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Madeline lifted her shoulders in a little shrug and eyed him warily as he leaned against the wall, cursing savagely under his breath. There was a frantic look now on his sharp-featured face. It told her why he had been reluctant to leave the stairs for the elevator. The deadly Angel suffered from claustrophobia. It was a situation that might be to her advantage, or prove even more dangerous for her. There was no way of knowing. She could only pray that, when help arrived, she could somehow make them aware of her plight.
They didn’t speak as the long minutes passed. She watched him become increasingly restless. Every few seconds, his movements jerky and impatient, he would attack the alarm button with his thumb or smack the other buttons in a futile effort to move the elevator. They could hear the bell ringing somewhere in the distance, but no one came. There was a sheen of perspiration on his face now. Madeline feared he was so panicked that he was nearing a stage of hyperventilation.
What would she do if he lost all control? What could she do, when she was trapped in an elevator with a wild animal who wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if she made the wrong move?
Madeline didn’t know whether to be worried or relieved when he finally ruptured the silence with a growled, “I’m not taking this anymore! I’m getting out!”
She followed his lifted gaze, understanding his intention. There was a panel in the low ceiling above them, covering a service hatch to the roof of the elevator.
“Floor above us can’t be more than a couple of feet higher than the top of the elevator,” he said. “If I can get up there, maybe I can force the door, climb out. Get over here and make a step for me with your hands.”
Madeline didn’t want to touch him, but she didn’t dare to refuse him. She joined him below the hatch where he had positioned himself. Leaning down, she braced herself as he placed his weight on the sling she created with her hands linked together. He shouldn’t have been too heavy for her, not when she was nearly as tall as he was and his body was emaciated. But with the satchel still firmly in his keeping, he felt like a boulder.
Steadying himself, with his fingers biting painfully into her shoulder, he rose to his full height and shoved the loose panel up out of its frame. The hatch was now open to the elevator shaft. She wished he would hurry. Her hands wobbled under the strain, especially when he stretched himself to gain a hold on the frame. Having succeeded, he was ready to swing himself through the opening. That’s when it happened. The elevator lurched without warning, dropping another several inches.
Madeline lost her footing, Angel his grip. With a yell, he plummeted to the floor of the car. The satchel swinging wildly from his shoulder cost him his balance. He went crashing into the steel wall.
When she’d recovered herself, she went over to check on him. He was huddled tightly in a corner, unconscious, blood seeping from a wound where his head had struck the wall.
Madeline crouched beside him. The aroma of his cologne was overpowering, sickening. Forget that. Find his gun.
Her hands were on his coat, ready to search him, when there was a clang of metal from the floor above. She recognized it as the sound of a door scraping open. It was followed by the familiar voice of the small-statured Korean man who was the super for the building, calling down to her.
“Who is there, please?”
Madeline got eagerly to her feet. “It’s me, Kim.”
“You okay, Miss Raeburn?”
“I’m fine. Just get me out.”
“Sure. I got a ladder. It’s coming down.”
By the time he managed to lower the ladder to her through the hatch, Madeline had the precious satchel back in her possession. With a last glance at the still-unconscious Angel, she swarmed up the ladder. The fifth floor, where Kim waited for her, was no more than three feet above the roof of the elevator. He reached down and helped her scramble to safety.
“You got anyone else down there, Miss Raeburn?”
“No, Kim, I was all alone on the elevator.”
He started to mutter about how the tenants would complain again about the car having to be shut down until the engineer came to fix it. Madeline didn’t stop to listen to him. She was already flying toward the stairs.
Nor did she permit her pace to slacken when she reached the street. She hurried down the hill, the clang of a cable car making her start nervously as she threaded her way through the evening crowds. From time to time she checked over her shoulder, fearing that Angel might be in pursuit again. Or, if not Angel, another enemy sent by Griff to find her. Nowhere in the city was safe for her.
