скачать книгу бесплатно
Security Measures
Joanna Wayne
APB DADDY! Beautiful, widowed, a single mother - Janice Stevens had been given a new identity, if not a new lease on life, when she testified against a mob killer.For fifteen years she'd lived anonymously, raising her daughter - until Vincent Magilinti showed up on her doorstep claining what was his: his child and her heart. But will both turn up dead-on-arrival when vengeance is finnaly exacted?
He burst into her life in an explosion of passion and she’d fallen for him instantly and hard
Images from the past became so real, Janice could almost touch and taste them. Vincent, tanned and gorgeous, just home from college for the summer. She’d become infatuated with him at first sight, mesmerized by his dark eyes and the cocky confidence that characterized his every move. He’d been so different than the boys she was used to, he could have come from another planet.
He’d kissed her that first night in the moonlight. How he’d kissed her! She’d thought she was simply going to die when he pulled away. Impulsively her fingers went to her lips. But that was all before that night fifteen years ago, before she was pregnant….
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Janice Stevens/Candy Owens —Forced to change her identity after testifying in a murder trial, she will do anything to keep her daughter from ever knowing her biological father.
Vincent Magilinti —He’s a wanted man, but his only concerns are for the daughter he’s never met and the woman he can’t forget.
Kelly Stevens —At fourteen, she’s a typical adolescent—spunky, curious and wants to do everything her friends do. She can’t understand why her mother is so paranoid.
Byron Hasselbeck —A friend that Kelly met in an Internet chat room.
Ken Levine —The U.S. Sheriff in charge of protecting Janice and Kelly.
Tyrone Magilinti —Vincent Magilinti’s cousin who was recently released from prison.
Vincent Magilinti, Sr. —Head of the mob, who was murdered in a massacre in his house on St. Charles Avenue over fourteen years ago.
Joel Pinanski —The one man Vincent thinks he can trust.
Rico —An ex-mobster who worked with Vincent’s father.
Mush Face —One of the kidnappers.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is in the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heart-warming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.
Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.
Security Measures
Joanna Wayne
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
“You never want me to have any fun. Never. You’re so paranoid, you hardly let me out of your sight. If my father were living, I bet you wouldn’t be so mean to me!”
Her daughter’s words echoed through Janice Stevens’s mind, searing a path straight to her heart. She could blame a lot of Kelly’s outbursts these days on adolescence and the surge of hormones coursing through her ever-changing body, but tonight’s blowup had hit too close to home.
Janice buried her toes in the sand as the cooling night breezes kicked up her skirt, then plastered it to her thighs. She’d looked forward to this week on North Carolina’s Outer Banks for months, envisioned it as the perfect opportunity for her to spend some quality time with Kelly.
The week had gone fairly well until tonight, though occasional sparks had flown. Tonight had started out well. They’d gone out for burgers and shakes, then taken a long walk on the beach before settling in to watch a movie from the extensive collection in the rented beach house.
Kelly had capitalized on the camaraderie by pleading her case to go to New Orleans one more time. Her school swim team had done exceptionally well this year, and they’d qualified for a Super Regional Meet in New Orleans. Her coach was taking eight of the top swimmers to the meet, preceded by a five-day sightseeing visit to New Orleans and the surrounding area.
All the other parents had giving their permission. Janice would sooner have let Kelly take a trip to Hades than to have her set one foot inside the city limits of New Orleans, especially now that Tyrone Magilinti had been paroled.
Janice hugged her windbreaker tighter and studied the shimmering band of moonlight that danced across the surface of the water. The setting was peaceful; her emotions were anything but. All she had to do was think of New Orleans, and the terrifying memories started riding roughshod over her nerves.
But she couldn’t explain that to Kelly. She’d spent her life protecting her daughter from the lingering horrors of that long-ago night. She certainly wouldn’t toss her to the demons now.
She started back to the house. Her cell phone rang. The caller ID said Ken Levine. Her already low mood took a nosedive. The U.S. Marshal in charge of her protection never called with good news.
“Hello, Ken. Tell me you called to see how my vacation was going.”
“I wish. I hate to hit you with this tonight, but I knew you’d want to know.”
Dread swelled in her chest. “Is it Tyrone?”
“No. It’s Vincent Magilinti.”
Vincent. She swallowed hard, hit by a new wave of dread and a tangle of confusing emotions that all but stole her breath. “What about Vincent?”
“He broke out of Angola last night.”
She exhaled slowly and shuddered. “How did that happen?”
