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“Not a chance. As far as I’m concerned, they really are dead.”
“So where are you heading?”
“As far away from Angola as I can get.”
“You going to see Tyrone before you leave town?”
“Why should I?”
“He’s your cousin.”
“He didn’t do me any favors at the trial. I’m cutting out of here as soon as I walk out that door. I’m starting a new life.”
“I hope you make it. One drink before you go?”
“Yeah. Coffee. I’ve got to stay alert.”
Rico slammed a fist into the top of the bar. “What do you have to do get service in here?”
The waiter ambled over. “Name your poison.”
“I’ll take a scotch on the rocks,” he said, letting his voice slur a bit. “Give my buddy here a coffee. He’s had a few too many.”
“You have, too, if you’re driving.”
“Hell, no, I’m not driving. I got me a room right on Bourbon Street.”
“Good for you. Drinks are coming up.”
The waiter looked to be about twenty, a couple of years younger than Vincent had been when all hell had broken loose and life as he’d known it had exploded in a burst of machine-gun fire and flowing blood.
Now he was thirty-seven and felt as if he were a hundred. Prison did that to you. Yanked those rose-colored glasses of youth off your nose and crushed them under the feet of hundreds of brawny, tattooed thugs who all wanted to prove they were tougher than you.
The coffee was thick guck, heavy on the chicory. Vincent drank it quickly, then nodded and headed for the bathroom. When he came out, Rico was gone. Vincent put a few bills on the table and slipped out the door. Fifteen years had been a long time. He wondered if Candy Owens would recognize him.
He’d find out soon enough.
Chapter Two
Janice glanced at the clock on the dashboard as she pulled into the driveway of her home in the Chicago suburbs. Seven-thirty. Not bad timing, considering that they’d sat in stalled traffic for over an hour after a wreck on the interstate.
Kelly roused herself from the rap-induced coma she’d been in for the past hour, pulled the headphones from her ears and had the car door open by the time Janice came to a complete stop.
“Grab some luggage,” Janice reminded her.
“Mom.”
Kelly managed to stretch the word into three syllables, registering her irritation. “Why do we have to unload the car this minute?”
“Surely you can walk into the house with a couple of suitcases.”
“I will, but I was going to see Gayle first. I haven’t seen anyone in a week.”
“You’ve seen me, and I was someone last time I checked.”
“You know what I mean. Besides she’s leaving for New Orleans first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, but don’t be too long. Gayle’s mother picked up our mail for us this week, so bring that home with you.”
Janice watched her daughter barely skim the grass in her haste to visit her best friend and next-door neighbor. The two girls would have had to have been joined at the hip to be any more inseparable. Janice was thankful Gayle lived so close and that her mother was almost as protective of Kelly as Janice was.
In fact, Gayle’s mother was as close to a real friend as Janice dared to have. She and Joy Ann didn’t actually do anything together, but they chatted at the mailbox and occasionally shared a cup of coffee discussing the trials of living with a teenage daughter.
Reaching back into the car, Janice grabbed her keys from the ignition. She unlocked the back door to the house, then retrieved a box of grocery items from the SUV. The odors of coffee and overripe bananas mingled in her nostrils as she carried the box inside and set it on the counter.
Only there shouldn’t be a smell of coffee. They’d used the last of the grounds that morning and she’d thrown the empty bag away. She glanced at the coffeemaker. The light was on. Apprehension swelled on cue.
“Hello, Candy.”
Damn. She lunged for one of the kitchen knives in the wooden block. Vincent caught her from behind before she could. His fingers tightened around her wrists. “Don’t do anything stupid.”
She tried to jerk away from him, but he held on tight, pulling her to him so that her back was pressed into his chest and his breath was hot on the back of her neck.
He released his grip slowly, and she turned, gulping in a quick breath of air as she got her first look at what almost fourteen years in prison did to a man.
He’d been so young before, Hollywood handsome and boyishly seductive, with his mischievous smile and dark, dancing eyes. He was still handsome, but the lines in his face were hard and his chin looked as if it had been carved in granite. The muscles in his arms were more pronounced and his dark hair was cut so short, it barely covered his scalp. A scar ran from just below his left ear to under his jaw.
Only his eyes were still the same. Piercing. Mesmerizing. She shuddered and looked away.
“How did you get here?”
“I drove. The car’s parked in your backyard.”
Out of sight because he knew she’d have noticed a strange car parked in the driveway. “How did you know where to find me?” Her mind was already jumping ahead, thinking of how she could protect Kelly.
“Anybody can be found if someone really wants to find them.”
“They had my funeral.”
“I know. That was a smart move. I didn’t buy it, but then prisoners tend to be a cynical bunch. And here you are, sweet little Candy Owens, alive and kicking in Illinois.”
“The name is Janice Stevens now. How did you get in without setting off the alarm?”
“Alarms only keep out honest people and stupid burglars.”
“And you’re neither.”
“Right. So where’s my daughter?”
