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“He and Sam’s mother—Sammy’s grandmother—live on a ranch somewhere in Colorado.”
The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stood up. There was something to this Abel Giardino. Maybe the Colorado connection they’d been looking for. “Did you ever meet Abel?”
“He and the grandmother came to our wedding. He looked like some old cowboy.”
“And the mother?”
“The mother was scarier than either of her sons. She didn’t approve of me and threatened to give me the evil eye if I wasn’t good to her only grandson.” Stacy shuddered, and rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “After meeting her, I know why Sam was so mean.”
“All the more reason for us to offer you protection.”
“I told you, I don’t want your protection!”
At the sound of her raised voice, Carlo stirred and whimpered. She bent over him and made soothing noises. In that instance she transformed from cold and angry to warm and tender. The contrast struck him, made him feel sympathy for her, though he didn’t want to. She was a member of a crime family, probably a criminal herself. She didn’t deserve his sympathy.
When the boy had settled back to sleep, she looked at Patrick again. “Please, just let us leave,” she said.
He stood. “I’ll have someone take you to your hotel.”
He left the room, shutting the door softly behind him. He found Sullivan in his office down the hall. “Have you heard of Abel Giardino?” Patrick asked.
Sullivan shook his head. “Who is he?”
“Sam’s brother. He supposedly was never involved in the family’s crimes. He lives with his mother somewhere in Colorado.”
“Could he be the reason Sam was in the state?”
“It would be worth checking out. Stacy says Sam talked about choosing his brother to succeed him as head of the family, instead of Sam Junior.”
Sullivan made a note. “Did you get anything else out of her?”
“Only that she apparently hated her husband’s guts. And she doesn’t appear to have fond feelings for any of the rest of the family.”
“No confirmation on the senator?”
“She said she hadn’t seen him around.”
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
“Hard to say. She’s not one to give anything away. I’ll ask Sergeant Robinson to take her and the boy to the hotel for the night and we’ll try again in the morning.”
He called the sergeant’s extension and gave the officer his orders: take Mrs. Giardino and her son to the hotel they’d selected and stay on guard until someone else came to relieve him.
He returned to his office and sat back in his desk chair. He liked to review a witness’s answers while they were fresh in his mind. He looked for patterns and inconsistencies, for vulnerabilities he could exploit or new information he needed to explore further. Certainly, he wanted to know more about Abel. But he wanted to know more about Stacy, too, and how she fit into this sordid picture of a family of criminals.
Instead of thinking about what Stacy had said, his thoughts turned to everything she hadn’t said. Why had her father and Sam arranged for her to marry Sammy—if that had indeed happened? What had the Giardinos done to make her so afraid? Was she really as ignorant of their dealings as she claimed?
And why did she get to him, making him forget himself and want to comfort her? Protect her? Was she just a good actress, accomplished at manipulating men, or was something else going on here? He needed to understand so he could avoid making a wrong move in the future.
A sharp knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”
Sergeant Robinson, a thin, balding officer, leaned in. “Sir?”
“What is it, Sergeant? Why aren’t you with Mrs. Giardino?”
The sergeant’s gaze darted around the office, as if he expected to find Stacy Giardino standing in the corner. “She’s not with you?”
“No. She’s in interview room two. I told you that.”
The sergeant swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The interview room is empty, sir. Mrs. Giardino is gone.”
Chapter Three
Stacy wasn’t about to wait around for Sergeant What’s-his-name to haul her off to a hotel room that would be little better than a prison. She’d had enough of men telling her what she could and couldn’t do and where she could and couldn’t go. Now that Sammy was dead, she had a chance to start life over, but she was going to do it on her own terms.
She checked the hall to make sure the coast was clear, then woke Carlo. “Time to go, honey,” she said, hoisting him onto one hip.
“Where are we going, Mama?” he asked.
“We’re going to stay in a hotel. Won’t that be fun?” She kept her voice to a whisper, but tried to sound excited for Carlo’s sake. “They’ll probably have a pool and you can go swimming.”
“Will Daddy be there?”
His face was so serious—too serious for a little boy. “No, Daddy can’t make it. But you and I will have a good time, won’t we?” Soon, when things were more settled, she’d have to tell him about his father. Though Stacy had long ago ceased to like, much less love, her late husband, Carlo adored his daddy, even though Sammy had spent less and less time with the boy in the past months. She wasn’t sure a three-year-old would understand death, but Carlo would be devastated once he accepted his father wasn’t coming back. She’d postpone that pain for him a little longer.
Once in the hallway, she headed for the door marked Stairs. Less chance of running into anyone than if she risked the elevator. Fortunately, she only had to go down two floors and there was a back door. Probably where all the smokers went to sneak a cigarette, she thought, and slipped out, praying an alarm wouldn’t sound.