“He was on kitchen duty. Some guy making deliveries had a seizure. In the commotion, Vincent sneaked into the back of the guy’s panel truck and hid in a big crate of sweet potatoes. The guard didn’t miss him until it was too late.”
“What do I do?”
“Nothing yet. As far as we can tell, both Vincent and his cousin Tyrone bought the story that you and Kelly are dead. You’ve been living peacefully for twelve years. No reason to think you can’t go on that way.”
“We lived peacefully when Tyrone and Vincent were in prison. They’re out now.”
“You’re right, but like I said, we have no reason to believe they think you’re alive. Even if they did, I doubt they’d have the money or the inclination to seek revenge at this point in their lives.”
“But their cronies might do it on their behalf.”
“Not likely. When Vince Sr. died and Tyrone and Vincent went to prison, the Mob fell under new leadership, and that’s been evolving over the past few years. Word is the new kingpin doesn’t want anything to do with the Magilintis.”
“More reason for Tyrone and Vincent to nurse their grudge against me.”
“Their grudge is against Candy Owens. She’s dead.”
Ken made it sound as if the prison break was no reason for concern, but she wasn’t buying the story. “I know you too well, Ken. If you were convinced there is no chance of danger, you wouldn’t have called.”
“Just a precaution.”
Yeah. Like a tornado watch or a hurricane warning is just a precaution. If it doesn’t hit, you’re fine. If it does, heaven help you.
“I’ll keep you posted,” Ken continued. “The authorities will probably have Vincent back in custody in a matter of days.”
“A lot can happen in a matter of days.”
“But no reason to think that it will.”
His voice was smooth and calm, no doubt designed to keep her from flying into a panic. Ken was good at that. If she’d had a father, she’d have wanted him to be like Ken. Instead, she’d fashioned Kelly’s fictional father after the genial marshal, only she’d made him much younger, of course.
Ken was in his mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, receding in front and thinning on top and always needing a trim. He was six feet plus of muscle and very little excess fat. He was a man’s man, but he had a gentle way about him when she least expected it.
She trusted his judgment implicitly. If he said go back to Illinois, she’d go to Illinois. If he said stay at the beach, she’d stay. If he said run for the hills, she’d run.
“How is the vacation going?” he asked.
“Fine when my daughter isn’t lashing out at me for being controlling and paranoid. And that was before I had Vincent Magilinti to worry about.”
“You don’t know how I hated to make this call.”
She sank into herself, feeling as vulnerable as the grains of sand being tossed about by the wind and washed away with the tide. “I have another week off,” she said. “I’d planned to spend it at home. Should I risk that?”
“Unless I get back in touch with you and tell you differently. Just go on with your life as usual. And ease up on Kelly. She’s a good kid and once she gets past adolescence, she’ll be human again.”
“I’m counting on that.”
“Now, try to enjoy the rest of your vacation. If there’s anything you need, give me a call. I’m always here.”
“How about making Kelly and me invisible for a few weeks?”
“I did. Candy and Nicole Owens are dead and buried. You are the beautiful widow Janice Stevens who has resettled in Chicago with your daughter Kelly.”
“You make it all sound so workable.”
“Making it work is my job. Yours is to enjoy your vacation.”
“You got it.”
“Later.”
And that was that. But the nebulous dread continued as she trudged back to the beach house. Dread and the frightening premonition that she hadn’t seen the last of Vincent Magilinti.
THE FRENCH QUARTER looked the same as it had fifteen years ago. Even the wino sleeping it off on the street across from Jackson Square could be the same. A group of college-age guys and girls crossed the street and walked past him, laughing and talking loud as if it were three o’clock in the afternoon instead of three in the morning. Fifteen years ago, Vincent might have been one of the revelers; tonight, he was a man on the run.
It was risky to be here in the Quarter, but he was in desperate need of money and a vehicle. Vincent staggered as if he were drunk, then ducked into the dark corner bar and took a seat near the back. In less than a minute, another drunk, this one tall and burly, joined him at the table.
“Buy me a drink, buddy?” He hiccupped loudly and almost missed the chair as he slid into it.
“Sure.”
A couple at the bar started singing “Blueberry Hill.” A few other patrons joined in, all off-key.
“You look good for an escapee,” Rico whispered as he passed Vincent a key under the table. “Car’s a late-model, black two-door Ford parked on Rampart across from the Saenger. Money, car registration and an ID are in the glove compartment.”
“Did you get the tools?”
“They’re in a blue duffel in the trunk.”
“Thanks.”
The waiter walked by but ignored them, probably figuring they’d had enough to drink.
“You’re not driving to Chicago to look up Candy and the kid, are you?”