The police? No, Madeline didn’t trust the police to protect her. Hadn’t she learned firsthand what happened to informers? Griff Matisse was too powerful, had too many friends in high places for her to risk staying here in San Francisco. Damn it, she was scared. All she wanted to do was to lose herself, go far away and hide.
You’re doing the right thing. They’re dead. You can’t help them now. Stay and testify? Don’t be a fool. He’d never let you survive long enough to mount a witness stand. You were planning to go away, anyway, weren’t you? That’s why you took all your money out of the bank, remember?
She wouldn’t let herself feel guilty because she was running away. She wouldn’t.
SCARS, THE RESIDUE of a severe adolescent acne, pitted his jaw. They were the only flaws on Griff Matisse’s handsome face. He permitted nothing else to mar his appearance, which was as immaculate as his tasteful office in the Phoenix on Powell Street. Nor was Matisse willing to tolerate any mistakes from those who served him.
“I’m not happy,” he coldly informed the man who stood on the other side of his desk. “I think I have every reason to be unhappy, don’t you?”
Angel, resisting the urge to finger the wound in his scalp, nodded slowly. For a moment the only sound in the office was the muted wail of a saxophone off in the elegant main room of the club.
“What are we going to do about making me happy again, Angel?”
“She’s disappeared,” Angel said in his hushed, raspy voice that was almost a whisper. “She could be anywhere.”
“But she’s somewhere, isn’t she? And wherever that is, and whatever it takes, I want her found and eliminated. We have all the right connections. Use them.”
Angel didn’t need to be persuaded. He had his own score to settle with Madeline Raeburn.
Chapter One
Rural Wisconsin
Madeline didn’t have a good feeling about this arrangement. Maybe the setting was responsible for that, at least partly. It wasn’t very encouraging, she decided, gazing out the passenger window of the car as it bumped up the long, rutted farm lane.
It was a bleak situation, the fields brown, the trees leafless. Even the spiky evergreens that studded the hills on all sides were a dull shade of green. Snow would have softened the scene, made it more palatable. But even though it was late December and only a few days before Christmas, the ground was bare, though the gray sky was certainly cold enough to warrant snow.
The burly man beside her at the wheel, hair grizzled, face lined, must have sensed her anxiety. “We’re doing the right thing,” he reassured her gently.
He had been particularly kind to her since yesterday. Understandable, considering he had come within millimeters of losing her to an assassin’s bullet.
Madeline nodded. “This man…you’re sure he’s safe?”
“I wouldn’t be taking you to him if I wasn’t.”
But Madeline continued to be uneasy. There was no one and nowhere she really trusted anymore, though this setting certainly seemed isolated enough to provide her with the protection that was so essential now. Funny that it should seem so remote when it was less than fifty miles from Milwaukee.
That feeling of loneliness was emphasized when they crawled around a bend and came in sight of the old farmhouse. The place had a look of neglect about it. It would have benefited from a fresh coat of paint. The outbuildings were in even sorrier condition, the roofs sagging, the walls weathered to a dismal gray. There was no sign of life.
“Animals,” Madeline said. “Where are the animals? Farms are supposed to have cows and chickens and horses, at least a dog or a cat.”
“This isn’t a working farm,” her companion replied. “The owners only use it in the summer on weekends and as a vacation retreat. But, of course, this winter it’s being rented to—” He broke off to negotiate a particularly rough stretch of the driveway.
Madeline silently finished the explanation for him. The man you’re being taken to. She was beginning to feel like a waif. Dumped for the holidays with whomever would take her. Not very cheerful holidays, either, she thought. She had just observed not only that the farm lacked animals, but that it was missing any evidence of the approaching Christmas. There was no welcoming wreath on the front door, no decorated tree mounted in the bay window. It was probably foolish of her to have expected them. Or, considering her perilous circumstances, to even yearn for them.