She’d never told Vincent she was pregnant, but the investigation and the pretrial hoopla had been in full swing while she was carrying Kelly. News reporters had dogged her every step, asking her if the baby she was expecting was a Magilinti. She’d denied it vehemently.
“If it had been your daughter I was pregnant with, I wouldn’t have kept her.”
His muscles flexed; for a second, she thought he was going to slug her, but he exhaled slowly. “I’ve been here for two days. I’ve seen her room. I’ve seen snapshots of her. Nicole, or whatever you call her now, is a Magilinti.”
“I call her by her name. Her name is Kelly Stevens.” She’s pretty. Smart, too, and a good swimmer. I saw her academic achievement awards on the wall of the den and the swimming trophies in her room. You’ve done well with her.”
The compliment got to her. So did his voice. It had deepened some over the years, but she’d have recognized it anywhere. Old memories rushed into her mind and she went weak.
She couldn’t let him do this to her. No matter what they had been before, he was the enemy now. She’d testified for the prosecuting attorney at his trial. She’d seen the gun in his hand the night of the bloody massacre that had left his father dead.
The fear hit again, like a white-hot pain searing into her heart. “If you’re here to kill me, then do it, but don’t hurt Kelly. She never did anything to you. She doesn’t even know you exist.”
“Why would I kill you? As far as I’m concerned, the woman I knew fifteen years ago is dead. I’m here for my daughter. That’s it.”
“If you want to do something for your daughter, walk away. She thinks her father is dead, Vincent. She thinks he’s a hero.”
“And I once thought her mother was an angel. People get over those early illusions.”
“How will you explain to her that you’re an escaped convict?”
“I won’t. Not yet. You’re Janice Stevens. I’m Vincent Jones, a friend of her father’s.”
“You can’t stay here. This will be one of the first places the Feds look.”
“That’s a chance I have to take.”
“Why? Why take that chance? You’re out of prison. Keep running, just don’t stay here. Don’t put Kelly in danger.”
“Look at me, Janice.”
She turned away.
His grip tightened. “I said look at me. I’m not here to hurt Kelly. I’m here to protect her.”
“The only danger comes from you, Vincent.”
“No. It comes from my cousin, Tyrone Magilinti. He knows where you are, and he has plans to kill the both of you.”
His tone was deadly serious. Icy chills snaked up her spine. “He’s been out of prison for three weeks.
He’s made no move to hurt us.”
“But he will. He’s planned his revenge for years.”
“If that’s true, we have to tell the police. I work with a U.S. Marshal. He’ll know how to handle this.”
“You can’t call the police and you can’t tell the marshal. Get them involved, and he’ll put this off until you think you’re safe again. The police will let down their guard. They always do. He knows that.”
“Okay, you stay here. But let me take Kelly away. Please, let me take her somewhere safe.”
“Listen to me. If I wanted to hurt you or Kelly, I’d do it now.” He slid a gun from a holster under his shirt. “All I’d have to do is fire this. I’m here to protect Kelly. If you run, he’ll find you. If you stay with me, I can protect her. I know Tyrone. I know how he thinks. He’s evil to the core, but I know his weaknesses.”
She looked up and met his burning gaze again. He was deadly serious. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to believe Tyrone had already planned her and Kelly’s execution. But there was no way to look into Vincent’s eyes and not believe he was telling the truth. And if he was, did she dare send him away and trust the police to save her from Tyrone?
“Let me save my daughter, Candy. Then I’ll walk out of your life and never bother you again. I promise.”
“And you won’t tell her that you’re her father?”
“No. Your identity is safe with me.”
“Then don’t call me Candy. The name is Janice.”
“Janice it is.”
There wasn’t time to say more. Any other night, Janice would have had to call and ask Joy Ann to send Kelly home, but tonight she was at the door that led to the garage with both hands wrapped around a towel encased casserole dish. A plastic grocery bag was hooked over her wrist, mail spilling out the top.
“I could use some help here.”
Vincent went to her aid. Janice stood frozen to the spot, paralyzed as Kelly came face-to-face with her father for the first time. Kelly stared at him critically; Janice held her breath, waiting for the worst, half expecting that Kelly would feel some kind of weird bond and figure it all out. But she handed him the food and went right back to talking.
“Mrs. Givens made an extra chicken potpie so you wouldn’t have to cook tonight. It’s still hot.”
“That was thoughtful.” Her voice was too shaky. If she didn’t get some control, she’d never be able to pull this off.
Kelly tossed the mail to the kitchen table, then looked from Janice to Vincent. “So, who are you, anyway?”
“He’s a family friend,” Janice said, this time managing to keep her voice more steady.
“We have family friends? News to me.”
“Actually I’m a friend of your father’s.”
“Shut up! For real?”
“For real. I’m Vincent Jones, and you must be Kelly.”
“That’s me. Well, my name is Elizabeth Kelly, but everyone calls me Kelly.”
“It fits.”
“Did you really know my dad?”
“Very well. We grew up together.”
“How come I never heard of you before?”
“Good question.”