The door opened into a parking lot at the back of the building. Only a few cars sat in the glow of overhead lights. A stiff breeze blew swirls of snow around her feet as she hurried across the concrete. She needed to find her way onto the main drag and lose herself in the crush of tourists.
She followed the sounds of voices and music to Telluride’s main street, where she fell into step behind a crowd of adults and children—a big family group on vacation, she guessed. A quick check over her shoulder told her the brawny marshal wasn’t following her—he was tall enough she’d have spotted him, even in this crowd. And he had the clean-cut good looks and alert attitude that pegged him as law enforcement from half a mile away.
She checked the shops along the street and spotted one that advertised children’s clothing. A woman with a kid wouldn’t stand out in there. She set Carlo down and pretended to look through the racks of clothing while he headed for the toy box against the wall. She needed a plan.
“Can I help you find something in particular?” an older woman in a black wool skirt, pink blouse and boots asked.
“You have such great stuff here,” Stacy gushed. “I wish I had more time to shop. I just ducked in here while I’m waiting for my husband. But I’ll be back tomorrow when I have more time.”
“Your son is adorable,” the woman said, and she and Stacy both turned to watch Carlo fitting big foam blocks together.
“Thank you.” Stacy offered her most dazzling smile. “He’s going through that phase where he just loves trains and buses and airplanes. Does Telluride have a bus station?”
“Not really. Some of the hotels run shuttle buses to the airports, and there are buses to the ski area.”
“Thanks. I was just curious.” She could rent a car to get away, but that required a credit card and ID and would be easy to trace. She pulled out her phone and pretended to read a text. “Got to go. Come on, son, we have to go.”
“But I want to stay here and play,” Carlo said.
“We’ll try to come back tomorrow and stay longer.” She held out her hand and Carlo took it.
On the sidewalk once more, she tried to think of her next move. Maybe she could catch an airport shuttle. Anything to get out of town. She set off walking toward a high-rise on the corner where she could see several tour buses and a crowd of cars waiting for their turn to unload beneath the portico.
As she’d expected, the building was a hotel, and a busy one, crowded with people coming and going. Perfect. She’d just be one more anonymous woman in the crowd. She threaded her way through a line of tourists unloading luggage and skis from a shuttle bus and entered the lobby. She made her way to the front desk and turned on the charm for the clerk, a harried-looking young man with thinning blond hair. “What time is the airport shuttle?” she asked.
“Telluride, Montrose or Durango?” he asked, not even looking up from his computer screen.
She hesitated. “Um...”
“The bus to Durango leaves in ten minutes, but the one for Telluride will be right behind it.”
“Great. Thanks.” Durango it was.
She took a seat behind a potted plant and gave Carlo her phone to keep him occupied. She was showing him how to get to the games she’d downloaded for him when the phone rang, startling her.
She stared at the number. A 303 area code—Denver. Those marshals were probably based in Denver, weren’t they? She hit the button to ignore the call, but a few seconds later, the chime sounded, indicating she had a message.
She hesitated, then decided to listen to the message. Maybe it wasn’t the marshal at all.
Patrick Thompson’s deep, velvety voice filled her ears. “Running away is not a good idea,” he said. “Call me back at this number and I’ll send someone to pick you up. I promise you’ll be safe with us.”
“Right.” She was supposed to trust the people who had shot her husband. At least that was the story Thompson himself had given her. Apparently Sammy had killed his father, then turned the gun on his sister, but still, it was a federal agent who’d put the bullet in his back that killed Sammy. And though this Patrick Thompson guy had been nice enough when he was interviewing her, he was probably like all the rest—he thought she was like Sammy—a lowlife mobster, or even worse, his tramp of a wife. Why would they be so concerned about her safety? They really wanted her to tell all she knew so they could pin the Giardino family crimes on someone. But after today, no one was left to blame, except maybe for a few thugs who’d been following Sam and Sammy’s orders.
She switched off the phone, hoping that would keep them from being able to trace its signal or GPS or whatever the feds used to keep tabs on people. She was tempted to leave the phone behind, but being that cut off from any resources felt too dangerous.
A deluxe passenger van pulled up and the driver announced the Durango airport shuttle. Stacy and Carlo joined the line of people climbing on board. “Name, miss?” The driver was checking off names on a list on a clipboard. He was a middle-aged man with a round face and an underdeveloped chin.
“I’m not on your list,” she said. “I was hoping I could buy a ticket on board.”
“I’m only supposed to take advance reservations.”
Stacy shifted from foot to foot. Everyone was staring, the people behind her starting to grumble. She leaned toward the man, keeping her voice low, and at the same time giving him a look down the V-neck of her sweater—hey, she’d use whatever she had to pull this off. “Please,” she said. “I just found out my mother is in the hospital and I was able to get a flight out of Durango to see her and I’ve got to get there. I can pay cash.” And he could keep the cash and never tell anybody, if he was so inclined.
