Winsor, Linda (23 page)

"What
kind of doubts?"

"If
she'd agreed to meet him after this thing went down, why is Majors dragging his
tail? Or why hasn't she made a break for it?"

"Because
he thinks she's being watched. The man is an amateur, but he's not
stupid." Dusault leaned against the seat as the limo pulled forward, the
traffic finally clearing ahead of it. "It really doesn't matter whether
she's innocent or not. She's obviously the key to getting our hands on that
little double-crosser, not to mention my money. So what's the game plan with
the Feds?"

"Same
as you, sir. Waiting for Majors to make his move on the woman."

Victor
reached into his jacket and took out a gold case and withdrew a custom-wrapped
cigarette. Lighting it, he waited as the caller continued.

"We
tail 'em everywhere they go, but it's been a no-go so far." There was a
pause on the other end. "Could happen anytime now. With that bank thing,
Majors must be getting desperate."

"Indeed."
Victor blew a smoke ring and watched as it dissipated in the draft of the
air-conditioning. "Then that's it, my friend. Look's like I'll be hearing
from you again soon."

Flipping
the cover of the cell phone shut before the caller could hang up, Victor picked
up the remote for the television mounted in the console between him and the
driver and turned it on, tuning to the twenty-four-hour weather channel.

He
hadn't risen to where he was by leaving the smallest detail to chance. It was
the kind of thing that separated the man from the beast. A man needed to be
suitably dressed to kill—and the killing hour was approaching fast.

Will
Addison was one of those can-do people whose amiable personality and reputation
as a straight shooter had won him the confidence of, not just the men in the
D.C. branch of the U.S. Marshals, but key players in other government agencies
as well. What Shep's former director didn't know at Shep's first call that
morning, he could find out and quickly By the time Shep finished putting up the
signs for the weekend roof-raising challenge and barbecue—courtesy of J. B.
McCain—Will called him back on the complimentary cell phone Shep stored under
the seat of the Jeep.

"These
guys are into a little bit of everything," Addison told Shep. "Drugs
and guns are like love and marriage—they just seem to go together. The ring
leader is a French Canadian named Victor Dusault."

Shep
could picture his friend sitting in his Constitution Avenue office, folders
piled like leaning Towers of Pisa around a desktop. One drawer would be pulled
out to make room for an open box of fresh chocolate dipped donuts. By Friday,
the stale remains would be softened by a dip in the office coffee, which could
soften a stainless steel spoon equally well. Crumbs undoubtedly sprinkled his
oxford shirt and tie, not worrying Will in the least.

"What
doesn't fall off will make a good snack later," he'd say, an ever-present
twinkle in his eye. His nature ranged from humor to deadly intent, depending on
the circumstances.

"There's
some kind of Internal Affairs investigation going on, so watch your back,
Shep."

"Crooks
and
crooked agents?" Shep scowled at the road ahead.

That
morning Agent Voorhees was beyond acknowledging the possibility that Deanna was
the innocent victim Shep claimed she was. He was too furious with Shep for disabling
the listening devices by playing his CD player. Shep was too close to the
forest to see the trees, Voorhees claimed. She was playing Shep as the chump,
using Hopewell and his hospitality as a safe house until she could rendezvous
with Majors.

Voorhees
had told him, there was nothing new. They just had to be patient until Majors
surfaced. Lie number one.

No,
the syndicate didn't know Majors was alive. That was either lie number two,
covering the Internal Affairs investigation, or Voorhees was an idiot not to
recognize the possibility.

Dusault's
men were lying low because of the investigation to cover their laundering
tracks. Shep would sooner believe they were subsidizing the Tooth Fairy. The
syndicate was looking as hard for Majors and Deanna as they could, if they
weren't already on their way, tipped off by the plant in the agency.

The
bimbo was the key. Except Voorhees's word for Deanna hadn't been as tactful.
Shep's knuckle had now scabbed over where it had grazed the agent's teeth. In
spite of the extra pounds Voorhees had put on, he was still quick. Otherwise
he'd have needed some dental work and Shep could have been arrested for
assault. As it was, the other two men in the trailer were between them before a
second punch could be thrown.

Lord,
maybe I am too close to this for my good and for Deanna's. Reason flew right
out the window with turn the other cheek. But how much am I supposed to forgive
from this jerk?

