Читать книгу The Angel and the Outlaw - Ingrid Weaver - Страница 10

Cooper heard the distinctive rumble of the split carburetor well before he saw the bike’s headlight sweep past the chain-link fence to the broken gate. Nathan Beliveau was right on time, which wasn’t surprising, considering his business—he was the president of the largest courier company in the midwest. He would know about keeping schedules. But his choice of transportation was…unexpected. Cooper leaned back against the front fender of his truck and waited as the Harley Davidson coasted down the ramp into the abandoned gravel pit and slowed to a stop beside him.

The echoes of the bike’s engine faded gradually, replaced by the ticking of cooling metal. A cloud of dust tainted with exhaust floated through the headlight briefly before the beam was extinguished. The meeting place they’d agreed on was five miles out of Latchford and half a mile from the highway. The floodlight that had been mounted near the entrance when the pit had been in operation was long gone, but it was a clear night and the moon was almost full, so there was enough light to see what he needed to.

The man astride the motorcycle stretched his long legs on either side to balance the machine but made no move to get off. He could probably afford to travel by chauffeured limo, but he appeared completely at ease on the powerful bike. “You’re Webb?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Cooper made no attempt to hide his scrutiny—it would be expected. “Nice hog, Beliveau.”

“She’s a beauty, all right.” He slipped off his helmet and rested it on the gas tank in front of him. “It sure beats riding a desk.”

Cooper shifted his scrutiny from the bike to the man on it. Moonlight gleamed from his straight black hair and the sharp ridges of his cheekbones, revealing the stamp of native heritage. He would probably look just as comfortable riding bareback on an Appaloosa.

Wind rustled through the weeds that ringed the pit, muffling the distant whine of tires on the highway. Nathan lifted his face, as if testing the breeze. “Tony said you wanted televisions.”

“Know of any?”

“How about a trailer load of sixty-two-inch plasma screens?”

Cooper whistled. “That’ll do.”

“They’re at an electronics manufacturing company in Hammond where they’re scheduled for an overnight shipment to Kansas City. The pickup’s slated for ten-thirty tomorrow night. That means you should be out of there by ten.”

“Sounds good.”

“Can you handle a big rig?”

“No problem. Have you got one with a sleeper compartment?”

“There’s one at the Chicago terminal. I’ll arrange to have it parked in a rest area off the Interstate. You’ll have until seven in the morning before I’ll have to report it missing.”

Cooper calculated the time it would take him to get the truck to Hammond, do the pickup and drive back to Latchford. It would be cutting things close, especially since he would be taking detours onto secondary routes to get around the weigh stations. “I’ll have it back by then.”

“Try to keep the damage to the rig to a minimum. My insurance rates are already killing me.”

“Except for the wires, it won’t have a scratch.”

Nathan turned his head toward Cooper. His eyes were too deep-set for the moonlight to touch, making his expression inscrutable. “You better be as good as Tony said you were. I heard it’s been a few years since you did a job like this.”

“Some things you don’t forget.”

Nathan studied him. “That’s right. Some things you don’t forget.”

Cooper couldn’t help being curious about Nathan’s connection to Tony, but he knew better than to ask. The fact that he was here said enough. Nathan was indebted to Tony Monaco, just like Cooper, just like all the members of the Payback network.

And he was probably as eager as Cooper was to settle his debt and get on with his life.

Leather creaked as Nathan slipped his hand inside his riding jacket. He withdrew a folded sheet of paper and held it out to Cooper. “Here are the rest of the details about the load. It should be all the information you’ll need.”

“Thanks.” Cooper pushed away from the fender of the truck, took the paper and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans. “If there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.”

“Count on it.”

“About those TVs…”

“What about them?”

“Who’s covering the loss?”

“Nobody. The guy who runs the electronics company in Hammond owes Tony a favor.” Nathan switched on the ignition, gripped the throttle and kicked the bike back to life. “I heard he decided not to pay it back.”

One hour later, concealed by the overhanging boughs of the maple at the back of the Tavistock yard, Cooper grasped two of the wrought-iron arrowheads that ran across the top of the fence and vaulted to the other side. He paused to look around, but there was little chance of his arrival being witnessed—the houses on this side of the street backed onto a park, which was not only picturesque, it could prove to be a useful setup. Hayley had probably cut through the park when she had carried the rifle to the Sproule estate.

He turned his attention to the house. When he’d brought Hayley home last week, he’d noticed that the front of the house had a big veranda decorated with gingerbread trim. There was no porch in the back, nothing to use to climb to the second story, and the rear door was solid wood with a deadbolt. But the ground-floor windows were the sliding-sash kind and had conveniently wide ledges.

