Reluctant Runaway (23 page)

Desi plunked onto the sofa and ran her hands over her face. “Way to make me feel like two cents.”

“The teenager’s death wasn’t your fault. Gordon’s unhealthy
fixation on you put everyone around him at risk. And that’s not your fault either.”

“Then why do I feel like it is?”

“Normal reaction from a caring human being. Maybe it’ll help to know that the shooter’s in custody.”

“That was some fast FBI footwork.”

Tony shook his head. “Not us. The guy wasn’t a pro hitter. Got rattled in the getaway and broke a few traffic laws. The APD chased him on 1-25, but didn’t connect him to the shooting until he pitched the gun out of the car before hitting a light pole. Just another half-witted crook given a new life by this Mayburn character.”

Desi clasped her hands together. “What about Mayburn? With the failed shooting, he’s not just going to sit and wait to be arrested. He—”

Tony held up a hand. “Tank confirmed that Mayburn gave him the new identity and hired him to haul illegal goods. That gave us all we needed to send a team out to round up Mayburn and any of the other suspected truck drivers. I should get a report anytime.”

“You didn’t go with them?”

“Can’t.” He sat down beside her. “I’m on restricted duty until a highbrow committee back in Boston reviews my psych status and the incident reports on the shooting there.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me this?”

“There hasn’t been a whole lot of time for heart-to-hearts.”

Heat crawled up Desi’s face. Little wonder they hadn’t communicated when their one private moment could have benefited from supervision. “We do need to talk.”

“I know.”

She peered up at him.

The corners of his mouth lifted. “Truce?”

“I want a lot more than that.”

“Me, too. But first, I want your help. The Bureau needs you.”

A giddy thrill shot through her. “How’d
that
miracle happen?”

Tony gave a slight chuckle. “Gordon won’t talk to us without you there. Are you in?”

Desi jumped up. “Lead the way. I have questions for the man myself.”

“Bureau business first.” Tony towered over her, smiling.

“Deal.” She stuck out her hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed the back. Sparklers ignited in Desi’s middle. She yanked her hand away. “You don’t fight fair, mister.”

He motioned her out of the room. “What’s that old saying? Something about ‘all’s fair’?”

A minute later, they settled at a table in a claustrophobic interview room. Gordon was already there, the scent of expensive cologne mingling with the smell of common sweat.

“Hello, Ham.” Desi nodded to him.

His mottled skin flushed. “I’ve been much trouble to you, my dear, when I intended to be a blessing. My Inner Witness has told me for some time that we are destined to be one.”

A cold finger touched Desi’s spine. How did she respond to the outrageous statement?

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Gordon?” Tony’s voice was steady, but Desi read the storm brewing in the lowered brow.

“Oh, nothing improper, I assure you.” Gordon’s gaze darted from one to the other. “Business. I’m not well, as I’ve said, and I wanted to connect with family. Imagine my delight to discover that my nearest relative is an astute businesswoman I could entrust with my life’s work.”

Desi rubbed her hands on her capris. “Ham, I’m not interested in inheriting your business. I know nothing about the meat packing industry.”

Gordon’s head bobbed. “Quite so. And that would not have been a problem, except now … ” The smile went away. “With no Chris to show you the ropes, I’ll have to delay my retirement and teach you myself.”

“Ham, I—”

Tony motioned her to silence. Desi bit her lip as he leaned toward Gordon. “You’re talking about retiring, not dying.”

Gordon nodded. “I wish to devote myself to the deeper mysteries of the Inner Witness. Reverend Romlin is certain I will find my healing if I remove all distractions from my life.” His gaze was childlike.

Tony opened a file on the table. “Were you aware, Mr. Gordon, that Archer Romlin isn’t the Reverend’s name? In fact—” Tony flipped a page—”his credentials are less impressive than what he’s led his followers to believe.”

“I am aware of my minister’s humble origins. A few adjustments on his resume to gain credibility when he was starting out can be forgiven in light of the greater good. He wanted to set the record straight some time ago, but I urged him to leave matters as they were.”

