Читать книгу Undercover Colorado - Cassie Miles, Cassie Miles - Страница 10

In a shabby little diner in Denver, three people hunched around a small circular table. Though it was late and nobody was seated nearby, they spoke in low, secretive tones. The topic of their conversation was Mac Granger.

“If he figures this out, he could screw up everything.”

“Forget about him. He’s stuck in the mountains.”

“My point exactly.” The speaker took a long drag on a Marlboro Light. “He’s close to Vail. If he gets suspicious, he could start making connections.”

Nervous tension wrapped around them like a gloved hand. For the moment, they were safe and warm. At any moment, the hand could open, and they’d be exposed.

“Well, what do you think we should do about Mac? Kill him?” A strangled laugh underlined the absurdity of that idea. “We’re not murderers.”

But the thought had been planted. To kill Mac Granger was the simplest solution. Better him than us.

“I don’t know him,” the smoker said. “You both do. Is he the kind of guy who gives up easily?”

“Never.”

“Then he should be eliminated. I’ll take care of it.”

The other two stared down at their coffee mugs, unwilling to acknowledge the decision, but knowing they had no other choice. Having Mac alive and probably investigating was dangerous.

“Make it look like an accident. I don’t want an investigation.”

“Don’t worry.” The cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray, leaving a wisp of smoke. “I’m a cop. I know better than to leave clues.”

THE NEXT MORNING, Mac stood on the deck behind the safe house finishing his second mug of coffee. A crisp breeze stirred the dry grasses of the valley and quaked in the golden aspen leaves. The clear blue skies offered the fresh promise of a brand-new day. A new start. He should have felt optimistic.

Instead, a series of dark questions played across his mind. Why had he been sent to this safe house to recuperate? Why wouldn’t Vince Elliot, the undercover cop who had been at the warehouse shooting, talk to him? Was Mac under suspicion? Of what?

Last night, he’d called his partner, Sheila, on her cell phone. Though Sheila had all the perceptiveness of a goldfish, she was his partner. She owed him. And she was a good source for gossip. If all her bragging was true, she’d slept with half the Denver P.D. which was probably how she’d gotten promoted to detective so quickly. Without betraying the location of the safe house, Mac had arranged to meet her later today near Redding.

His frustration level rose. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was a good cop. His actions at the warehouse were unfortunate but appropriate. Why the hell would he come under suspicion?

He looked to the mountains for solace. When he was younger, he had loved this land. He and Paul and Jess had taken a blood oath to always stay together in the Rockies. When they were kids, they’d called themselves the Three Trolls, Keepers of the Treasure, and they had ceremoniously buried a shoebox filled with crystal, pyrite and pine cones.

Paul and Jess had lived up to that boyhood oath. Both of them were still here—flourishing and happy.

But not Mac. His vision of life was different. He preferred the in-your-face threat of city life where the scene was constantly evolving and there was a reassuring undercurrent of static noise. All this fresh mountain air was choking him. Last night in bed, he couldn’t sleep; the mountain silence weighed down on him.

After less than twenty-four hours here, he was itching to get back to Denver, back to work. The only thing keeping him here was his suspicion of Vanessa. As soon as he understood what she was doing, everything else would become clear.

He returned to the kitchen where Julia had finished washing the breakfast dishes. Everyone had eaten, except for Vanessa, who hadn’t yet made her appearance. He stood in the kitchen doorway and glanced past the dining room table toward the staircase. Where was she?

He asked Julia, “How long has Vanessa been at the safe house?”

“Only a few hours longer than you.”

“She’s a handful.”

“So are you,” Julia said with a hint of accusation. “In the future, I’d prefer that you didn’t roll into town and get blitzed. This isn’t a frat house, Mac.”

“I wasn’t drinking.”

“But Vanessa was. I had a full report from Roger Flannery.”

“The young guy?” Mac had met Roger Flannery yesterday. He was so new to his job as an FBI agent that he still had the stink of Quantico about him.

