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“It was a gift.” Her eyes clouded. “From my sister.”
“You shouldn’t leave expensive jewelry like this lying around. Take that pin you’re wearing. If those are real diamonds, it should go into a safe place at night.”
Her hand lifted to the sparkling piece. He moved closer, as if to examine the design.
“What is it, a unicorn?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in the legend, Ms. Smith?”
“About those who drink out of its horn being protected from poison or epilepsy?”
“I didn’t know that one.”
She tipped her head to the side, studying him with the same intent scrutiny he gave her. “Which legend are you talking about, then?”
Her hair danced on her shoulder like dark flame. Marsh pulled his gaze from the shimmering curtain. “I seem to remember reading somewhere that only a virgin could capture and tame a unicorn.”
Actually, he remembered exactly where he’d read that bit of nonsense—on the sales brochure the jewelry-store clerk had provided the police.
Her head dipped in acknowledgment. “True. That was supposed to symbolize the triumph of spiritual love over the ferocity of the beast. Too bad it’s only a myth,” she added, with a twist to her mouth that didn’t quite make it to a smile.
Obviously Ms. Smith didn’t believe in the power or permanency of love. That certainly fit her profile. In the past eighteen months, she’d taken up with a tattooed motorcycle jock and a drummer in a country western band before latching on to Jannisek—an association that might just get her killed.
Carefully, Marsh repositioned the bracelet on the nightstand. “If the man who broke through the glass wasn’t after jewelry…”
“Or some pervert after underwear,” she interjected coolly.
“…then I’d say we were right the first time. It was you he was waiting for—you he wanted.”
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. Marsh refused to follow the movement of that raspberry-tinted mouth. Refused to let her nervousness sway him.
“Why did he wait outside?” she questioned, thinking back. “The front door was open when I got here. He could have walked inside.”
“Maybe he did. Maybe he searched the place, saw you weren’t here, and was on his way out again when the cab pulled up.”
And maybe he wanted to scare you enough to make sure you reacted the way you did. Reminding himself yet again that shaking up Becky Smith constituted an essential part of his plan, Marsh ignored the nervous way she had crossed her arms and rubbed her hands up and down her sleeves.
“Why would someone come after you, Ms. Smith? Or should I call you Becky?” He aimed a smile at her. “We are neighbors, after all.”
“Um…”
He took that vague response as consent. “Any ideas, Becky?”
“About what?”
“Who might come after you? And why?”
He kept his tone even and nonthreatening, but every nerve in Marsh’s body quivered in anticipation of her reply. She took her time about it, dropping her lids, glancing away, looking everywhere but at him. Thinking, obviously, how she would answer.
“I don’t know,” she said at last.
Disappointment whipped through him. A part of him had hoped she’d cooperate voluntarily, and that he wouldn’t have to implement Phase Three.
He didn’t see any other option now. He angled his head, his gaze thoughtful as it rested on her face.
“You can tell me. In my line of work, I’ve seen about every kind of trouble people can get into.”
She took her lower lip between her teeth again. Marsh figured she would chew off a couple of layers of skin before he got through with her. Her chocolate and caramel eyes searched his face.
“I don’t know your name.”
The abrupt change in direction threw him off stride for a moment. “What?”
“I don’t know who you are,” she said again.
“Henderson. Marsh Henderson.”
“Or what you are,” she added slowly.
“I told you. I’m a cop.”
“Do you have some identification?”
He blinked, and then gave a snort of laughter. “Isn’t it a little late to be asking to see my badge?”
Her chin came up. “You know what they say, Mr. Henderson…”
“Marsh.”
“You know what they say, Marsh. Better late than too late.”
His mouth kicked up in a half grin. “That’s what they say, all right.”
Digging into his back pocket, he pulled out a black leather case. A single flip displayed his photo ID and gold badge with its blue enamel shield, surmounted by an open-winged gold eagle.
“U.S.” She read the large initials in the center of the shield easily enough, but squinted at the smaller lettering around it. “U.S. what?”
“U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. I’m a special agent with the DEA.”
“A special agent?” she echoed, paling.
Obviously, his profession made her nervous. It made a lot of people nervous. As it should, Marsh thought sardonically. Flipping the leather case shut, he slid it into his back pocket.
“I get the feeling you’re wondering just why I happened to move into the house next door.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Smart lady.”