Yet,
even as he demanded his answer Shep knew it.
Seventy times seven.

"As
for the girl, there's not even a parking ticket on record for her,"
Addison said, piquing Shep's attention with new information on Deanna.
"Grew up in a deteriorating working-class neighborhood, rose above it to a
Manhattan high-rise and the upscale crowd. Ambitious, but not afraid to work
for it."

Trying
to remain objective, Shep ignored the leap of elation he felt. Every crook had
a clean record at some point in life. "What about proof against her? She
told me she made the deposits."

"She
told the truth. They have her on camera. What they don't have yet is who
withdrew the money," Addison said. "It's gone... cashed out."

"Majors?"
Shep guessed.

"They're
working on the film to identify the person who withdrew it, but it was a
dark-haired woman with shades and a hat—not your young woman," Shep's
friend pointed out. "She— if it was a she—knew enough to keep her back to
the camera."

"If
it was Majors," Shep speculated, "then he's long gone with the loot,
and we're waiting for nothing. Voorhees is just spinning his wheels."

"Don't
think so. The DEA has a record of a bankcard cash advance in Taylorville just
this morning. Majors wouldn't risk using a corporate card if he had 3 million
in cash. Sounds like he's grasping at straws now."

Voorhees
hadn't bothered to tell Shep that—and he'd had time to update him before Shep
lost his temper. What else was he
not
sharing?

Seventy
times seven, Lord?
Shep
clenched his fist so tight around the wheel that his knuckle started to bleed
again. The sight of the blood trickling down the back of his hand brought to
mind the greatest example of forgiveness known to mankind, snuffing out Shep's
anger like a smoky candle, so that the light of reason shone brighter and
clearer.

"So
Voorhees is running this investigation-turned-stakeout to apprehend Majors as a
witness against bigger fish with a syndicate plant in the middle of his
plan?" Talk about burning a candle at both ends. "He's crazy."

"Like
a fox," Addison said. "He'll get the perp, the plant, and a witness
against the syndicate. Voorhees will be running the St. Paul district before
this is over."

"If
he doesn't get knocked out in the crossfire." Like Shep had. Voorhees's
ambition had ruined Shep's career. If everything didn't go exactly as planned,
it could very well do the same to his. The man needed protection from himself.

Shep
held the phone away from his ear at a sudden burst of static, courtesy of the
power station he approached. "I'm losing you, Will, but I owe you big
time."

Shep
couldn't quite make out his friend's reply—something along the lines of
anytime. "Call me if anything new crops up. I'll keep checking for
messages."

"Got
your... ber... here—" Pure static surged in Shep's ear, obliterating his
connection.

Cutting
off the cell phone, he shoved it back under his seat.

If
Majors had been in Taylorville, he either knew where Deanna was or was on the
verge of locating her vehicle at least. And thanks to his bank withdrawal, not
only did the DEA know his whereabouts, but so did the syndicate he'd
double-crossed— which made it twice as dangerous for Deanna, however she was
involved. The question was: How stupid was C. R. to make such a blunder? And if
he wasn't stupid, then what was he up to?

Should
he tell Deanna? His heart wanted to, but his professional side reined it in.
Including him, there were four men watching out for her. She was already scared
witless, not knowing who was after her. Would she be better off knowing it was
a crime syndicate? Shep didn't think so. As for C. R., Deanna truly believed he
was dead. Should she be warned that he was not only alive, but looking for her?

Again,
his training contradicted his heart. What was to keep her from bolting again,
away from the one person who believed in her innocence? And if she was guilty...

Shep
braked the Jeep, tires squealing as they dragged past the entrance to Hopewell.
Great. In his emotional quagmire, he'd nearly forgotten where he lived.
Frustration bubbling to an all-time high, Shep backed up and wheeled the
vehicle sharply onto the long dirt road leading to the ranch. The fact was he
trusted Deanna. He just didn't trust his ability to make a sound decision
regarding her best interest. Never having been at odds with himself like this,
he saw only one solution: Stick to the rules. They were black and white. His
emotions were too gray to rely upon.

Deanna
ran out on the porch as he pulled the Jeep in front of the house. Covered with
dust, she looked as if she'd been rolling around with the horses in the corral.
"Did you talk to your friend?"