“So you’re content to follow a liar.”

Gordon’s chins jerked. “He has spoken the truth to me. What he is to others is not my affair. It doesn’t become the great-grandson of one of Al Capone’s enforcers to judge anyone else.” The words rolled from his lips with the rumble of an oncoming train. “Did you tell the whole truth on your application to the FBI, or did you shade your story to help your chances?”

Desi looked at Tony. He stiffened, and pallor crept over the tanned planes of his face. “The people who need to know are aware of everything.”

“You understand my point then.” The chair creaked as Gordon leaned back.

Desi sat frozen.
The people who need to know
. Didn’t she need to know? So many compartments of himself this man hid from her. She’d asked him about his family tree point blank in the cab in DC, and he’d changed the subject to Max’s problems. On purpose. She could see that now. Wasn’t that a lot like lying? Would he ever let her in? Could she even consider settling down with someone who didn’t trust her with the worst as well as the best?

And what business did Hamilton Gordon have telling tales? She glared at him. This distant relation presumed too much. “Mr. Gordon, where’s the secret compound you’re building in the desert? Is Karen Webb there? Her family needs her back.”

His eyes widened.

“That’s right. We know about Sanctuary.”

He wiped his mouth with his palm, like a man brushing away a bad taste. “You refer to my new home west of Albuquerque. Please come for a visit, but I’m afraid you won’t find a woman by that name.” His forehead crinkled. “No, I’m certain I don’t employ a Karen Webb.”

Tony slapped the file shut. “And you had nothing to do with the theft of Anasazi artifacts at the Albuquerque Museum?”

Gordon returned an owlish stare. “Why would you think I did?”

“Because the inside man on the job was one of those dead crooks resurrected by your right-hand man, Chris Mayburn.”

The big man lowered his gaze. “I know nothing about hiring criminals as employees.”

“Gordon.” The word radiated threat. “Go home. You’re not to leave the state or go any farther from town than your private residence. We’ll be speaking to you again. You’re not going to skate scot-free on this.”

The big man flowed out of his seat. “My home and offices are open to your investigators. I’m sure you’ll find evidence to
help bring my assistant to justice.” He dipped his head. “If you will excuse me, I need time to commune with the Lamb. This has all been … a shock.” His gaze found Desi, and unease prickled across her skin. “I’m sure my little announcement of our relationship was also—er, disorienting. When you get used to the idea, please come visit me. We have much to discuss.” He nodded to her, then to Tony, and headed for the door.

“Ham, wait!” She leaped up. “This is going to sound crazier than anything yet today. And Tony doesn’t even know about it. Ortiz does, but she said—” She glanced at Tony, who stood with a puzzled notch in his brow. “Oh, well. I’ve got to get this out, so here goes.” She turned her attention back to Gordon. “Were you aware of the purpose of the stolen artifacts? That the Anasazi may have practiced ritual cannibalism much the same as the ancient Aztecs did? Inner Witness is all about relating to the Almighty through the body and blood. I thought maybe … Well, it occurred tome … ” Both men stared at her like she’d just landed from Jupiter. She sat down and scrunched into herself. “You’re right. I’m nuts.”

A chuckle rolled from Gordon’s ample belly. “Not at all. You’re a victim of a persistent legend about the ancestors of the Pueblo people.” He shrugged. “Gives the tourists a thrill. Rest at ease, my dear, I’m on a restricted diet. Aside from a bite of mutton each day during the sacrament, I don’t even eat the meat packed at my own company.” He opened the door, and the agent stationed outside escorted him away.

Tony frowned down at her. “You all right?”

If only she could crawl back in bed and sleep without dreams. The day had gone on too long. She rubbed her eyes. “You can add embarrassment to frustration about Karen and grief about the girl who died today. No, I’m not all right.” She forced herself to stand, limbs heavy. “And you. What am I supposed
to do? How should I feel? You did it again—shut me out. It’s a pattern that doesn’t change.”

His lips thinned. “You hold a bad seed in my ancestry against me? I didn’t think you were that shallow.”