“Fifty dollars.” He didn’t even hesitate to bark out the sum.
She opened her purse and fished out two twenties and a ten. One thing about living with a mobster—they believed in paying cash and kept a lot around.
“Where’s your luggage?” the driver asked.
“I already put it back there.” She nodded toward the back of the bus, where a porter was loading suitcases.
On board the bus, she settled into a seat near the back, Carlo beside her. “Where are we going, Mama?” he asked.
“To that hotel I told you about.” Once at the airport, she’d head to baggage claim and call one of the hotels that offered a free shuttle. She’d pay cash for a room and give a fake name. After dinner and a good night’s sleep, she could decide what to do next.
Carlo settled with his face pressed to the glass, looking out the window. Stacy leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She was on her way. Not safe yet, but she would be soon.
* * *
“SHE’S HEADED TOWARD Durango.”
Patrick leaned over the tech they’d assigned to trace Stacy’s cell phone signal and studied the laptop screen and the little green dot that pinpointed her whereabouts. His last two calls to her had gone straight to voice mail, so he assumed she’d turned off her phone. Apparently she hadn’t realized it still sent out a signal, even when switched off.
“What’s in Durango?” Agent Sullivan asked.
“Maybe this Uncle Abel?” Stacy had said he had a ranch in Colorado, but she’d been vague about where.
“Someone else is in Durango today,” Sullivan said. He held out his smartphone, which showed the front page of the Durango paper, with a story about Senator Nordley’s speech to a political group in town.
Patrick’s stomach churned. He’d wanted to believe Stacy’s innocent victim act. Had everything she’d told them been a lie? “That’s a little too convenient for coincidence,” he said.
“Should we call Durango police and ask them to intercept her?” Sullivan asked.
“No. I’ll go.” He reached for his jacket. “I want to watch her, see what she does. And the fewer people who know about this, the better for security.” He turned to the tech. “Keep tracking her. I’ll stay in touch by phone.”
The night was bitterly cold and blustery, big flakes of snow swirling in the parking lot security lights as he made his way to his Range Rover. He threaded the vehicle through the crowds on Main, then took the highway out of town, turning on the road up to the ski resort. This would take him over Lizard Head pass, through the small towns of Rico and Delores and into Durango. Stacy probably had a forty-minute head start on him, but he wasn’t worried about following her too closely, not as long as she had her phone with her.
Provided she hadn’t been smart enough to stash the phone, maybe in a bag that was now on board the shuttle while she ran the opposite direction. But he was going with his gut and the belief that she was headed to Durango herself.
He’d learned to trust his gut in his years with the U.S. Marshals, but things didn’t always play out the way he wanted. Most recently, he’d agreed to allow Elizabeth Giardino, who’d been in Witness Security as Anne Gardiner, to go to the house where her father had been holed up with the rest of the family. The opportunity to catch a man on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list after he’d been on the loose for over a year had been too tempting, especially since Elizabeth had been so determined to take the risk.
But her brother had almost killed her, and Patrick blamed himself.
He wasn’t going to risk losing another woman in his care; he wouldn’t let Stacy Giardino get the better of him.
When he reached the outskirts of Durango, he phoned the tech back in Telluride. “You still have her on radar?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. She was at the airport for a little bit. Then she was on the move for a bit, but she’s stopped again. If you give me a moment, I can pinpoint an address.”
“All right. I’ll hold.” He guided the car past well-lit shopping complexes down a main street lined with bars, restaurants and hotels. Like Telluride, Durango was filled with tourists celebrating after a day at the nearby ski area. It was the kind of place where it would be easy for a stranger to get lost in the crowd.
“Sir, I’ve got an address for you.”
“Go ahead.” Patrick leaned over and switched on his GPS.
The tech rattled off an address on Second Street. “I show it’s a motel. Moose Head Lodge.”
“Got it. Thanks.” He hung up, keyed the address into his GPS then did a U-turn and headed back toward Second Street.
The Moose Head Lodge was a low-slung log-and-stone structure set back from the road. Two long wings stretched out from the central building, with doors for each room opening into the parking lot. Patrick parked the Range Rover across from the entrance and went into a lobby straight out of a Teddy Roosevelt nightmare, complete with a stuffed grizzly bear by the front counter.
“May I help you, sir?” asked the clerk, who looked scarcely old enough to shave.
“I’m looking for a young woman who just checked in. About five-two, short, pale blond hair. She probably had a little boy with her.”
“I’m not allowed to give out information on our guests,” he said.
“You can give me the information.” Patrick flipped open his credentials on the counter.
The boy’s eyes goggled. “Y-yes, sir. A woman like the one you described checked in about fifteen minutes ago. She’s in Room 141—out back.”