"He's
put someone on it. We just need to sit tight until he gets back to us." He
wiped a smudge off the tip of her nose as relief flooded her face.
"Besides, I gave him my word that I wouldn't let you get away from
me."

"I
think your word is safe, Shepard Jones. Wild horses couldn't drag me away when
you look at me like that. I just wish I'd told you sooner... trusted you like
you trusted me."

Now
who was the deceiver? His conscience cringed. But this was the best way he knew
to protect her... and she needed his protection.

"Don't
tell me the house is
that
dirty, or have you gone into demolition?"

Her
initial anxiety vanished, replaced by a saucy look that reminded him of a cat
with a mouthful of canary. "No, but the old dressing screens I got out of
the hotel were."

"Dressing
screens?" Shep had no idea what she was talking about but figured he was
about to find out soon enough.

Taking
his hand, Deanna led him to the door. "You aren't the only one full of
surprises. Now close your eyes." She waited for him to comply before
leading him inside.

"You
haven't done anything to Old Bull, have you?"

"Old
Bull is his bug-eyed self again, and the valance is where it belongs, but
that's not it."

By
Shep's guess, they passed the kitchen table, sofa area, and were now in the
central hall. He smelled the detergent. She had done some washing.

"Okay,
now you can look."

"I'm
afraid to," he protested. "Your track record hasn't exactly instilled
confidence—"

"Ta-da!"

Shep
opened his eyes to see Deanna pointing proudly into the bedroom where not one
large bed but two smaller ones stood, snug against opposite walls. Dividing the
room in half were two dressing screens placed end to end and supported by a
dresser on one side and a chest of drawers on the other.

"Now
you won't have to sleep folded over on that lumpy old sofa." Deanna fairly
sparkled with pride beneath the smudges on her face. "And your aunt Sue
and my Gram's spirits can rest that we're not doing anything indecent, immoral,
or as Gram would say,
disgraceful."

The
way Deanna wrinkled her nose thawed Shep's initial surprise so fast that he had
to check his thoughts before they crossed the line Deanna had drawn with
furniture and word. It had been hard enough to sleep on the sofa, especially
after last night.

Out
of sight was not out of mind. Knowing someone who'd willingly gone into his
arms, melting soft against him and burning warm with his kisses, was sleeping
in his bed, the womanly scent of her sweetening his sheets and pillows had
played havoc with his imagination. Now it would waft across the room, making
him as aware of her as the sound of her moving and breathing beneath the
covers.

"Don't
you like it?" Disappointment tugged down the upturned comers of her lips.

"It's
fine. Just fine," Shep reiterated mechanically. "Looks like it did
when Aunt Sue and Uncle Dan used the room." It wasn't enough. Shep could
see it in her fallen face. He grasped for some words of assurance.

"I
only did it because of your knee," she said in defense of her action.
"I wasn't trying to be pushy or take over."

"Of
course you weren't. Believe me, I appreciate it." He took her hands and
drew her to him. "It's one of the most thoughtful things anyone has done
for me, and I'm acting like an ingrate. It's a fault and I'm sorry."

A
mix of wonder and adoration kindled in her expression. Gently, she framed his
faced with her hands. "If that's your only fault, Shepard Jones, then I
know God sent you to me, straight from heaven. My own guardian angel... I
mean...
shepherd."

Shep
prayed Deanna was right. But if she was... "I kind of like that
role," he admitted with a nervous laugh, "but if I'm going to live up
to it, then I'd best just thank you for being so thoughtful and stay on the
couch. You see, Deanna..." He cupped her chin, his beating heart about to
plunge recklessly into the uncharted waters of her confidence. "Neither of
us needs more complications than we already have right now, and if we were that
close, I might start feeling more like the wolf than the shepherd."

***

The
week passed quickly for Deanna, even without her customary multiple telephone
access, faxes, computers, and television to distract her. Until she found the
latter hidden in a cabinet built into the stone fireplace wall. Alone in the
house, Deanna tuned into a local station news program, fearful of what she
might hear, yet having to know.

The
announcer read the story about an ongoing investigation into the car bombing of
an Amtron Enterprises executive suspected of embezzlement in Great Falls.
Relief flooded through Deanna when the announcer's pause indicated the end of
the story, but it was premature. He resumed with, "Further investigation
regarding the connection of the company to a drug money laundering scheme is
underway by federal authorities."