The car rolled to a stop at the edge of the front yard. The man at her side checked the lane behind them, making sure it was deserted. All the way out from Milwaukee, Madeline had watched him repeatedly glance in the rearview mirror to be certain they weren’t followed. Neil Stanek was that sort of cop—conscientious, thorough. And considerate.
He demonstrated that now by turning to her with a concerned “You all right?”
He feels guilty, Madeline thought. Blames himself for what happened, even though it wasn’t his fault.
“I’m fine,” she assured him. She wasn’t, of course, and they both knew that. But it helped to pretend otherwise.
“You’ll be okay, then, if I leave you here in the car for a few minutes?” he asked, releasing his seat belt and opening the door on his side. “Just long enough for me to explain all the particulars to him.”
Madeline was suddenly worried. “He is expecting me, isn’t he?”
“Oh, sure, sure, no problem there. And, like I said, he’s got all the right skills and instincts for this. You just sit tight. I’ll leave the motor running so you’ll have the heater. Keep the doors locked, and lay on that horn if you see or hear anything you don’t like. Not that you will. No one now but us knows where you are, and we’re going to keep it that way.”
Madeline had no choice but to accept his word. Setting the lock, he slid out of the car and slammed the door. She watched his stocky figure trudge up the ragged path to the porch. The front door opened as he neared the house. A man stepped out and stood there in the dimness of the porch, waiting for Neil. She couldn’t tell much about that figure at this distance, only that he was tall and lean. But there was another impression Madeline had. Maybe it was the way he stood there by the door, hands buried in his pockets in an attitude of detachment. As though he didn’t mind the desolation of this place. As if it suited him because he, too, was using its seclusion to hide himself. Or was it merely her imagination, which lately had been working overtime?
MITCH WAS IN NO MOOD for visitors. These days he preferred his own company, rotten though it was. After all, that’s why he had buried himself out here. He’d needed to get away from people—friends with their sympathy that had driven him crazy, his loving, well-meaning family offering a comfort he didn’t want. Even strangers, who were apt to be curious, troubled him. That’s why he’d resented the sound of a car arriving in the driveway, and why he had gone so unwillingly to the door.
Mitch had been relieved when his caller turned out to be Neil. He didn’t mind Neil, didn’t regard him as an intruder. The cop never asked questions to which, these days, Mitch had no answers. Never expected more of him than he was capable of being.
But Neil wasn’t alone this time. Mitch could see someone else waiting in the car. That’s why he hung back on the porch. All he could tell was that the figure was a woman, nothing else. Must be Neil’s daughter, he figured.
“That Faye with you?” Mitch asked when the cop joined him on the porch, adding a reluctant, “She doesn’t have to sit out there. Ask her to come in.”
“It’s not Faye,” Neil said, shaking Mitch’s hand.
Who else? Mitch wondered. Maybe that neighbor of Neil’s, the widow who was trying to be more than just friends with him. What was her name? Claire Something-or-other. But Neil wasn’t prepared to name his companion.
“How about we go inside,” he suggested, “before one of us turns blue out here?”
Mitch led the way into the big farm kitchen with its sparse country furnishings. “Coffee?”
Neil shook his head and opened his coat. But he didn’t remove it, and Mitch noticed that he stood near the window where he could keep an eye on the car in the driveway. Mitch was beginning to have an uncomfortable feeling about this unexpected visit.
“Something up?”
Neil replied by removing a business card from his pocket and slapping it down on the sturdy table, his action like a challenge. Mitch had only to glance at the prominent logo of a golden hawk to recognize it. And why shouldn’t he know it, since it was one of his own business cards?
The Hawke Detective Agency. That’s what it read. Neil’s silent message to him was very plain. This time his friend did expect something from him. Mitch was immediately resistant.
“Whatever it is,” he said firmly, “you can forget about it. I’m out of the business. Anyway, I don’t have a license to practice here in Wisconsin.”
“You don’t need a license for this. It’s a simple matter of protection. Your specialty, remember?”