“It was good experience for him to keep surveillance last night,” Julia said. “But I don’t want it to happen again.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

There was a loud groan from the staircase, and Mac turned to see Vanessa lurch onto the bottom stair. Her skintight leather pants creaked as she wobbled across the floor toward the kitchen. Her blond hair was a fluffy contrast to her pained expression. In spite of her heavy makeup, he saw dark circles under her big, brown eyes.

“Hangover?” he asked brightly.

As she tried to focus on him, her left eyelid twitched. “Aspirin,” she rasped.

“I’d have thought a pool hustler like you could hold her—”

“Aspirin,” she interrupted more loudly. “Percoset. Morphine.”

Julia took her firmly by the arm and pulled her toward the kitchen. “Come with me, Vanessa. I have a no-fail remedy for hangovers.”

“Slow down,” Vanessa said. This morning, she seemed incapable of balancing in her high-heeled sandals.

“It’d serve you right to fall flat on your nose,” Julia said. “You ought to know better than to drink tequila.”

Vanessa came to a halt. She kicked off the high heels. Bare-footed, she plodded into the kitchen.

Though she was teetering at the edge of misery, Mac could tell that she was still in control, which seemed to be her most pronounced character trait. Control. Even though she’d gotten pretty well oiled at the Sundown Tavern, she wasn’t drunk enough to give him any useful information.

Mac had investigated on his own. Last night, after talking to Sheila, he’d contacted a cop buddy in L.A. and asked about a state’s witness named Vanessa.

Her full name was Vanessa Lenore Nye. She was a former Vegas showgirl who had lived with the elderly head of the Santoro crime family before turning state’s evidence. Mac’s first impression of her was one hundred percent correct. She was a woman who’d do anything for the right price. Her extravagance was renowned. Reputedly, she owned half a dozen mink coats and over a hundred pairs of shoes. At one time, she’d been in possession of the famed thirty-four carat LeSalle diamond. Anything for the right price.

So why was she interested in him? It was out of character for a gold digger to flirt with a Denver homicide cop who drove a late-model car and didn’t wear a Rolex.

In the kitchen, Julia dumped tomato juice, raw eggs and a nasty-looking green weed into the blender. When she set the dial to puree and turned on the blender, Vanessa winced at the grinding whir.

“Sounds like a 747,” she muttered.

“After this remedy,” Julia said, “you’ll be better in no time.”

“Want coffee,” Vanessa said pathetically.

“Drink this first.” She held out a glass filled to the brim with a putrid green liquid. “Every drop.”

Like a swimmer preparing for the hundred meter breaststroke, Vanessa inhaled and exhaled deeply. She took the glass and chugged until it was empty. “Yech.”

“Go to the dining room,” Julia said. “I’ll bring you coffee and dry toast.”

At the table, Mac held her chair and took his place at the end of the table beside her. Right now, she appeared to be vulnerable; this might be a good time to start with his probing. “You lived in Los Angeles,” he said. “What part of the city?”

“Newport.”

That fit with the information he’d been given. “Right near the ocean. Did you have a private beach?”

She held up her hand. “No more talking.”

“Ever go surfing?”

Slowly, she turned her head and glared with such cold hostility that she might have been measuring him for a coffin. “No. More. Talk.”

He waited until she’d finished her coffee, a glass of water and a piece of toast. Her eyes were more alert.

“Surfing,” she said, “is not my thing. Even in a wetsuit, the water is too cold. I like indoor sports.”

“So, I assume you’re not a skier.”

“Love the ski clothes. There just aren’t enough times when I can wear my minks.”

Julia popped her head around the corner. “Feeling better, Vanessa?”

“A lot better. What did you put in that drink?”

“It’s a secret formula. And it always works,” Julia said. “The next thing you should do is go for a walk outdoors in the fresh air.”

“Good idea,” Mac said. “I’ll come with you.”