“Well?”
“We’ve been using the place to conduct a surveillance.” He kept his eyes locked with hers. “We’ve been watching your house for the past three days, Becky, waiting for you to come home.”
The “we” was stretching things, but the target didn’t need to know that.
“Why?” she whispered.
“To take you into protective custody.”
Chapter 3
“Protective custody!”
Stunned, Lauren gaped at the man staring down at her.
“Why?” she asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past few minutes.
“Because you’re our only link to David Jannisek.”
Becky’s latest love. The man she just might be serious about. With a shake of her head, Lauren tried to grasp what the heck this was all about.
“Why do you want to find Jannisek?”
His face seemed to get tighter around the edges. “You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
Henderson’s eyes went ice cold. Lauren could feel the chill from where she stood.
“Your boyfriend has had a run of bad luck at the track recently. Our sources tell us he owes his bookie more than five hundred.”
“Five hundred dollars?”
“Try five hundred grand.”
“Good God!”
Was that why Becky needed time to think things through? She’d fallen for a loser—just as her sister had? If so, Lauren ached for her. She could speak firsthand to that painful experience.
“He liquidated every asset he owned,” Henderson continued, wrenching her attention back to him. “Didn’t you wonder what happened to his Jag?”
Or didn’t you care? his expression seemed to imply. His gaze flicked to Lauren’s lapel once again, telegraphing an unmistakably cynical message.
“Your boyfriend blew the last of his credit on that little bauble. The store clerk said Jannisek told him to spread the cost of it over three separate charge cards, all of which maxed out.”
Lauren felt herself squirming on Becky’s behalf. Her sister didn’t have a greedy bone in her body, but there was no denying she was careless about finances—her own and everyone else’s. She never hesitated to hit Lauren up for a loan. And she’d apparently walked out of her house without her checkbook and credit cards! She probably didn’t have a clue that her latest love interest was up to his neck in financial hot water.
“Is that why you’re after him?” Lauren asked, still trying to comprehend this bizarre situation. “Because of what he owes?”
“I don’t care what he owes. It’s who he owes it to that I’m interested in.”
From the set of Henderson’s mouth, Lauren had the feeling that matters were about to go from bad to worse for David Jannisek—and, by extension, for her sister. Digging her fists into her jacket pockets, she braced herself.
“All right. Lay it on me. Who does he owe it to?”
“The man we suspect of controlling organized crime in the Southwest.”
“Organized crime?” Her jaw dropped. “You mean, like, the mafia?”
“The modern-day version of it.”
She was still reeling from that when he closed the distance between them, his boot heels thudding softly on the wooden floor.
Lauren took an instinctive step back. From across the room, Marsh Henderson projected a sizzling masculinity. Up close and personal, he was just a little bit intimidating.
Okay, more than a little. Except…
He hadn’t felt intimidating when she’d plowed into him in the backyard. For a few moments there, he’d felt strong and solid and safe.
“That’s the man I want,” he told her, his deep voice resonating with an intensity that raised goose bumps on her arms. “The mob boss. And you’re going to help me nail him, Becky.”
“How?”
“By letting me tuck you away in a nice, safe place. If Jannisek’s half as much in love with you as everyone says he is, he’ll come looking for you.”
“In other words,” she said slowly, incredulously, “you want to set a trap?”
“Yes.”
“With…with me as bait?”
“Yes.”
The blunt admission ignited a little curl of anger deep in Lauren’s chest. It hadn’t taken this tough-edged cop long to show his stripes. He didn’t care about her sister. Didn’t care about David Jannisek. All he wanted was to bring down this shadowy mobster. So much for solid and safe!
“And when Jannisek comes looking for the woman he supposedly loves,” she ground out, “he’ll find you instead.”
“That’s the plan.”
“At which point, you’ll convince him to identify the man you say he owes so much money to.” Her nails dug into her palms. “What if he doesn’t want to cooperate?”
“As I see it, he doesn’t have a whole lot of choice in the matter. He’ll either cooperate, or spend the rest of his life dodging bullets.”
Shocked, Lauren took a step back. Henderson followed, relentless.
“That shook you up, didn’t it? To have the police show up at your door and inform you that Jannisek missed taking a clip full of bullets by a few turns of a car wheel?”
