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“It’ll be okay,” she said, trying to draw her hand from his tight grasp.
Del held fast. There was no withdrawing her hand from his, not unless he wanted her to. “Baby,” he growled, “nothing is okay.”
Chapter 2
Vic hadn’t looked him in the eye since they’d left the warehouse parking lot, and the only words she’d spoken had been lifeless directions to her South Huntsville home. He’d bandaged her hand quickly, using the first-aid kit he always had in the trunk, while Shock had checked the Jag inside and out for nasty explosive devices. Shock had found nothing, and they’d gotten out of there while the fire raged. They were gone long before the volunteer fire department could arrive.
Del steered the Jag in and out of shaded portions of the street, driving slowly since there were kids everywhere. They played ball, rode bikes, attempted tricks on skateboards and in-line skates. It was a nice neighborhood. The homes were nothing like the antebellum house in Old Town where Vic had grown up, but nice just the same.
“Here,” she said, pointing to an empty driveway. Del turned sharply and came to an abrupt stop before a midsize, middle-class Colonial home. Two stories, neatly landscaped, nothing special that might reach out and grab a person. It was just…a house.
“Thanks,” Vic said as she opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car. Still, she didn’t look directly at him.
Del cursed beneath his breath. She’d survived the crisis and now she was falling apart. Women did that, or so he’d been told.
He left the car and headed for Vic’s slow-moving form, tempted to put his arm around her as he had when they’d run from the warehouse. She looked like she needed the support, but he didn’t touch her. He stayed close, though, just in case.
She stepped onto the porch and reached out to touch the doorknob. The door easily swung open. Finally, she looked up at him. “They didn’t lock the door.” From the tone of her voice, it was clear she found this the most egregious of the Mayrons’ sins.
“Should anyone be here?”
Vic shook her head.
Del drew the Colt pistol Shock had pressed upon him before they left the warehouse, taking care that the weapon was not visible to anyone passing on the street. “Stay here,” he said softly as he left Vic waiting on the front porch.
His search of the house was quick, efficient and productive in an unexpected way. No one was waiting for Vic’s return. Tripp and Holly, who were not the most brilliant of the criminals he’d run across in his career, had been sloppily confident that there was nothing wrong with their plan. They actually thought that Del would take their warning that they would know if he told anyone where he was going seriously.
After talking to Holly and hearing Vic say her name and then cry out, Del had written a quick note and slipped it to Shock quietly, in case the caller had been telling the truth and he was being watched. He’d suspected all along that threat was false; he knew the other agents in the office too well to suspect that they’d be involved in anything like this. But he couldn’t take the chance that he was right about them all. Not with Vic’s life at stake.
The quick check of her neat home revealed something interesting. The men’s shirt she wore was the only piece of men’s clothing in the house. There was no electric razor in the bathroom, no men’s shoes in the closet…nothing. This was a woman’s house, pure and simple, put together with an easy blending of soft colors and comfortable furniture. The only exception was the daughter’s bedroom, which was decorated in purple and black and adorned with slick posters of bands Del had never heard of. From the looks of the guys in the posters, they weren’t exactly into easy listening.
“All clear,” he said, placing the pistol at his spine as he opened the front door and reached out a hand to assist Vic over the threshold.
She nodded her head, obviously relieved, and stepped inside, releasing his hand as she walked through the foyer. Unconsciously, he was sure, her fingertips trailed across the palm of his hand. “Thanks. Should I…do anything? Call the police?” She turned slowly and tilted her head back, looking him squarely and bravely in the eye. “I won’t,” she said. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
He knew how this looked, what she was thinking. With a few words he could set her straight. He said nothing, telling himself it no longer mattered what Vic thought.
“I’ll handle it,” he said, his voice low.
She just nodded. “Thanks for the ride.” It was a neat, almost polite dismissal.
“Coffee,” Del said, brushing past her. “And I need to use your phone.”
“There’s a café on the corner and they have great coffee,” she said quickly. “And they have a phone, too. I think,” she added in a softer voice.
Del turned before he reached the short hallway that led to the kitchen. “Trying to get rid of me?”
Vic nodded.
“I can’t leave you here alone.” Del leaned his shoulder against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, relaxing outside even as tension coiled inside him. Vic had been less than forthcoming. “I thought maybe I’d wait around until your husband gets home. Is he at work? You can give him a call and…”
“That’s not necessary,” she said, her voice low and quick, her eyes darting away from him. At least she had the good manners to look a little guilty as she lied.
“What’s his name?” Del asked.
