Читать книгу In His Safekeeping - Shawna Delacorte - Страница 12

“Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.” He shouldn’t have waited so long to make contact with her. He had wanted to wait until he had more information, could present a more reliable scenario to her, but he couldn’t put it off any longer. “Listen to me. I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I believe you’re in danger and I’m here to help you. We need to talk.”

She felt her eyes widen in shock as she stared at him in stunned disbelief. Her adrenaline surge began to subside and she stopped struggling. He finally removed his hand.

“You’re what?” She had trouble making sense of what he’d said, but then so many things didn’t make sense of late.

He released her arm, then slowly reached into his pocket and withdrew his identification. “I’m a deputy U.S. marshal. I believe your life is in danger. Can we go someplace where we can talk in private, rather than stand out in the open in the middle of this parking lot?”

“I…uh…” She wasn’t sure what to think or say. A deputy U.S. marshal—it was the last thing she expected to hear. But could she believe him? Anyone could flash a badge and claim to be a deputy marshal. She took a step back, enough to remove herself from his immediate reach. “I think I should call my attorney.”

He took a step toward her but the panic that immediately blanketed her features stopped him. “That’s your privilege, but there really isn’t any need to do that. You aren’t being accused of any wrongdoing. I’d prefer that you didn’t call your lawyer, at least not until you’ve heard me out. You don’t need to say anything, all you need to do is listen.”

“Well…” She shoved down her anxiety, making a bold attempt to regain control of her galloping pulse rate and pounding heartbeat.

He indicated his car and opened the passenger door for her. “Shall we go?”

“Uh…no…I’d rather drive my own car, maybe meet you in a public place…a restaurant perhaps.”

“Okay. Any particular one?”

She gave him the name of a restaurant she frequented. They each took their respective cars and left the parking lot.

THE ANGRY WORDS traveled over the phone line. “I thought you told me you’d have everything handled by now. Why the delay? I don’t like surprises. Is there some problem you haven’t told me about?”

“No…no problems. I’ve already contacted Pat and said I wanted the job finished tonight. Winthrope has already been taken care of and I was assured that things would be wrapped up very quickly.”

“You waited too long. I think there may be a deputy marshal involved now.”

“You mean she’s been put under the protection of the Marshals Service?” The quaver in his voice conveyed his apprehension at the unexpected news.

“No, I don’t think so. I think it’s just one man who has made contact with her. He seems to be working on his own.”

“Then it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’d better be right.”

BRAD ARRIVED at the restaurant first, made arrangements for a table, then waited just inside the door. A few minutes passed and still no Tara Ford. She had been right behind him when they had left the parking lot. A moment of alarm pushed at him. Had she changed her mind? Was she out there alone and vulnerable, not knowing that someone wanted her dead? Again he mentally kicked himself for not contacting her sooner, even though he still didn’t have anything more to go on than strong suspicions and too much coincidence without any solid proof.

He wondered if she had decided to skip out on him. A hint of panic pushed at him as he reached for the door, but it opened before he touched it and she entered the restaurant. He quickly pulled her aside. “I have a table for us in a nice quiet corner.”

Her anxiety level increased as soon as they were seated. She had started to turn around and go home rather than drive to the restaurant. But then her common sense told her that he knew where she lived, so she might as well meet him. “You claim to be a deputy U.S. marshal. I don’t recall seeing you before or during the Vincent trial when I seemed to be surrounded by deputy marshals.”

“I have Special Operations Group training and I’m occasionally assigned to them for specific jobs. I was on a fugitive-apprehension mission out of state at the time deputies were assigned to protect the witnesses, so I never became involved with the John Vincent case.”

She frowned in confusion as she studied him for a moment. “Then why are you involved with it now, rather than one of the deputies who protected us during the trial?”

“Well…that’s kind of a convoluted story. I was wounded during my last mission with the Special Operations Group and was placed on recuperative leave then came back to work on light restricted duty until the doctor releases me for active duty again. Part of that light duty has been updating case files. One of those files is the John Vincent case.”

She looked at him questioningly. “There’s something new with the case since the trial ended?”

“Yes. Two weeks after John Vincent started serving his prison term, he died of a heart attack. I’ve been notifying the witnesses and others involved in the case of his death.”