THOUGH ABBY would rather have stayed in bed all day, nursing her hangover and cursing the wormy evils of tequila, she didn’t have that luxury. Last night, she had recognized Mac’s restlessness. He didn’t want to be here. And there was no way to force him to stay at the safe house. He had come here at the suggestion of his lieutenant. If he decided to leave, he could do so.

To fulfill her assignment, she needed to convince him to trust her, offer him a bribe and inform her superiors of his response. A hike along a secluded mountain path seemed like a good way to get close to him.

She abandoned her high heels for a pair of bright pink sneakers that matched her low-cut sweater. Together, she and Mac set out on a path that led past the barn toward a sloping hillside. The morning sun beat down with aching clarity. Behind her huge, extra-dark sunglasses, Abby winced. “Is it always so glaring?”

“Take a deep gulp of that fresh air,” he said cheerfully. The man was positively enjoying her misery. What a rat! If she hadn’t been undercover, Abby would have flattened him with a karate kick to the jaw.

He leaned against the corral beside the barn where three horses pranced and flicked their long tails. “Maybe,” he said, “we should go for a ride.”

Bouncing up and down in the saddle with her brain crashing inside her skull? “Forget it.”

“Look around you. Take a minute to appreciate the scenery.”

“If it’s so great, how come you live in the city?”

He shrugged. “I just ended up there.”

She didn’t believe that for one minute. Mac was the kind of man who took action. Things didn’t “just happen” to him. “What made you leave?”

“The usual reasons,” he said cryptically. “How about you? Did you grow up in Los Angeles or move there?”

Abby couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned L.A. last night when she was drinking. After she’d bumped into Leo outside the ladies’ room, things had gotten real blurry. She’d felt like she was in a waking dream, standing outside her body and watching herself as she slurped down tequila and laughed too loud. Only her years of undercover experience had kept her from completely blowing her identity as Vanessa Nye.

Now, she knew, Mac was trying to pierce that cover. He must have gotten some inside information about Vanessa Nye and was testing her. Well, fine! Even with the remnants of a hangover, she could handle this.

“I grew up in a little town in Oregon. I didn’t hate it, but I was bored. So totally bored. Vegas was more to my liking.”

“I like Oregon,” Mac said. “What was the name of the town?”

“Sterling.” She remembered more details from her dossier on Vanessa. “Our high school team was the Sterling Pirates. Our colors were red and gold. I was a cheerleader.”

“And in Las Vegas?”

“Different kind of cheers.” She started walking along the path. Vanessa’s early life wasn’t all that different from her own. Abby had also come from a small town and had been a cheerleader.

“Tell me how you ended up in California.”

Abby lowered her sunglasses and peered over the rim at him. “I’m not in the mood for a cat-and-mouse game, Mac. If there’s something you want to know from me, just ask.”

“You’re Vanessa Nye,” he said.

“Bingo.”

“You lived with the head of the Santoro family.”

“Right again.”

“Why?”

She allowed her sunglasses to fall back onto the bridge of her nose. How would the real Vanessa handle this inquiry? “None of your business.”

Turning away, she tromped along the path beside a narrow creek. The dried grasses at the side of the rippling water crackled as she walked through them. Under her sweater and leather pants, Abby perspired although the temperature was pleasantly cool. She welcomed the cold sweat, evidence that the alcohol was working through her system.

As she followed the creek into the shadow of the trees, she paused. Her goal was to get Mac to trust her, which meant she needed to be more amenable. She forced herself to smile at him. “I don’t want to think about the past, okay? I just want to have fun. Just to, you know, be friends with you.”

“Maybe I want to be more than a friend.”

She hadn’t expected that response. All the indications Mac had given until now were that he didn’t even know she was female. What was he up to? She studied his expression.

Like all good liars, Abby was easily able to recognize deception in others. It seemed to her that Mac was telling the truth about wanting to hook up with her. His teeth bared in a predatory grin. His gaze latched on to her face, and he leaned close. These were all indications of physical attraction.

