The men in her family received respect. The women were there solely to serve and to please...at least while the men were around.
Since her first boyfriend, Danny, had been murdered eight years ago just after her sixteenth birthday, she'd spent very little of her social time around men. Her separation from boys during the first couple of years had been forced. Her father would not tolerate anyone of the male species touching his daughter again. After that, she'd avoided male relationships, partly out of fear of her father, and partly because she couldn't bear to lose someone else she loved.
She blinked, trying to process her emotions in a rational way. "No harm done." She took hold of her suitcase that rested next to the park bench. The nondescript black fabric bag contained everything she could now claim in her life. "Which way is your car?" The sooner this month ended, the better.
"Would you like me to get that for you?" Quinn asked.
"I can manage."
Milo took the suitcase from her hand, giving her a second surprise that morning. "Sorry, but my momma taught me how to treat a lady." He headed off toward the parking lot, acting as though her suitcase weighed nothing.
Ariana glanced at Quinn. He smiled and shrugged. "Milo will take good care of you. I promise. I feel safer leaving you with him than with anyone else in the world. He's a good man. Don't forget to keep your head down. Remember the rules."
She wanted to give him a snarky "yes, sir", but she knew he had her best interests at heart. "I will."
"One month, okay? You can do this."
For a quick moment, she wanted to cry. She wasn't sure what had brought on that unwanted emotion, but she didn't like it. She'd been taught from day one weakness would not be tolerated. Not from a Trasatti.
She pulled her sunglasses from her purse and slipped them on, using the opportunity to also don her mask of indifference. "You know me, Quinn. I'll survive."
"I know you will." He gave her hand a squeeze as they walked toward Milo's truck.
Milo opened the passenger door as she approached, and her nerves clutched her stomach, leaving her feeling sick.
"Your carriage, milady." Milo offered a gallant gesture indicating she should enter. She climbed into the vehicle that would whisk her away to the next unknown segment of her life.
"I won't be in constant contact like I've been before." Quinn told her. "I want it to appear as if you've vanished. This may be the only way to keep you safe." He tucked a small cell phone into her hand. "This can't be traced to either of us. Use it only in an emergency." His usual confident expression gave way to worry as he leaned in and hugged her.
"Okay." She worked to keep her voice steady. "Thanks for everything, Quinn. I appreciate it." Guilt soaked into her thoughts, making her wish she hadn't made his life harder than it had to be. He really had done his best protecting her.
He softly punched her arm. "See you in a month. Until then, I'll start working on that permanent exotic locale you've been requesting."
She blew out a breath weighted with anxiety. "Deal."
If only she could call her best friend and vent about her messed up life. One tiny call. Five minutes speaking with Kenzie could possibly save her sanity. Too many disturbing scenarios continually flooded her brain, and she couldn't help wondering about what had transpired back home after she'd agreed to work with the police. If she could just get a little news from Kenzie, she'd be able to relax. But phone calls, contact of any kind was strictly forbidden. Quinn had drilled that mantra into her head a thousand times over.
* * *
Searing acid burned Manny Mincione's stomach as he made his way into the visiting room of the Cook County Jail. The air in the old building smelled like petrified urine, like it was never circulated. Like it was doing time with the rest of the inmates.
The feel of the whole building gave him the creeps. It was cursed. From what he'd heard, there weren't many guys who'd entered that left as whole as the day they'd came in. It wasn't like the juvie hall or local holding cells where he'd burned a fair amount of time. Hell, those had given him some valuable networking opportunities. Not this place. This place was purgatory as far as he was concerned.
John Trasatti had now spent eleven months residing in said hell. This was the first time his boss had summoned him. Half of Manny was insulted the mob boss didn't ask for him sooner. But the other half, the smart half, knew what would happen if he couldn't get the job done.
With his heart sloshing in sickening thumps, Manny
slid into the visitor's chair. A few minutes later, the devil planted himself on the other side of the filthy glass. The prison garb that replaced Mr. Trasatti's fancy, fine suits only made him look more ruthless.
Manny picked up the phone. "Hey boss." He tried to sound cheerful as though they were meeting in a park on a Sunday afternoon to talk football or something.
Trasatti's face remained stone cold. Still as a dead man's. His glittering black eyes bored into Manny's as though he could rip out his soul through his sockets. "Words cannot express how disappointed I am, Manny."
Manny glanced at his hands, clasping his scar-encrusted fingers together to keep him from shaking. "I know, boss."
"Were my expectations unclear?"
"No, boss." Poor Sal and Johnnie Boy had known what was at stake.
"You're different, though. Right, Manny? I've treated you like family. Let you close to my own family."
"I know, Mr. Trasatti, sir. I appreciate the opportunities you've given me." It was true. He'd been counted as a family member on more than one occasion. Practically grew up with Paulie and had reported on Ariana through the years until she turned traitor. She'd never seemed that dense, but she had to know she couldn't be allowed to live. Not after what she'd done. Rules were the only things that kept their world operating in a civilized manner.
He dared a glance into the death-filled eyes. "I'm going to fix this for you, boss. I am."
"You are aware of the consequences."
Manny swallowed and nodded. From this point forward, it was him or Ariana, and as pretty as Miss Trasatti was, she didn't deserve life more than he did. "I'll handle things, boss. Don't you worry."
* * *
Milo didn't quite know what to make of his charge. As they entered another pine-filled canyon on their way to Aspen, he glanced at Ariana. She'd checked out over two hours ago, her head resting against the seat, her mouth slightly parted. It appeared she preferred to sleep than to converse with him in the confined vehicle.
The next four weeks should prove interesting. The Trasatti organization's case had intrigued him from the moment the story had broken. Long-lost evidence had surfaced after many years. Evidence that took out the head of the family. That had been the first chink in the Trasatti's armor. It couldn't be as painful as this crack, though. For many mobsters, family was everything. To have one turn traitor was an unforgivable sin. It was no wonder they'd relentlessly tried to track her.