“Uh…do you mind if I see your credentials again? You flashed them rather quickly and I’d like a better look.”

Certainly a reasonable request along with her valid questions, but one that only confirmed his assessment of the situation. Tara Ford was afraid of something and being very cautious. Perhaps it was that caution that had protected her from harm so far. Brad took his identification from his pocket and handed it to her. He watched as she studied the identification card, the badge, then glanced several times back and forth between his photograph and him.

He tried to make light of the situation. “I should look more like that picture in a few days when this gash on my chin and my cuts and scrapes finish healing. I was on courthouse duty last week and got into a little scuffle with a very large man who took exception to the judge’s ruling.”

She handed his identification back to him without responding to his comment.

“Good evening.” The waiter handed them menus. “It’s nice to see you again, Tara.”

“Thank you, George.”

“May I bring you something to drink?”

Brad noted that the waiter addressed the question to him, but gave an appreciative glance in Tara’s direction. An inner smile of approval confirmed his assessment of her being very resourceful. Not only had she chosen a restaurant she knew, she had chosen one where they knew her by name and would take more notice of the person she was with. But on the downside, if someone was stalking her they would also know this was a place she apparently frequented.

They placed their dinner order and as soon as the waiter left, Brad turned to the problem at hand.

“A week and a half ago, while doing follow-up on the Vincent case, I discovered that over the past six months four of the six witnesses who testified against John Vincent have met with strange accidental deaths.

“I found the coincidence of this having happened four times over just a few months to be too great to accept it so casually. After I started checking into these accidents they seemed to me to be more and more like connected crimes. Then four days ago the fifth witness met with a similar type of strange accidental death. The five deaths occurred in five different parts of the country under the jurisdiction of five different law enforcement agencies.”

He took a sip of his water, then continued. “On the surface there didn’t seem to be any connection between the victims. There wasn’t any reason for the local authorities in the individual cases to be suspicious of what appeared to be an unfortunate accident or think that it would have any connection with anything else. Each one seemed to be an isolated incident—just an unfortunate accident. What makes it particularly compelling is that two of those witnesses were in the Witness Security Program and had been given new identities and relocated. The fifth accident happened in Portland, Oregon, and was the only one thoroughly investigated beyond what appeared obvious.”

“The fifth one? What happened to make that the exception that it would be handled differently?”

“I have a friend on the Portland police force. He’s a homicide detective. I contacted him unofficially just two days after the death happened and asked him to go over everything very carefully, to not be too anxious to write it off as an accident. I heard back from him this afternoon. It was a carefully and expertly disguised murder.”

Tara’s eyes narrowed as she stared at him. “The way you describe this…I have a friend on the Portland police force…contacted him unofficially…makes it sound as if you’re doing this investigation on your own rather than it being an official position of the Marshals Service.”

Tara Ford was definitely a smart and perceptive woman. Brad drew in a deep breath and slowly expelled it while trying to determine how best to express himself. “I won’t lie to you. Yes, I’m doing this investigation on my own. I took the information I had to the head of the Seattle office after I discovered the fourth death and he said it was speculation on my part that the victims hadn’t died as the result of accidents and without anything more there wasn’t a case. It was a couple of days later that the fifth…accident occurred. I’ve kept that information to myself for the time being because I don’t have any evidence showing that this murder had any connection to the other deaths, even though it was another of the witnesses in the Vincent case who had been murdered.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “From what I’ve observed about you the past few days, I think you’re the type of person who would rather have the information straight out rather than have half truths. So—”

“The past few days?” Her eyes widened in shock. “You haven’t been watching me for a few weeks rather than a few days?”

He saw the fear return to her eyes and the wariness that blanketed her features. “No, only a few days. It was only a little over a week that I started pulling information together about the first four deaths and formulated a theory about someone systematically killing off the witnesses from the John Vincent trial—a theory reinforced when the fifth death occurred.”

Tara stared down at the table. The anxiety twisted her insides into knots. If he was telling her the truth, then things were worse than she thought. But was he telling her the truth? What reason would he have to lie to her? She was no longer sure of anything or anyone. She didn’t know what else to do, but she had to do something. She couldn’t just sit here staring at her water glass. She decided to go along with what he told her, at least for the time being.

