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This was as close to privacy as she was going to get for a while. She pulled out her cell phone and scrolled through the address book. She needed to sort through a few details.
She’d known her client, Marvin Dexter, her entire life. Honorary uncle and surrogate father since her dad’s death, when he’d approached her about tracking down Cabrini, she’d made an exception to her “no family” rule. It was the least she could do after all the ways Dex had helped over the years
And if that wasn’t enough motivation, her mother’s health insurance had gone up again. The extra money she earned for bringing in Cabrini would go a long way to help cover that bill.
She highlighted a number and punched “ok.”
Dex answered on the first ring, his cultured tones clear on the cellular connection.
“Hey, Dex. It’s me. I’ve got him.”
“Already?” The question followed a brief pause. “I hadn’t expected you to catch up with him so soon.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just that good. Which is why you hired me, right? Now that I’ve got him, do you want me to bring him down to your office?”
“No.” Another pause, longer this time, which was out of character for Dex. He was known in his political circles for his sharp intellect and quick responses. “I’m not ready to meet with Mr. Cabrini. There are still a few details I need to iron out.”
“What am I supposed to do with him in the meantime? I can’t very well keep him locked up in this room.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.”
The endearment triggered a tiny ache in her chest. She could hear the echo of her father’s voice in the phrase, even after almost twenty years.
“The situation is quite complicated,” Dex continued, “and everything needs to be right before we can proceed.”
“You didn’t tell me there was a timing issue.”
“I know, and I apologize for that omission. Nevertheless, it would be extremely awkward for me to take custody right now.”
“Awkward for you? I’m the one with a man in custody and no warrant. Can you at least help me out on that?”
“I don’t have anything to take to a judge. At least, not yet.”
“I’m skating a thin line here, Dex.” She paced the short distance from window to door and back. Working blind did not leave her with a good feeling. “Can you at least give me a clue as to what this is all about?”
“He’s been poking around in some old cases.” Dex paused, then added in a lowered tone, “Of your father’s and mine.”
Her throat tightened. “Why would he do that?” She pushed a swallow through the knot. “Do you think he knows something?”
“I really don’t want to say any more right now. I need more time. Do you think you could take him out of town for a while?”
“How long?”
“A few days, that’s all. You could use my cabin until it’s time to bring him back.”
Angel weighed the offer, comparing it to other obligations, trying to make this new scenario fit. “I’ll need to make a couple stops first, but I think I can work it out.”
“Good, good. I’ll leave a key with your mother—I assume one of your stops will be there before you leave?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. I’m about to leave my office for a few errands of my own. The key will be there when you arrive, along with some additional information.”
“Is there any chance you can get a warrant on him for something?”
“That simply isn’t a possibility at this time.” Dex’s sigh hinted at some annoyance. “Angel?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help in this matter. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Did he understand the risk she was taking for him?
“And you appreciate the need to keep this strictly confidential?”
“I am a professional.”
“I meant no insult. This is a delicate project, and you’re the only one I can trust to do it.”
“Sorry.” Angel reined in her momentary irritation. “It’s going to take me an hour or two to get things in order. I’ll stop at home last, before I leave town.” That should give Dex plenty of time to drop off the key.
“What are you going to do with Cabrini until you leave?”
“Good question. I’ll figure something out.”
“I have every confidence that you will, Angel. You’ve always impressed me with your resourcefulness. When I have everything lined up here, I’ll be in touch with you.”
“We’ll talk then.” Angel closed her cell phone and slid it into her front pocket. Dex wasn’t telling her everything, but he was family. She trusted him more than she trusted most. That entitled him to some leeway. She just wished he’d been a bit more forthcoming with information.
He hadn’t given her any more than what she already knew—that he wanted Cabrini brought in. There didn’t appear to be any legal charges against him, so it was more of a P.I. locate job.
Considering she had Cabrini in custody, in handcuffs, she could probably be charged with kidnapping. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d bent the rules to suit the situation. Still, the idea didn’t sit well. Comfort came from knowing such a charge would never occur to most of the lowlife types she dealt with.
