Love on the Edge: Nine Shades of Romantic Suspense, page 48
Sandro walked to the ambulance where they had transferred Nia to a raised gurney. They were preparing to lift her into the back of the ambulance.
“Momma, momma,” Daniele said again. “Ti amo, Momma.”
“I love you, too,” she said, “Both of you.” Then she turned her attention to Sandro. “Are you excited about the baby?”
He smiled in spite of the grim circumstances. “You know I am.” He gave her a kiss.
“I had a special meal planned to tell you, then you…” she frowned as her voice faded away.
“I’m sorry, carissima. I was trying to keep you safe. If I’d thought for a moment this would–”
“Shh,” she interrupted. “I understand what happened. You did what you had to.”
“But the pain I caused.”
“Not you. Them.”
“They hurt you.” He touched her bruised face.
“They’re dead now.”
“I would kill them again.”
“Yes, I know, Sandro. But now there’s no need. They’re dead and we’re free from them.”
“We need to get her to the hospital, sir.”
“Si, si. I know. We will be at the hospital, amore. I will see you soon.”
She smiled. “Yes, I expect you there.” The medics pressed the button on the lift and guided the gurney into the ambulance.
She watched him and saw his frown. “It’s over, Sandro. Don’t think about it anymore. It’s over.”
“Over, Poppa. It’s over,” Daniele repeated.
Yes, it was over. It wasn’t his way to reflect on the bad. Instead he chose to focus on the good. His enemies were dead, his son was safe, his wife would be fine and in a few months they would have a new baby to celebrate.
For Sandro and his family, it was over.
*
Dave looked around and blew out a breath. It was easy enough to tell what went wrong. He was just thankful none of his people had been killed. Two of the men with Luigi were injured but still alive. It was still uncertain if they’d survive though.
It could have been so much worse than a bullet wound to Nia’s shoulder. Massimo could have had a better aim. Dave shuddered.
Marisa stopped beside him.
Dave felt his heart soften and swell with relief. She hadn’t had to go back to her father, after all. He hoped now they could work on a future together. He turned and pulled her into a hug. Held on tight. He wanted to hold her forever. “How are you?”
“This is for the best, you know.” Her voice was heavy with tears.
Dave used his thumbs to wipe away the wetness on her cheeks, only able to guess at the pain and frustration she must be feeling. “I didn’t mean for anybody to die.”
“Even if you had arrested him, my father would have never stopped until Sandro was dead.”
Dave nodded, smoothed her hair back from her face. He wanted to go on touching her, feeling as if he could never touch her enough, happy there was no reason for him to stay away. “Maybe you’re right,” he agreed. “Are you going to be okay?”
She nodded. “I expected this outcome. Prepared myself. Perhaps not this way, and certainly not with Sandro’s wife hurt. But I expected my father to die today.” She breathed deep then pulled away. Her voice sounded stronger when she said, “You have a lot of work to do, I know.”
“I’ll have someone escort you to your apartment.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead, feeling more calm and hopeful than he had in a long time. “I’ll see you soon.” He knew whatever the future brought, he wanted her in it. He wanted to tell her, but not now. “We’ll talk.”
“Perhaps,” she said softly.
Dave felt his mood drop, but then excused her somber mood, knowing it had to be one of the worst days in her life. He’d never lost a family member, didn’t even want to imagine such a tragedy.
But she had him now. If she wanted him. He hoped she wanted him. He wanted to give her the world, since so much of her world had been stolen from her. She’d never had a childhood.
Dave could show her a much better place, a different kind of world than she’d grown up in. If she’d let him. And he had to believe she’d let him.
She reached into her jacket pocket. “As you move my father’s car, your men need to be aware of this.” She handed him a small black remote control device.
He stared at it; at first, not comprehending. A small black remote control was so far removed from the happy place he’d been imagining. As suspicion took over, his triumphant, hopeful mood tried to evaporate. He clung to the thoughts of happiness desperately, hoping his instincts were wrong.