She recaptured his gaze. Again, as in the deli when he bumped her chair, his eyes held concern rather than hardness or danger. “For the past several weeks I’ve had the feeling that I was being watched. Nothing I could put my finger on, just a bothersome sensation. Then suddenly a few days ago there you were every time I went anywhere. At first I thought you worked in the same neighborhood where I do, then I wondered if you were the person who had been watching me.”

Brad glanced around, making sure their conversation was private. “Did you have any impressions about who it would have been?” He allowed a soft chuckle. “Other than me, of course.”

“No. I never really saw anyone. It was just an uncomfortable sensation…you know, like when someone is staring at you and you can feel their gaze on the back of your neck even though you don’t see who it is.”

They both stopped talking when the waiter approached with their food. As soon as he left, they resumed their discussion.

Apprehension filled her voice. “Do you…do you know who killed the other witnesses? Who would be watching me?”

“No, unfortunately I don’t have any idea. As I said, I just recently got involved with this case. My first thought was that the deaths had to do with Vincent’s organized-crime connections, since the first four witnesses who were killed had testified specifically about his criminal activities. The two who were in the Witness Security Program testified to his organized-crime connections, helping to convict John Vincent under the federal Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations statute. RICO has been used with great success in obtaining organized-crime convictions. But neither you nor the man in Portland were involved in that aspect of the testimony. Both of you testified to his company pension fund and income manipulations.”

Her words came out as a mere whisper. “And with the man in Portland dead that leaves only me?”

“I can’t officially offer you the protection of the U.S. Marshals Service at this point. My theory has already been shot down by the head of the Seattle office. I can’t take it over his head or go directly to the FBI without proof to back up my speculations.”

“Wouldn’t the Portland death being declared a murder be enough to start an investigation?”

“There’s nothing that links his death with the others. He could have had enemies of his own with no connection to John Vincent or the trial. There’s not a scrap of proof at this time that shows any connection between his murder and the other deaths or that the other deaths were really murder. What I can do is work personally to protect you, but I need your help if I’m going to find out who’s behind this and gather evidence to warrant an official investigation.”

What he didn’t tell her was his suspicion that there was a leak within the Marshals Service, something possibly originating from the Seattle office, concerning the protected witnesses. There shouldn’t have been any way for someone to have found the two people in the Witness Security Program—one of the facts thrown up to him by his boss as reason for him to forget his crazy theory. It was also the reason he knew he couldn’t trust anyone else until he had some solid facts to work with. Any information he put into an official report could easily be accessed by whoever was responsible for the leak.

Tara noted the hint of apprehension that crossed his face. Her concerns about who she could and could not trust, what was true and what wasn’t, kept her at a cautious distance from him. She nervously cleared her throat. “I need to think about this, consider the pros and cons, go over all my options.”

He leveled a purposeful look at her, his voice adding emphasis to his words. “I don’t want to frighten you unnecessarily, but please don’t take too long to think about it.”

Her anxieties jumped into high gear. His words of warning said it all. They silently ate their food. He seemed as absorbed in his own thoughts as she was in hers. Following dinner they left the restaurant.

Brad walked her across the restaurant parking lot toward her car. “You’ve had some time to think about what I’ve said. I’m afraid I need an answer from you now. This is a very serious matter.”

As they approached her vehicle, she took the lock and ignition remote from her purse. She pressed the button to unlock the doors and start the engine.

The sound of a horrendous explosion ripped through the air. Tara’s entire body jerked around, then she stood frozen to the spot. She stared in the direction of the conflagration with her eyes wide and her features contorted into a mask of shock and fear. She heard a loud scream, then realized it came from her. A moment later strong hands grabbed her shoulders and shoved her to the ground behind a van. The next thing she knew Brad had protectively covered her body with his.

A few seconds later, Brad stood up. He raked his gaze efficiently across the scene, taking everything in.

Tara struggled to her feet and started toward the charred mangle of metal that just seconds earlier had been her brand-new car. Waves of fear washed through her, something nearly akin to stark terror. Her body shook uncontrollably. Her legs turned wobbly. She tried to run but was brought up short when someone grabbed her arm and held it in a strong grip.