“Preston,” Vic whispered. “Preston Lowell.”
“And when will he be home?” How many chances was he going to give her to tell him the truth?
Her face went pale, once again. Her usually luscious lips thinned and tightened. “We’re divorced,” she finally admitted. “He lives in North Carolina.”
Del smiled. “You forgot to mention that earlier.” He turned and headed for the kitchen. “Pack a bag,” he said as he walked away. “We’re getting out of here.”
He heard Vic’s footsteps behind him, the pad of her tennis shoes soft on the tile floor. “No. That’s not necessary. The bomb blew up, surely those two will think we’re dead. Right?” That last word was tinged with hope.
“For a couple of days,” Del answered. “Eventually they’ll wonder why there’s no mention of the bodies on the news, and they’ll do a little digging. Won’t take them long to find out the building was empty when it blew. You’re not safe here.”
He expected Vic to argue, but his declaration was met with dead silence.
He found the coffee and filters in the most logical place—in the cabinet above the coffeemaker. While Vic watched, he measured out the grounds and got the brew going. When he turned around, he found Vic staring at him so hard he could feel it.
“Why me?” she asked. “I haven’t seen you for sixteen years. It doesn’t make sense that they would kidnap me to get to you.”
He’d had the same thought. Why her? True, the assignment to Birmingham, Alabama, put them in the same geographical area, but still…there had been other women in his life. Women who’d lasted more than a month. But then, Vic hadn’t been a woman sixteen years ago, she’d been a little girl playing with womanly things.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I’m going to find out.”
She nodded her head and looked away from him.
“How’s the hand?”
She wiggled the tightly bandaged fingers. “Fine.”
An awkward silence filled the air of Vic’s homey, bright kitchen. The coffeemaker gurgled, and outside a bird chirped. The light that broke through the wide window at the breakfast nook bathed Vic in a way that made her look golden, more beautiful than she really was, surely. Del tried to tell himself that he no longer cared for her, that she didn’t grab him somewhere deep inside and hold on.
“They’re going to come back, aren’t they?” Her voice was breathless with fear.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. And they won’t be back tonight, that’s certain. They want to be far, far away when you come up missing or dead. If they decided to come back and swipe your TV or rifle through your jewelry box like common thieves, someone might see them in the area. It’s not a chance they’ll take. You need to get out of here, though, because when they find out you’re not dead they’ll be back. Like I said, we have a little time.”
She nodded. “Noelle’s not supposed to be back for four days.”
“We don’t have that much time. Should we go to Gulf Shores and pick her up?”
Vic’s eyes were condemning, sharp and no longer afraid. “We? No. I’ll go get her myself.”
Del shook his head. “I can’t let you do that.” Dammit, there was no way he’d leave Vic to handle this on her own. He couldn’t.
“Let me?” Vic snapped.
Her defiance was almost amusing. Almost. “You have no idea what you’re up against. I can’t just let you run out of here on your own.”
“What are you going to do, tag along?”
Del sighed, not at all happy with this turn of events. “Yeah.”
Del refused to leave, even when Vic reached the end of her rope and threatened to call the police. He said one night in the house would be all right. The television news had covered the explosion of the abandoned warehouse off of I-65, and while they hadn’t reported anything about discovering bodies inside, there hadn’t been much information at all. The fire had still been too hot for investigators to explore the building.
Maybe right now the kidnappers thought she and Del were dead. That incorrect assumption would not last long.
So come tomorrow morning, she and Del were headed for Gulf Shores to collect Noelle. Then what? Oh, it was not a good idea for those two to be together, not even for a short time. Noelle had Del’s black hair, his blue eyes, his way of finding and embracing trouble. Would he take one look at her and know?
Del finished making his phone calls in the kitchen and walked into the living room where Vic was curled up on the couch. She couldn’t help herself…she was taken aback by how beautiful he was, how unexpectedly tempting. Talk about trouble! Del Wilder was a criminal who had come back into her life with a bang. Literally. He couldn’t stay, and she couldn’t let herself be tempted by what she couldn’t have.
“I’ll hire someone to go with me,” she said, not sounding as confident as she wanted to. “A private investigator, maybe, someone who specializes in personal protection.”
“Still trying to get rid of me?”
“Yes.”
He ignored her, smiled and walked to the mantel where a collection of photographs were carefully placed. Vic’s heart almost stopped when he reached out and grabbed an eight-by-ten of Noelle at the age of nine. She’d been taking dance lessons then, and was wearing a ladybug outfit, complete with wings and antennae. Vic’s heart thudded too hard. What if he looked at Noelle and saw the truth?