He took a deep breath, released it, and asked her, “What’s this?”
Her face was sober, serious. “Insurance.”
“Insurance?” he questioned, hoping he misunderstood her meaning. Please let it not be what he thought.
“It’s under the back axle, by the gas tank,” she told him. “Cut the blue wire.”
With so few words she’d effectively burst the fantasy world he’d been creating. He felt the blood drain from his face. A sick feeling swirled in his stomach.
Dave’s gaze slammed into hers. “You wired his car?” His voice came out first as a whisper, then grew stronger. “You wired a fucking bomb to your father’s car?”
“I owed him. And my brother. I wanted justice.” She held his gaze, her chin tilted up, as if daring him to say something.
“You wanted vengeance,” he said, still working hard to process what she’d done. Find a reason to deny it. Or find a reason to justify it. Because God help him, he’d wanted her, wanted her in his life, wanted to believe they could overcome all the obstacles in their way. Had convinced himself it could happen.
And now.
She shrugged, her actions belying the emotion suddenly swimming in her eyes. “Do you respect me now?” She swallowed thickly, then whispered, “Do you want me now?”
She’d tried to warn him once. Dave remembered. She’d tried to tell him their worlds were too different. The cynical, jaded FBI man had dared to hope, to believe…
Without giving him a chance to answer, she turned and walked off, back straight, head high.
The remote was still in his hand. Dave looked at it, and then looked back at Marisa.
Dave watched her walk away.
Acknowledgements
To my six children: thanks for putting up with the craziness of a writer and all that entails (including, but not limited to, irregular mealtimes with a lot of frozen pizza).
Additional thanks to these wonderful, supportive people who helped make this book possible.
To Terry Zumwalt: Editor extraordinaire
To Shanel Anderson: Brilliant cover artist
To Detective Sergeant Hank Bailey: I would have been lost without the research help! (mistakes are all my own)
To Debbie Weierman, FBI Office of Public Affairs (again, mistakes are my own)
To Beverly, Barb and Karen, best friends a woman could have.
And last, but most important: thanks to you, dear reader, for taking the chance on my book. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.
For information about my latest releases please sign up for my newsletter at www.dianalayne.com
I love hearing from readers: dianalayne@yahoo.com
The Last Enemy
Pauline Baird Jones
“Pauline Baird Jones is back with another terrific tale that will make readers want to savor each and every line.” RT Book Reviews; RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Award winner, 1999. (First digital-only novel to win this award.)
Haunted by the death of her child and stalked by a killer, romance author Dani Gwynne wants to want to live long enough to testify. And then her protection detail is compromised. She’s on her own in the mile high city of Denver, trying to figure out who to trust.
And why she’s trying so hard to live…
Deputy US Marshal Matthew Kirby knows he’s the good guy. And this is simple. She trusts him and he stops a lethal hit man for good. End of story.
With the clock ticking down on a macabre game of hide and seek with hit man, the romance author must find her will to live and love again. And the Marshal must learn that nothing is simple in life, in death, and particularly in love.
This book is sweet with a hint of sizzle.
More praise for The Last Enemy:
“I very much enjoyed Ms. Jones’ blend of romance, suspense, and comedy…action and comedy are smoothly written, making it easy to watch it as a movie in your head. But, don’t count on intermissions, you’ll want to read it straight through.”
~ Midwest Book Review
“Jones pulls together many different elements and story lines in her skillfully written novel and combines elements of flowery romances, suspenseful thrillers, and hard-boiled mysteries to create an engaging, fast-paced story full of unexpected twists and turns.”
~ Booklist, Nov 15, 1999
“Pauline Baird Jones’s second novel, THE LAST ENEMY is a superb romantic suspense rich with dark undertones but also brilliantly subtle with Ms. Jones’s signature ingenious humor…don’t miss The Last Enemy for a great read…”
Patricia Rouse,
~ Romantic Times Columnist
“Pauline Baird Jones is a genius with words that create some of the zaniest, funniest, and down right suspenseful books ever! Her characters are classics, and the plots are superb creations of a master storyteller that gives you unbeatable reads.”