White heat swept through her. “I’m not the shallow one, Lucano.” She poked him in the chest. “This isn’t about who your relatives are. It’s about you trusting me with yourself.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested in such a minor detail.”

“It’s not minor to you. I saw your face. In your mind it’s huge, like a blemish in the middle of your spotless reputation, and you deliberately chose to hide it from me.”

Tony flushed and looked away.

“I’m thrilled when I can tell you something about me you don’t already know, but I know next to nothing about you. Why is that?”

She waited. He didn’t answer. “You’ve let the secretive FBI mentality take over your personal life. Or maybe you became an agent because it suits your need to keep to yourself. Closeness with another human being is a two-way street. We can’t get anywhere until you let me in, but that’s your call.” Desi stepped to the doorway. “If you want me, you’ll have to stop hiding the man, Anthony Lucano, behind the badge. See you back in Boston … when you’re ready.”

She walked away down the hall. No footsteps hurried to catch up with her. Her heart wept.

He was letting her go.

 Ninteen

S
eated at the conference room table, Tony got on the phone to the ASAC in Boston.

“Cooke here.”

“Lucano.”

“You got good news for me?”

“The job’s done.”

Deep chuckle. “That’s what I like to hear. Can you find your own way home, or do we have to come get you?”

Very funny. “Any news on Ben’s funeral?”

“Just a sec.” Paper rustling. “Set for day after tomorrow.” Cooke rattled off the details.

“I’d like to take leave until after the service. And my squad wants it as a personal day.”

Heavy silence. What was up with that? Tony went still.

“No problem on the personal day for your squad,” Cooke said. “But you’ve got a box the size of Africa waiting in your office. Stuff for that reorganization committee. And less than two weeks to absorb it all before the first meeting in DC. Not a good time to put your feet up.”

“Relaxation wasn’t what I had on my mind.”

Another dose of silence, followed by a burst of pent-up breath. “I ought to order you back here as of yesterday, but I’d better see your ugly mug bright and early the day after the funeral. You’re going to be busy round the clock.”

“No problem.” Big problem. His personal life was imploding, and he needed time to fix it.

“Give me the bare bones of what happened with the Gordon case. I presume you have him in custody. With that potential cult scenario, the Director’s had his eye on the situation.”

“Gordon’s not under arrest. Yet. Depends on what the agents swarming his home and office find. We have his administrative assistant in custody. He was calling himself Chris Mayburn, but it turns out that’s not his real name. Surprise. Surprise. He’s a loose cannon from a West Coast mob that got busted up six years ago. Their computer guru. Warrants on him are still hot. Another Most Wanted suspect bites the dust.”

“Excellent. But don’t let up on Gordon.”

“For sure. He’s as crooked as a hound’s hind leg.”

“Any more on that secret compound?”

“Looks like that was smoke and mirrors.”

“Looks like?”

Tony stood up and stretched his legs. “There’s no proof it exists, except for what Desi was told at the Inner Witness Ministries office. That building is empty now, swept clean. We’re looking for the young lady Ms. Jacobs talked to.”

“What do
you
think?”

“Desiree Jacobs is a reliable witness, but her statement is only as good as the information she was given. Her source may not have been credible.”

“Good. The director will be happy. And Lucano, get this.” Cooke laughed. “You know how I joke about putting Jacobs on the payroll? Turns out that’s a done deal.”

“What?”

“Her name’s gone to the top of the list of consultants for art and antiquities theft cases.”

“That’s where it belongs.” How could he get it removed?

“Too right.”

Tony hung up and stared at the wall. He’d bought himself a couple of days. What did he want to do with them?

He could let her go. Maybe he should. They could both cut their losses, and find someone else. She could anyway. No point in him looking any more if Desiree Jacobs slipped away from him. His mom would kill him for losing her, but he’d been dead meat in her sights before. She’d forgive him. At least he’d have her linguine to look forward to on Sundays.