Mitch laughed. It was a brittle laugh without a trace of humor. “Yeah? Like I protected Julie, huh?”
“You weren’t responsible for what happened to Julie. When are you going to stop beating yourself up over that?”
“I wasn’t there for her, Neil. I wasn’t there.”
“And that wasn’t your fault, either. All right, I know you’re hurting, but it’s been five months. Hell, Mitch, when a man starts feeling sorry for himself, it’s time to stop grieving.”
“What would you know about it?”
The angry words were out of Mitch’s mouth before he could stop them. Damn it, how could he have said something like that to Neil, of all people? Because, of course, Neil did know all about losing someone who mattered.
“Sorry,” Mitch mumbled.
“Forget it. Look, I wouldn’t ask, but there is no one else. No one I trust, anyway. I need you.”
He would have been justified in saying that Mitch owed him, but Neil would never do that. It wasn’t his way. Mitch would probably regret this, already did regret it, in fact, but how could he send Neil away without at least listening to him?
“Okay, who are we talking about? The woman out there in the car? Who is she?”
“A murder witness. A vital one. If we can keep her alive long enough for the accused to come to trial, we stand every chance of convicting the bastard for cold-bloodedly icing an undercover cop.”
“Why come to me, when you’ve got the whole Milwaukee police force to guard her?”
“That’s the problem.” Neil turned his head to check on the occupant of the car before continuing. “We did have her in a safe house, only it turns out it wasn’t so safe. She came close to swallowing a bullet last night. Guy got away. Probably a mob assassin. The bastard has some powerful connections. Anyway, they knew just where to find her.”
“Are you saying there’s an informer in the police ranks?”
“Looks like it. Now I’m afraid to trust her with any of our people.”
“So you’re in charge of her. Why you, Neil? This isn’t exactly your area.”
“Because I’m the one she came to when she finally decided to turn herself in.”
“Turned herself— Wait a minute, just how long ago did this cop killing take place?”
“Couple of months. She’s been on the run since then, too scared to do anything but hide.”
It occurred to Mitch that there was something decidedly wrong about this situation, a whole lot that didn’t make sense. It also occurred to him that the uncomfortable feeling he’d been experiencing over his friend’s visit was probably not just his imagination.
“Talk to me, Neil. Tell me exactly what this is all about. Like, for instance, why she happened to want you.”
Neil’s heavy shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I guess I’m the one she trusted. I guess because she thought I treated her fairly when I questioned her during another investigation last summer.”
Mitch stared at him, his suspicion growing stronger by the moment. “You weren’t with the Milwaukee department last summer. You were still on the San Francisco force.”
“That’s right.”
It was more than just discomfort Mitch was feeling now. It was something raw and wrenching deep inside him. “You didn’t phone me before you came out here,” he said, his voice accusing. “Why is that, Neil? Because you knew I’d hang up on you after you told me what you wanted?”
Neil, looking decidedly awkward now, gazed at him silently.
“Who is she, Neil?” Mitch demanded. “Who is it you’ve got out there in that car?”
And that was when Neil dropped his bombshell, the one Mitch had been expecting.
“Madeline Raeburn,” he said quietly.
Hearing the name was worse than anticipating it—a pain that tore at Mitch’s gut. He fought for self-control, strove to keep his voice level. “Take your witness and get out of here. Now, before I forget you’re supposed to be my friend.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here, and you’re going to listen to me.”
“And what am I going to hear, Neil? You telling me that I’ve got Madeline Raeburn all wrong? That she’s a decent, caring woman who is in no way to blame for Julie ending up in San Francisco Bay?”
“I don’t know what she is or isn’t. All I know is that she’s scared. She’d gotten as far away from San Francisco as her money could take her and was lying low somewhere in Indiana when she saw me on a newscast involving that Milwaukee Brewers case and learned I was in Milwaukee. That’s when she found the guts to come to me and agree to testify against Griff Matisse.”