Suzanne Coleburn,
~ The Belles and Beaux of Romance
“A highly suspenseful, should-be-a-movie, totally entertaining tale of derring-do, The Last Enemy defies categorization—at least by me. All I can tell you is: I enjoyed every word and was sorry when I reached the end. If you really liked the movie, Romancing the Stone, then you will absolutely love The Last Enemy and be clamoring at Hollywood’s gates to make this book into the next “really great movie.”
Very Highly Recommended,
~ Under the Cover Reviews
“A gifted comic writer, in The Last Enemy Pauline Jones shows how little separates good comedy from great suspense. Suspense and comedy thrive on precision timing, imminent disaster and constant surprise. The Last Enemy delivers all three, topped with a generous helping of great characters.”
Four moons,
~ Crescent City Blues
“The Last Enemy is a brilliantly crafted psychological thriller. It is a compelling story of obsession and bloodlust combined with edge-of-your-seat action scenes and a powerful attraction and love that will not be ignored. The suspense is almost painful in its intensity, the sexual tension is taut and the insights into the mind of the killer are as fascinating as they are horrifying…”
~ Dee Lloyd
Acknowledgments
The Last Enemy began a long time ago and would never have existed, or endured, without the help and support of Mary Wolf of Hardshell Word Factory (First publisher), Romantic Times Magazine (now RT Book Reviews) who made it the first digital-only book to win a Reviewer’s Choice award way back when digital publishing wasn’t that cool, and L&L Publishing (deepest thanks to the late Linda Houle and her friend and business partner, Lisa Smith).
This Perilous Pauline Classic Edition, however, would not exist without the dedicated support of Ana Conoan Baird. She assisted with editing and cover art design and I don’t know how to thank her enough.
I’m also grateful for the encouragement and support of my husband, Greg. He just keeps believing in my writing, that crazy man.
Chapter One
Fear followed Dani Gwynne out of sleep, drying her throat to parchment, turning her muscles to wood and digging up her longing to go fetal and whine.
Where—? Oh yeah. The safe house. In Denver. Colorado. Dani took an unsteady breath. Water would restore the moisture to her throat, but fetal and whining had to be reburied. Things like that got recorded in “The File.” After eight months in protective custody, Dani was suffering from an acute case of lost privacy.
“You awake?” Peg’s husky murmur drifted on the same cooled air that circulated the smoke from her cigarette. The Deputy US Marshal had gone from occasional to chain smoker in just over two months, but Dani would bet money that wouldn’t make it into “The File.”
“Yeah.” Dani rubbed her face.
“Another bad dream?” Peg sounded sympathetic.
Bad dream? The hired killer, Dani called him Dark Lord for lack of a real name, did a brief encore inside her head. She gave a slight twitch. Not a good dream, but at least it hadn’t been the one where he held her head under a sea of blood until her lungs exploded. That was a bad dream.
“I just need to pee,” Dani said. Dreams made it into the file, peeing didn’t. She hoped.
The Deputy US Marshal, a dark silhouette against the drawn drapes, gave a tiny, skeptical cough as she checked her wristwatch. “Bang on five a.m.”
Smoke made lazy spirals toward the ceiling from her cigarette, then did a sharp right turn when it strayed into the A/C current that had just kicked on. The low hum gave a questioning voice to the waiting silence.
Peg lifted the cigarette and inhaled it, then released more smoke from her mouth and nose in a weary sigh. “I’ve started setting my watch by your bladder.”
“My parts and I are glad we could help.” Dani sat up and peeled the sheet off her sticky body. She felt like she’d run a marathon instead of survived another night’s sleep in protective custody. Her body was too stiff to get vertical without help.