“Stay put!” Brad’s no-nonsense voice barked out an order as he took control of the situation. “Don’t you dare move from this spot.”

“Let go of me!” She tried to jerk her arm free. Her heart pounded in her chest. She heard the blood rushing in her ears along with the echoing sound of the explosion playing over and over in her head. She had to do something even though she wasn’t sure what. She started toward her car, but was again brought to an abrupt halt when Brad took hold of her arm.

“I told you to stay here!” He left her no room for argument.

“But…” She heard the quaver in her voice, the uncertainty that matched the panic building inside her.

“No buts! There’s nothing you can do over there.”

“My car—”

“Your car is history. There’s nothing over there except twisted metal.” The hard edge to his voice softened a bit. “There’s nothing there that you need to see.”

She went numb inside as she fought off the need to run in the opposite direction as fast and as far as she could. Everything Brad told her about the danger had come back to hit her in the face. She felt light-headed. Her knees started to buckle.

“Tara…Tara, answer me. Are you all right?”

“I…yes, I’m okay.”

He held on to her, providing support while keeping her from walking off. A crowd gathered, any one of whom might have been the person who had planted the bomb. Brad scanned the faces, but no one jumped out at him as being suspicious or familiar. One thing was crystal clear. Someone had followed Tara, watched her park and go into the restaurant. There was no way anyone could have known she would be going there since it was a decision that had only been made moments before she left the parking lot at work.

And whoever saw her had most likely seen the two of them talking before that. Perhaps it was the presence of a deputy marshal that pushed the killer to abandon the use of accidental means and go the more direct route. But that only prompted another question. How would the perpetrator know he was a deputy marshal, since he wasn’t connected with the original case? If that was what had happened.

Then another thought occurred to him, one he didn’t like. What did he really know about Tara Ford? Out of the six witnesses at the John Vincent trial she was the only one who still lived in the Seattle area and, therefore, the easiest to locate. Yet she was the only one still alive. All the other murders had been very clever, but the attempt on her life had been clumsy and had failed. The perpetrator had made no attempt to have it appear to be an accident.

Could his having shown up and saying she was in danger have alerted her that someone was suspicious of the accidental deaths? Could she have rigged this herself to throw him off track? Maybe she had stopped to call someone while en route. It would explain her arriving at the restaurant several minutes later than he had when they’d both started out at the same time. If that was the case, then she must have a motive for the murders, and on the surface he didn’t see what that motive would be. But one thing experience had taught him was not to ignore small details and not to dismiss seemingly insignificant events too quickly.

A quick jolt of irritation told him how distasteful he found his line of speculation. His assessment of her character said she was far too straightforward to be involved in that type of subterfuge. Was he merely grasping at straws in an attempt to put some much-needed logic to a confusing problem? Was he allowing a beautiful, enticing woman with a sultry voice to cloud his reasoning?

His thoughts drifted in another direction, this one a painful memory more than anything else. He had been with the Marshals Service for a year. Then one day while he was involved in a high-profile fugitive hunt someone planted a bomb in his car. The bomb had missed its target. Rather than him being killed, the victim had been his wife of six months.

He had carried the guilt of his wife’s death with him ever since then, a guilt that came rushing back at him the moment Tara’s car exploded. Here was another woman who had been put in danger with a car bomb. Was it because of him? If his original theory was correct, Tara was next on the list of victims, and if they hadn’t tried a car bomb it would have been something else. He hadn’t been able to keep his wife safe from danger and it had left a gaping wound that refused to heal even though he had closed off his heart to the possibility of any future relationship.

He saw the confusion and fear on Tara’s face. It worked itself inside him until it touched a place of vulnerability buried so deep he had forgotten it even existed. She was so tempting, so enticing. She stirred a very primal desire in him. It had been a long time since he had been this instantly attracted to any woman. He had failed to protect his wife, but he would do his best to protect Tara Ford.

It took the sound of the approaching sirens to banish the ghosts of the past. He turned to Tara, his words emphatic as he exercised total authority. “I’ll handle this. Respond directly to the questions you’re asked with the shortest answers possible. Don’t volunteer any information. Follow my lead.”