Surely not. Surely, she was reading the signs wrong. “What are you saying?”

“I like you.”

“Even though you know who I am?” His readiness to get friendly with Vanessa was clearly inappropriate. “But you’re a cop.”

“So what?”

A good cop would have better boundaries. “Don’t you disapprove of my connection with Santoro?”

“That was the past,” he said. “I thought you just wanted to have fun.”

“Well, sure. But—”

“You could have fun with me.” His right arm encircled her waist and he pulled her tight against his hard, lean body. “What do you say, Vanessa?”

Expertly, she slipped away from his one-armed embrace. Too much was happening too fast. Though her brain was still sluggish from the hangover, her instincts warned her about getting close to this man. He was her target.

And she was Vanessa Nye. A gold digger. That would be her excuse to back off. “Well, Mac. If you really know so much about me, you’ll know that I’m very selective. My companionship doesn’t come cheap.”

“You like pretty things,” he said.

“Expensive things.”

“Today is your lucky day,” he said coolly. “I can afford you, Vanessa. I’m rich.”

From bribes? From ill-gotten gains? “No way. Cops don’t make big bucks.”

“Inheritance,” he said. “I received a ton of money when my grandmother sold off family-owned lands where Vail ski resort was developed in the 1960s. The Grangers are very, very wealthy.”

His gaze flicked down and to the left. His right hand touched the side of his nose and rubbed across his lips. Both were obvious signals that Mac was telling a lie. Abby knew it. But Vanessa wouldn’t. Vanessa would take Mac at his word.

“Really?” she asked. “You’re a land baron?”

“A former land baron. That’s right.”

He looked down at his toes and shuffled. Clearly uncomfortable. Mac was the worst liar she had ever encountered. He wouldn’t last a minute in undercover work.

But this lie—no matter how poorly executed—was very clever as a test. If she really was Vanessa Nye, she’d be all over this good-looking cop who was also rich. Vanessa used seduction to get what she wanted. And, for the moment, Abby was Vanessa.

She purred, “I think you’re right, Mac. You and me? We could have some fun together. Later today, you could take me shopping at the boutiques in Vail.”

“I don’t want to wait until later.”

Again, he dragged her into an embrace.

As Vanessa, she wouldn’t resist. Abby set aside her own feelings of distaste and played her undercover role as the sexy vamp. Her lips met his. In the back of her mind, she was detached, repeating a mantra. This is only a job, only a job, only…

His mouth was fierce and demanding. His arms held her in a viselike grip. Her breasts crushed against his chest.

But when he leaned away from her, she saw a look of surprise in his honest blue eyes. He removed her sunglasses, taking down a barrier between them. She liked what she saw. A strong man.

Though the planes of his face had been hardened by experience, she saw empathy in his eyes—the true kindness that came from understanding. A good man.

Dappled sunlight filtered through the overhanging branches of conifers. The whisper of the creek trickled at the edge of her senses. His arms felt warm and sheltering. It felt right to be with him.

When he kissed her again, her body responded to him. Her well-developed defense system came crashing down as she allowed herself to enjoy the breathtaking sensation of their kiss. Her heart fluttered, and a thrill chased through her entire body.

Oh, God, no. This was all wrong! Mac Granger could be a dirty cop, the worst kind of traitor. She couldn’t be attracted to him.

Gasping, she broke away. “That’s enough.”

They stood, staring at each other.

She saw something in him that touched her soul. He’d been hurt, badly hurt. But he was tough; he could take the pain and come back stronger. Without words, she saw all these things.

She wanted to know him better. To hear his truth.

And she wanted to share her feelings with him, to tell him how tired she was of constantly pretending to be someone else. On the tip of her tongue was her name. Abigail Marie Nelson. She longed to tell him. To be completely, utterly honest.

For the first time in her career as an FBI special agent, Abby had completely forgotten her cover story.