The book-loaded night stand was all there was, so she used it. The flimsy wooden pedestal rocked, then sent her stack of books tumbling to the floor. The Two Towers, second in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, landed between her feet with a symbolic thump. Dani had enjoyed the books more when she’d had less in common with the sturdy, stalked hobbit, Frodo. Not a good idea to name the man who hunted her after Frodo’s nemesis with the sun playing coy in the east. In her own home, back in the days when no one wanted to kill her, Dani would have stooped to pick up her books. She wanted to be that person now. She hated this drop in standards almost as much as the endless waiting, but bending wasn’t on her option list this morning.
She plowed through the mess. In the bathroom she groped for, then found the light switch, flinched as light flooded the small space. The mirror gave back her reflection without mercy. Ouch. In the old days, a good day and the right light helped her pass for attractive. She touched the lines around her eyes. Bad day, wrong light. Life was hard enough without the added stress of being hunted like Bambi’s mother, though it was a good way to lose weight. Yesterday she’d seen her hip bones for the first time in years. They didn’t look as good as she’d remembered.
“Note to myself,” she muttered, “never again make a note to myself to lose weight even if it kills you.”
If ever there were a time to be in denial, this was it. Dani draped a towel over the mirror and turned her attention to what had brought her into the bathroom. Physical relief achieved, she turned on the water, washed her hands, then filled two glasses and carried them back into the bedroom. One she handed to Peg, the other she lifted in a mocking toast. “To the dawn. May it come quickly.”
Peg obliged by clicking her glass against Dani’s, before edging back the blinds just enough to study the sky. “It’s already getting lighter.”
“That’s good.” Dani accepted the lie, despite a brief glimpse of blue velvet untouched by light. She sipped the water, her hand not quite steady. The sense of menace felt sharper tonight, as if Dark Lord had tapped into her fear and was using it to track her.
It’s just your imagination. Dani took a long drink of water. They call it a safe house, remember? She lifted the glass, a sip this time. It didn’t erase the acrid taste of fear from her mouth or ease the dryness in her throat and it tasted flat to a palate conditioned to a Diet Dr. Pepper wake up call. A pity she drank the last can yesterday evening. Neuman, the special agent-in-charge, had promised to bring her some when he and McBride came back. She frowned. Odd they hadn’t returned yet.
She lowered her glass and found Peg watching her. This wasn’t unusual. They all watched her, their eyes reflecting varying degrees of professional worry and distant pity. Probably looking for signs she was about to break.
I bend, not break, she could have told them, if they’d asked. Breaking wasn’t an option until after her day in court. She’d made a promise to a dead woman.
Dani dropped into the desk chair, propped her elbow on the smooth faux wood surface and cradled the cool glass against her aching temple. The furtive light winked off Peg’s glass as she took a drink, her hand quivering from the effort.
They made quite a pair. The romance writer and the Marshal. Brought together by capricious fate. Too bad Peg had the misfortune to look enough like Dani to be her sister, though her recent visit to the ER had made that resemblance a twin sister. The dim light deepened the hollows in Peg’s cheeks and washed out all color but the bruising under her eyes.
How did Peg do it, Dani wondered? How had she puked her guts out, then dragged her butt back here to play decoy for a killer one last night?
It’s my job, wasn’t enough of an answer. Peg didn’t have to be here. In a few hours Dani would be transferred into the care and keeping of the Denver Marshals district. They’d have responsibility for getting her safely into court next week. Peg could have stayed in the hospital. She’d done her duty, above and way beyond. Instead she’d come back a couple of hours ago, claiming her multiple hurl had been caused by the Chinese they’d had for their last supper together. Even the original OJ jury wouldn’t have bought a selective food poisoning theory.
Not that Dani wasn’t grateful. Would’ve been harder to face the dismal dawn with just the men for company. They were good guys and reassuringly competent, but there was something to that “community of women” thing.
“You gonna make it ’til Neuman and McBride get back?” Dani asked.
“I’m okay.”
“Yeah, sure.” You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re all okay—and Clinton didn’t inhale. “You shouldn’t have come back.”