“Pretty girl,” he said, smiling as he returned the framed photo to its place.
“Yes, she is.”
“So,” Del said, turning to face her. “What happened with Presley?”
“Preston,” she said tersely. “And what happened to my marriage is none of your business.”
“Just curious. Trying to kill a little time.” He shoved his hands in his pocket, the move making him look like a large, tense, restless boy. “Shock will come by in the morning and drop off a bag. I’d like to get out of here pretty early. By ten, anyway.”
“Del…”
“And don’t tell me I’m not going with you,” he interrupted. “You need me, Vic.”
Those were the last words she wanted to hear! “I do not need you.”
She didn’t need anyone to look out for her or Noelle. The only men who had ever tried to shelter and protect her had ended up betraying her, in one way or another. Her father; Preston. Even Del. These days Vic looked out for herself and her daughter. She didn’t need a man to play the hero.
“At least let me see you settled somewhere safe,” Del said, obviously trying to placate her. “I know of a few good places to hide.”
“I’m sure you do.”
Del grinned at her blatant insult. “You got tough while I was gone.”
He couldn’t possibly know what a nerve he’d touched on. “I didn’t have any choice.”
Shock was right on time, for a change, and he came bearing everything Del had asked for. Clothes, ammo, an extra pistol. And a file on Vic and her ex-husband.
Del enjoyed his morning ritual, coffee and a cigarette, and flipped through the file. There wasn’t much.
“Any luck finding Tripp and Holly?”
Shock shook his head. “No, man, they’re staying clear of their regular haunts. They’ll turn up sooner or later. They always do.”
Up until now, the Mayrons had been a minor annoyance, two pesky flies in the ointment. They hadn’t been this determined, violent or organized before. Besides, Tripp Mayron was a major screwup.
“And the other?”
“Most of the good stuff is up here,” Shock said, tapping a fingertip against his temple. “I made a few phone calls last night and dug up the real dirt.”
Del looked down at a photo of Vic, an impersonal and unflattering driver’s license picture. And still, she looked good. “Let’s hear it.”
“Six years ago Preston Lowell, who works for Vic’s old man, was caught with his pants down. Literally. Not a pretty sight, from what I hear. The guy’s apparently got a really tiny little…”
“Shock,” Del growled in warning.
“Old man Archard, his secretary and a new client walked into Preston’s office after hours to get some papers or something, and found naughty Lowell and his new secretary…dictating, right there on the desk.” Shock waggled his eyebrows. “Vic kicked him out and he got transferred to the Raleigh office, a demotion from what I hear. Vic had already been selling some paintings, but once she was on her own she really threw herself into the business. Now she releases several prints a year and makes a decent living doing it.”
Del stared at the grainy photograph. He wasn’t sorry that Vic was currently unattached, but he was incensed that any man would treat her that way. She deserved better.
“By the way, this is the Vic, right?” Shock’s long, thin fingers danced over his heart.
“Shut up, Albert,” Del muttered.
Shock clapped a hand over his heart. “Man, I do you a favor and you call me Albert. What’s gotten into you?”
Del lifted his eyes slowly. “Anything else?”
“Only that no one at Archard Enterprises likes Preston much, and that he’d been fooling around for years. Everybody knew, probably even Vic. Once the old man caught him, though, that was his ass.”
“But he was demoted, not fired?” Del shook his head. “The old man should have kicked his butt and then run him out of town on a rail, but instead he transfers him to Raleigh?”
Shock just grunted, in a familiar kind of acknowledgment.
Del took a long drag on his cigarette. “Okay, the old man is screwed up. I already knew that. But if Lowell had been fooling around for years…why would Vic put up with that?”
“Why don’t you just ask me?”
He and Shock both turned their heads toward the kitchen doorway to find an irate Vic standing there, her hair curling wildly, her thick white robe cinched tight. She stepped toward Del and he tried to close the file. Too late. She saw her own picture.
“Vic, baby…” he began.
“Don’t you Vic, baby me,” she snapped, reaching out and taking the cigarette from his fingers, tossing it into his coffee cup. “And don’t smoke in my house!”
Del glanced down at what was left of his cigarette floating in what was left of his coffee. What a waste. “Like it or not, you’re as much a part of this as I am.”
“Yeah, right.” She crossed her arms over her chest. There was fire in her eyes, color in her cheeks and pink nail polish on her toes. What a woman. “I’m an artist. No matter how unhappy someone might be with a painting I do, they don’t try to blow me up!”