He put his arm around her shoulder and guided her toward the arriving police car. He felt the tension running through her body. “Everything is going to be okay, just stay with me.”

Brad’s mind raced ahead to what he should say to the police. Identify himself as a deputy U.S. marshal and say she was under the marshals’ protection and cut the local police out of the loop? That would officially throw the whole mess back into the lap of the Marshals Service and put his activities out in the open before he was ready to disclose that he was still working on his theory. Or maybe he should play ignorant of any and all reasons why the explosion had happened. Perhaps he should pretend that a freak malfunction, rather than a car bomb had caused the gas tank to explode. Whichever way he decided to go, he needed to make a decision and do it fast.

He watched two policemen climb out of the car, the older one going toward the fire engine at Tara’s car and the younger one heading toward the restaurant. The young policeman looked as if he couldn’t have been on the force very long, possibly still on probation from the police academy. He most likely didn’t have any experience dealing with federal cases and interfacing with federal agencies. Brad decided that discretion would be the best avenue for the time being.

He approached the young officer. “My name is Don McMillan and this is my fiancée, Tara Ford. It was Miss Ford’s car that just burst into flames.” He used a phony name for which he had identification. Hopefully the inexperienced officer wouldn’t think to take down the number on his car license tag. He purposely avoided using the word exploded, not wanting to put any ideas into the officer’s head.

The policeman took out his notebook and began writing. He paused to glance at Tara’s left hand, then directed his attention to Brad. “Your fiancée? I don’t see any kind of ring.”

He bristled at the officer’s implication, in spite of the fact that the man was correct in his observation and more astute than Brad had given him credit for. “That’s because I just asked Miss Ford to marry me while we were having dinner in the restaurant. We plan to shop for a ring tomorrow.”

“I see.” The policeman continued to make notes.

Tara took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm the nearly out-of-control panic rampaging through her body. Only the consistent strength radiating from Brad as he protectively kept his arm around her shoulder prevented her from falling prey to those fears.

The policeman looked at Tara. “You’re the registered owner of the vehicle?”

“Uh…” She swallowed to break the dryness in her throat. “Yes, it’s my car.”

“I need the make, model and license number. I also need your address and phone number.”

Tara provided the officer with the information, all the while drawing comfort from Brad’s reassuring presence.

“And you, Mr. McMillan…I need your address and phone number.” Brad gave the officer Tara’s address and phone number, alluding to the fact that they were living together.

“Okay…now, what happened here?”

Brad immediately took control of the conversation. “I’m really not sure, Officer. We came out of the restaurant and started across the parking lot. I was walking Miss Ford to her car.”

The young officer looked up from his notebook, addressing his question to Brad. “You arrived in different vehicles?”

“Yes, it was more convenient for us to meet here since we were coming from different directions.”

“What happened then?”

“Miss Ford took her car remote from her purse and clicked it to unlock the door and start the engine. There was a loud noise and the car burst into flames.”

The officer stopped writing again. “Burst into flames…are you saying there was an explosion?”

“I can’t really say what happened, Officer. Miss Ford and I—” he placed a tender kiss on her forehead “—didn’t actually see it. I assume it was caused by some sort of malfunction connected to the remote starter. Thank goodness no one was injured.”

“I see. Wait here, please.”

Brad and Tara watched as the officer crossed the parking lot and conferred with his partner. “How are you holding up?” He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Even though he spoke to her, his gaze never left the officers as they talked.

“Okay, I guess.” There was no denying the tremor in her voice.

“Hang in there. We’ll be out of here in a few minutes.”

Another half hour passed before they were able to leave. One overriding thought kept circulating through Tara’s mind. She had to keep her wits about her and pull up all the inner strength she could muster. It was not the time to let her fears get the better of her. After what she had been through with the trial and all the chaos it had introduced into her normally ordered life, getting through this should be just one more hurdle to jump. Unfortunately, no matter how hard she tried, her brave thoughts didn’t do anything to calm her fears.

They drove away from the restaurant in Brad’s car. He carefully measured his words as he spoke, not wanting to frighten her any more than she obviously already was, but not wanting her to misunderstand the seriousness of the situation, either. “You won’t be going home tonight. We’ll stop at a store and you can buy whatever you’ll need for a day or two, then I’m checking you into a motel.”