But then, Frank Cabrini didn’t fit that stereotype. He was nothing like she’d expected. The rough exterior he presented was every bit a disguise, same as her faked accents and wigs.
His eyes reinforced the perception that he wasn’t what he appeared to be. Clear and steady, his gaze spoke of curiosity and intelligence. He had barely shifted his glance from her since he’d awakened.
Those damned blue eyes seemed to see into her soul. And that, more than anything, unsettled her.
She didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.
Frank tugged at the handcuff. He could probably work his way free, given enough time and a little ingenuity. Ingenuity he could handle, but the time factor was too big of an unknown. He didn’t like gambling when the odds were stacked against him.
In the hall, creaking floorboards betrayed the movements of his captor. The murmur of a one-sided conversation leaked through the thin wall. He caught a snatch that sounded a lot like, Do you think he knows something?
That finished any thoughts of attempting to escape—he wanted to know who the hell had ordered this bounty. He settled into a slightly more comfortable position and turned his attention to his captor.
First impressions didn’t yield much information. That, in itself, told him something. She was no rookie. She hadn’t let much slip, other than her accent. Even then, she’d run through so many variations, he couldn’t begin to guess what might be normal for her. Lacking that small bit of information prevented his figuring out her background, which could lead to more clues.
The fact that she had his real name could prove problematic. His assignment necessitated a cover story and false identity to work. He’d have to make sure he didn’t come in contact with anyone connected to his investigation.
Assuming she wasn’t somehow connected already. With no clues to her employer’s identity, he wouldn’t rule out that possibility.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. Waves of dizziness threatened to swamp him, and he hung onto the cool metal headboard, taking slow, deep breaths until his balance returned to normal.
Other than leaving him with a faint nausea, the drug seemed to have no lingering effect on his system. He stretched his arms and legs and did a couple of cautious squats. Everything seemed to be in working order, limited only by the very short leash of the handcuff around his wrist.
The door opened. His captor returned, and she was looking none too pleased. When she saw him standing, she pulled her gun from the back of her waistband. She didn’t point it at him, which seemed encouraging. She knew how to handle a gun and didn’t appear to be trigger happy, just cautious.
“Take your seat, please.”
Frank complied, sitting to face her, with both feet on the floor and his free hand on his thigh, palm up. His cuffed hand rested on the pillow, also palm up. He had no intention of doing anything that could be misinterpreted as a threatening gesture.
“What size pants do you wear?”
The question came from so far out in left field, he didn’t respond immediately. The information was hardly classified, and there seemed to be no reason not to share it. Then again, he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for her query.
“Mind if I ask why you want to know?”
“We’re going out of town for a few days, and I figure I better pick up some things to tide you over. You’re going to need clothes. No razor, but shampoo, toothbrush…” She continued, adding items to her list.
“Out of town” didn’t work for him. Not by a long shot. “It seems like a waste to buy new when we could just go over to my place and pack my own things.” If he could talk her into stopping at his place, he could get his hands on—
“Nice try, but neither one of us will be going anywhere near your room.”
Room, not apartment or house. She knew how he lived, if not where.
He nodded in understanding. She wasn’t going to risk being seen in the rooming house he’d called home for the past two months, with him or without him. “In that case, thirty-four waist, thirty-six inseam. If you’re getting jeans, Levi’s fit best. I prefer my shirts extra large, tall if you can get them. Otherwise, short-sleeved would be easiest.”
She stared at him, one eyebrow raised in disbelief.
“I prefer clothes that fit well.” He shrugged, not feeling particularly apologetic.
“I see. Anything else?”
“Yes.” A slow grin pulled up one side of his mouth. “Boxers.”
Soft color flooded up her neck, darkening her cheeks. Well, well. Now that was interesting.
“It’s going to take me a little while to gather everything together.” She crossed to the dresser, where a bottle of water and several plastic cups shared space with a battered television with rabbit-ear antennae. She turned on the TV, tuning it to the least static-filled station, and turned the volume to a reasonable level—loud enough to hear, not so loud that any possible neighbors would object.