No dog. No alarm. A yard with overgrown trees that blocked the view of the next-door neighbors. For a family of cops, they should have paid more attention to making their house secure. Cooper used the gas meter that stuck out from the wall for a foothold and hoisted himself onto the nearest window ledge. He scowled as he let himself in. He’d have to tell Hayley to get better locks.

Right. Otherwise, someone like him might get inside.

He waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then scanned the room he had entered. A long oval table sat in the center, surrounded by chairs with curving wooden backs. Teardrop prisms of a large chandelier glinted above the table and the flat glass front of a china cabinet gleamed next to the wall on his left. It looked like more than a cop, even a police commissioner, could have afforded, but Cooper had heard that Hayley’s mother had come from money.

The archway across from him led to a center hall. It was dark, but a sliver of light showed beneath a door to his right. Keeping his weight on the balls of his feet to minimize the noise of his footsteps on the hardwood floor, he moved to the door and eased it open.

The room was lined with bookshelves. The light came from a green-shaded banker’s lamp that rested on the top of an old fashioned roll-top desk. Hayley was sitting on a swivel chair in front of it, the kind with oak slats in the back and casters on the feet. She had her back to him, her fingers clicking at the keyboard of the laptop computer in the center of the desk. She lifted her hand to rub her eyes, then reached for a water glass that sat on a stack of file folders beside her elbow and downed the contents in one gulp.

Cooper’s scowl deepened as he studied her. It was two in the morning, but she didn’t look as if she had been to bed. She was dressed in jeans and an oversize gray sweatshirt, her hair tied haphazardly at the nape of her neck with a scarf. Her feet were bare, her toes curled against the chair casters. She looked lonely, vulnerable and too damn approachable.

So far, she had kept her word—in the four days since he’d agreed to her deal, she hadn’t gone near Oliver. Instead, she had spent most of her time at the nursing home with her father. Cooper had been pleased that she’d been smart enough to stay away from the Long Shot, yet it was as if she had been there anyway. Echoes of her presence lingered. He kept picturing her on the couch in his office, or curled into the chair in his loft.

He kept remembering the taste of her mouth.

But he was here because she could be useful to him, that’s all. She had been right—she had connections and skills that he didn’t. They could help each other. He couldn’t afford to let it get more complicated than that. She had been intruding into his thoughts too much as it was.

She wasn’t his type, no matter how alluring she looked right now. One glance at the kind of place she lived in told him that. So did the room she was sitting in. Scattered among the books on those bookshelves there were framed photographs of men in uniform. Police uniforms. What looked like certificates hung on the wall behind the desk. Those were probably two generations worth of official commendations. He moved his gaze along the frames.

Which one of them was the commendation Adam had received when he’d arrested Cooper?

He gave the door a push to swing it the rest of the way open and stepped over the threshold. “Hello, Hayley.”

She reacted instantly, her head snapping up. She spun the chair to face him. “Cooper! How did—”

Her words cut off at the sound of a crash as the empty glass that had been beside her elbow shattered against the floor.

“Aw, hell,” Cooper muttered, striding across the room.

Hayley shoved herself out of the chair. It rolled sideways and thudded into the front of the desk.

“Stay where you are!” he ordered.

She glanced around quickly, her eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong?”

“Don’t move or you’ll cut your feet.” He went past her and took the top file folder from the stack on the desk, then squatted down and used its edge to sweep the shards of glass into a pile.

She pressed her hand to her chest and drew in a shaky breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I have boots, you don’t.”

“You shouldn’t have startled me.”

“Couldn’t be helped.” He checked the floor for the glint of stray pieces. When he was satisfied it was clear, he scooped the remnants of the glass onto the folder, then straightened up and looked around. There was a small wicker basket half filled with crumpled paper beside the desk. He dumped the glass into it. “I wanted to make sure you were alone.”

“Of course, I’m alone. It’s the middle of the night.”

He slapped the folder on his leg. The loose neckline of her sweatshirt had slid down when she’d jumped out of her chair, baring her shoulder. There was no sign of a bra strap. Cooper tried hard to keep his gaze on her face. “For a woman who kisses like you do, that’s not something I’d take for granted.”

Color seeped into her cheeks. She grabbed the back of her chair. He wasn’t sure whether it was for balance, or to have something on hand to shove between them. “You could have called first.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see that pulse in your neck. I like seeing you excited.”