A video played in his mind. Himself in his sixties …

Paunchy, gray he bends over to plant a kiss on his eighty something mother’s wrinkled cheek while she rocks on the front porch. He sits down in the other rocker, picks up a newspaper, and buries his nose. A flock of red-hatted women flutter up the walk and whisk his mother away, laughing and jabbering. He stays behind. Alone. No demands or expectations. He can keep himself to himself Just the way he wants it
.

Then why does he wish his heart would quit beating?

Not much to pack. Desi surveyed her hotel room after taking a shower and changing into her other new outfit—-jeans and a sleeveless blouse. She grabbed the bloodstained top off the bed and tossed it in the trash. No reminders of this day, thank you very much. From the dresser, she picked up the Macy’s bag containing her personal items and makeup and then slung her purse over her shoulder.

Maybe she should call Max and let her know she was on the way back to Boston. No, her friend wouldn’t be awake yet. And what would she say?
Hi, Max, I’m on my way home. Your niece is still missing, and no one has a clue where she is. Plus, her dad’s dead. Oh, and I just broke up with Tony. So glad you’re getting together with
your art thief husband and your mom’s dating Oscar the Grouch on steroids
.

Desi dropped her bags and sank onto the easy chair in the corner.
Whoa!
That was so ugly she ought to slap herself. Her lip quivered. No crying. She had to be at the airport in half an hour, and the last thing she needed was second looks from strangers ogling her red eyes and splotchy face. If anyone glanced at her sideways, she’d turn into a puddle in public.

Suck it up, Des. Go home and get to work. At least you have that much
.

Yeah, but what did a career mean with no one to share her life?

Shut up, Des!

She rose and snatched up her things. A loud knock sounded at the door, and she tensed. Gordon again? Cousin or no cousin, his elevator didn’t go all the way to the top. Careful not to let the shopping bag rattle, she settled it on the bed and padded to the door. She peered through the peephole, gasped, and stepped back.

A stranger in black. He was turned sideways, looking up the hall with his hands in his pockets. Mayburn? No, this man in black was tall, but too solidly built for Ham Gordon’s beanpole assistant. Desi took another peek and blinked. Tony! Dressed in boots, jeans, and a black leather jacket like he was going to a motorcycle rally?

She fumbled with the locks on the door and poked her head out. “What in the world?”

He looked down at her. Something lurked in the backs of his eyes. Uncertainty? Fear? So not Tony

The expression reminded her of the neighbor boy who stood on her doorstep one day, shifting from foot to foot. Tony’s nervous equivalent was the hands in the pockets. The young man’s mother had ordered him to confess that he broke her garage window with his baseball. The sincere but bumbling
apology was kind of cute and endearing. She sent the boy away with a smile on his freckled face.

But the problem between Tony and her was a tougher fix than replacing a broken pane of glass.

“Can I come in?” He nodded toward the half-closed door.

Desi moved back. “Just for a minute. I need to head for the airport.”

Tony stepped inside. “I’ll give you a lift. If you decide you still want to go.” He cleared his throat. “I rented a cycle and thought you might like to drive up to Santa Fe with me, maybe visit that Georgia O’Keeffe museum. She’s your favorite Southwestern artist, right?” A hand jingled change in his pockets. He looked at his boot-clad feet then back up at her, a desperate courage in the whiteness around his mouth.

Don’t
soften, Des
. She picked up the bag from the bed. “Don’t you have to work?”

“I took a couple days leave. Give that committee a chance to flex its muscles and get me back up to speed. Can’t miss the funeral anyway.”

“When is it?”

“Day after tomorrow. Will you go with me?”

Desi groaned and plopped down on the edge of the mattress. “You know how to push the right buttons. Of course, I’ll go.”

“And the motorcycle ride?”

“Since when are you a biker?”

He shrugged. Too bad that shiny black jacket looked so good on him. “When I was in high school I got my hands on a worn out Ducati. Fixed it up with baling wire and duct tape. Rode it through college—starving student transportation. But I sold it when I got into Quantico. See?” He attempted a smile. “Something new to know about me.”

She didn’t smile back. A few bones tossed her way just weren’t enough.