“My assistant isn’t available to keep an eye on you while I’m gone. I can’t take any chances right now, so you’re going to have to take another sedative.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You really don’t have the option of whether or not to take it.” She pulled a small dopp kit from the top dresser drawer and opened it. “You can choose how. Either take it orally or I can give you a shot. My recommendation is go for the drink. I’ve never been very good with needles.”
“In that case, line ’em up, barkeep.” Orally also held the advantage of being able to regurgitate the sedative once she left.
She emptied two capsules into one of the glasses and filled it with water. So much for plan A. She handed the glass to him then stepped back and waited.
He eyed the mixture, sizing up the quantity of liquid. He could still do this—pretend to swallow, and once she left, spit it out. His system would probably absorb some of the sedative, but not enough to incapacitate him for long. He raised the glass in a mock salute and drained the contents.
“Mistah Cabrini, suh?” She was back to the southern accent. “You may as well go ahead and swallow for real. I won’t be leaving until the drug has taken effect.”
Ah, hell. He was beginning to hate that southern-belle act. He swallowed.
“Thank you. Now, why don’t you rest your weary head on that pillow and get comfortable. It won’t take but a few minutes for you to drift off.”
He stretched out on the mattress, tempted to fight the lethargy already beginning to weigh down his limbs, but knowing it would be futile. He folded both hands beneath his head, crossed his ankles and glared at her until he faded into oblivion.
Chapter 2
Angel tossed the bull’s-eye-spotted bags in the trunk of her car, glad to have that portion of her list out of the way. The credit gods had been merciful—most of the items she needed were on sale. Better still, these particular charges wouldn’t come due until well after she’d received payment for this job.
The car rattled as she slammed the trunk shut, and she gave the dented fender an affectionate pat as she rounded to the driver’s door. Old Rusty’s body had seen better days, but it served its purpose. Few would guess the dilapidated red shell hid a chassis-and-engine combo that could outrun just about anything on the road. The engine purred to life, and she pulled out of the parking lot.
It didn’t take long to reach her last stop, even with a detour through the drive-up ATM. The modest rambler, shaded by several old oak trees, sat back from the quiet street. Traffic cruising past Cedar Lake seldom came down these twisting streets, providing the illusion of seclusion in the middle of Minneapolis.
“Grampa Fred,” head of the Neighborhood Watch and honorary grandfather to every kid in a four-block radius, waved as she drove by his corner house. He provided the illusion of continuity and security.
The garage door opened with the touch of a button, and she backed into her space with practiced ease. She slipped through the connecting door into the kitchen and down the stairs to her basement office.
Shedding the wig and contact lenses, she transformed to her “normal” blue-eyed, sorta blond self before heading back to the kitchen. She crunched on baby carrots from the refrigerator as she sifted through the mail. Bills, junk mail, a couple of bank statements.
Not for the first time, she considered consolidating the money into one bank. But the mostly inactive savings account, inherited from her father, provided some emotional touchstone for her mother. That alone made the few extra pieces of paper a minor inconvenience.
“I thought I heard you come in.” Corie Anderson, her mother’s companion and caretaker, came around the corner from the dining room.
Angel turned and smiled. “Hi, Corie. How is she today?”
“Today was mostly a good day.”
“Mostly?”
“She spent much of her time reading a book.” Corie crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a diet pop. “We watched a movie. Then Mr. Dexter stopped by. He left an envelope for you—it’s on the front hall table.”
“Did he visit with Mom?”
Corie nodded, but a frown shadowed her face.
“What?” Angel prompted.
“She’s just been very moody lately. Mostly sad.”
Angel looked out the window over the sink. The grass needed mowing again. Already. Had it been a week? Probably longer. She shook her head and pulled back from the momentary escape. “I have to go out of town for a few days. As soon as I finish packing, I’ll come in and see if I can get her to talk some.”
“I wonder if it’s her medication.”