She jerked around in the seat until she faced him. “A motel?” She couldn’t conceal her irritation. He had made the decisions for her back at the restaurant when he had restrained her and when dealing with the police, but this was different. “You’re telling me I’m not allowed to go home? You’re making this decision on your own without even doing the courtesy of consulting me?”

He snapped out an answer to her defensive attitude. “There’s nothing to discuss. Anyone determined to do so could find out where you live in a matter of minutes. I’m sure whoever is behind the bombing already knows where you live in addition to where you work.”

His words struck a chord with her. If it was that easy, then why had Danny Vincent claimed it had taken him so long to discover where she had moved? Or had it really taken him that long?

She glanced at Brad as they drove onto the interstate. Someone had just tried to kill her and now her life was in the hands of a total stranger who was driving her to an unknown place. She wasn’t sure exactly what to think or feel anymore.

She had briefly thought about moving to another state and starting over after the trial in order to distance herself from the chaos that had been forced on her, but running away wasn’t her life pattern. The trial was over, she had a new job and she was free to return to her normal routine of dull and predictable. She had thought the only change would be her move from Seattle across Lake Washington to Bellevue to be close to her new place of employment. How wrong she had been.

She had always done what was expected of her, gone along without making waves, which included agreeing to testify at the trial. She had information about John Vincent’s activities. It was her duty to testify—it was expected of her.

Even taking the job at Green Valley Construction as soon as she graduated from college had been to please her mother. She had spent most of her life trying to be the daughter her mother wanted. As a child she had been subjected to constant fights between her mother and father. Finally her father walked out the door for good, leaving a ten-year-old girl to deal with her mother’s demands. She felt as if she had been abandoned, leaving her to believe that she couldn’t trust anyone. She had done her best to cope, but from that moment on her mother had leaned heavily on her for emotional support, draining her of a happy childhood. Her mother insisted that she was too frail and couldn’t manage by herself. She needed Tara’s help.

She could still hear her mother’s words. Being a dancer isn’t any kind of respectable career for a young woman. Get yourself a nice secure office job where you can grow with the company, and if you don’t find yourself a husband, at least you won’t be washed up by forty and you’ll have a nice pension when it comes time for you to retire.

She had finally been able to break away from her mother’s constant control when she had saved enough money from her job to move out and get her own apartment, but it didn’t stop her mother’s relentless attempts to interfere in her life. Getting married had not been on Tara’s list of goals, and as it turned out an office job had ended up being anything but secure. The only true risk she had ever taken in her life was agreeing to testify at John Vincent’s trial. That decision had turned her life upside down…and now, when she thought it was all over, it had come back to turn her life into a nightmare.

The one shining moment had been her new job. Finding it had been a real stroke of luck. She had been at her favorite bookstore and had reached for a book at the same time as Judy Lameroux. They struck up a conversation that quickly turned into a friendship. Judy told her about a job opening at the company where she was the office manager. It was almost as if fate had stepped in to help her in her time of need. She liked her new job, her co-workers and her new home. And two months ago she had bought a new car…her first car that was brand new rather than used. It had seemed as if everything was going to be okay in spite of her brief sojourn in a chaotic situation.

She glanced at Brad again. Trust hadn’t been easy for her since the upheaval of her childhood. It had been even more fleeting since her disastrous engagement to Danny Vincent, then reinforced by the subsequent arrest of the man who had employed her, followed by his trial and her being thrust into the very awkward and uncomfortable situation of being a witness.

She took in Brad’s handsome profile and strong determination. When he put his arm around her shoulder in the restaurant parking lot he had provided her with a silent strength while at the same time calming her fears. It had also sent a little tremor of excitement through her body, something totally inappropriate for the situation yet a very real sensation. He was as fascinating and dynamic as the danger surrounding her was traumatic and frightening.

And now she was all alone with this very appealing stranger in whom she was forced to place her trust. Her very life depended on whether that trust was valid. Another shiver of anxiety confirmed what she already knew. The danger was very real. A chapter of her life that she thought was over had come back to haunt her and throw her life into turmoil again. Could she trust this man to help her? She wanted to, but she wasn’t sure she even knew how to trust anymore.