He frowned. “But this ride’s not for me. It’s something I wanted to … share with you. I’m trying, Des.” He glanced at the ceiling then back down at her. “Ben lived and breathed bikes. The ride’s for him.”

“Oh, my.” The flood waiting to happen overflowed. She ran to the bathroom, tasting salt. Slamming the door, she dove for the tissues.

Tony’s heart double-timed. A quarter in his pocket bit his palm.
Good going, Lucano. You made her cry
. He shouldn’t have tried to see her—push her—so soon after she nailed his hide to the wall. But no way could he let her walk out of his life. He’d rather swear off Sox games.

Man, he was pitiful. He scrubbed a hand through his hair.

So what now? How would that wise woman who raised him advise him to handle this situation? Go in after her? Wait out here? Probably he should do whatever came least natural.

He eyed the door, the same feeling in his bones as when he faced an armed suspect. He was going in.
Move, feet!
They didn’t. He sat down on a chair and lowered his head. Not only pitiful, a coward, too.
Lord, You’ve got to help me here. I’m a cornered man
.

Desi sat on the toilet lid and dabbed at her eyes. So much for her makeup job. Not that anyone would notice if she wore makeup while flying down the road on a motorcycle.

Wait just a red-hot second. She couldn’t give in and go with him. But Georgia O’Keeffe.
Don’t be a sucker for a bribe
,
girl. But riding a cycle with Tony Hadn’t she known that would be fun when she was stuck with her arms around Snake?
Get a grip, woman
. A little fun now A whole lot of heartache later on. But this was a memorial ride, and he wanted to take it with her. Maybe there was hope for the guy. Sure, there was hope for anyone.

Oh, she was hopeless.

She stood up and threw her tissue away. Oh, yeah, bloodshot eyes, blotchy skin. She ran cool water on a cloth and finished washing away her makeup. At least she didn’t look like a malaria victim anymore. Just pale and tired. But she knew what she had to do.

Did she have the courage?

The bathroom door opened, and Tony jerked his head up.

Desi marched out, white-faced, jaw set. His stomach dropped, and he stood to receive his sentence.

She glared at him. “Where’s my helmet?”

He squelched a whoop, but a grin slid past his guard. “Down at the front desk with mine.”

“Let me call the airline and cancel my ticket.” She made her call and then walked over to him. “No promises. Understand?”

“Sure.”
Yep, promises. Lots of them. And the first one is that I’m not letting you go, lady
. He opened the door.

In the elevator, she ran a hand down his jacket sleeve. “No bugs. Must be new.”

“There’s a smaller one like it waiting with your helmet.”

Her face lit. Good thing the salesman at the motorcycle shop didn’t know he would have paid twice what he did to make her smile.

They collected their gear, and he held the jacket while she slipped it on. At least the salesman knew the right size for the general dimensions Tony gave him. He smoothed down the collar. Maybe a quick little neck-nuzzle. Nope, better bide his time.

She looked up at him and grinned, and Tony’s insides puddled. Decked out in her leathers, Desi turned biker chick into a class act.
His
class act, if only he could get her convinced of that once and for all.

“Our steed awaits.” Tearing his gaze from hers, he led the way out of the lobby.

She laughed. “Corny but cute.”

Tony held the door for her, and she tugged at his jacket lapel on her way past.

“Niiice steed.” Desi’s gaze devoured the Harley Road King he’d rented for an arm and a leg.

“Let’s go.” He straddled the seat and nodded over his shoulder.

She put on her helmet, but stood her ground. “I take it since we’re headed for Santa Fe that the Gordon Corp menace has been defused.”

“A woman after my own heart. Cautious.” Tony chuckled. “Mayburn’s on ice, and all but a few of the truckers have been rounded up. Those’ll be scattered to the winds by now, but every law enforcement agency in the country is looking for them.”

“And you don’t think you need to be in on the chase?”

He met her level stare. “I’m right where I want to be.”

“You’re such a smooth talker … when you want to be.” She slid onto the seat behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Let’s see what this pavement burner can do.”

“You got it, darlin’.” He revved the engine, and the smooth snarl sent them onto the street.