Warrior's Second Chance
Autorzy
Nancy Gideon
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16,3K
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15
Chapter 1
Death hung suspended at arm’s length.
She stared with hypnotic horror down the barrel of the gun, seeing no light at the end of that long black tunnel. Only darkness and death.
Hers and her daughter’s.
Lifting her gaze from the empty hole that held her demise, she looked into the eyes of her killer. What had she expected to find there? Sympathy? Regret? There was nothing, a flat void of expression as deadly and cold as the bore of the gun.
Was this what her husband had seen, this empty, soulless stare, in the last seconds of his life?
Would this be the last intimacy exchanged between man and wife, this shared precursor to their own end at the same indifferent, yet well-known, hand?
Robert D’Angelo was dead already, his life taken in this same room some months before by this same man. By this man who’d been his friend, his betrayer.
Her heart beat fast and frantically, pounding in her chest, hammering inside her head, the sound amplifying, intensifying like a desperate, unvoiced scream.
Please! I don’t want to die!
Tessa sat beside her, calm, fierce, her father’s daughter. Instead of begging for mercy, she argued with, even taunted, the man who held their futures in cruel hands. So brave, so confident. So precious. In the twenty-eight years they’d shared, had she told her how precious she was?
An anguished plea burned in her throat, twisting, tearing for release.
Don’t take my daughter.
If she jumped forward, if she grabbed the gun, using her body for a shield, perhaps Tessa could get away. There was a chance one of them might survive. Tessa. It should be Tessa, who had so much to live for.
Her breathing caught as an awful realization slammed through her. These could be the last moments of her life.
And then his words, with their terrible finality.
“Sorry, Babs. Nothing personal.”
Something moved in his fixed stare. Something so dark and unbelievably terrifying, her plan to save her daughter by sacrificing herself froze in timeless terror.
Pleasure. He was going to enjoy killing them.
An explosion of movement coincided with a shrill of sound. Her dream shattered like that remembered glass as Barbara D’Angelo woke to the ringing of her phone.
It took her a long moment to separate nightmare from reality.
She sat up on the leather love seat, drenched in a sweat of panic. Afternoon sunlight slanted through the windows of the enclosed porch where, after another restless night, she’d fallen, exhausted, to sleep. She forced a constricted breath. Then another. The threat was gone, now behind bars awaiting justice. She was here, safe in her home, not at her husband’s office at the mercy of his killer.
The only thing that didn’t change upon waking was the fact that her husband was dead.
Vestiges of fear beaded coldly upon her skin. She scrubbed her hands over her face. Only then did she reach for the insistent phone. In another few weeks it would be turned off, the number disconnected as she removed herself forever from this place, from this life. She would be moving on, leaving the past and its ugly scars behind. None too soon.
She lifted the receiver and spoke with what she hoped was coherent civility.
“D’Angelo residence.”
An amiable greeting sounded on the other end of the line. It wasn’t a solicitor trying to coerce her into opening her checkbook for some worthy cause. It wasn’t a friend requesting a long overdue lunch. It wasn’t her realtor wondering if the house was ready for the market. It was a voice from the past. One that still echoed, horribly, impossibly, from her nightmare of moments before.
The voice of her husband’s murderer.
“Hello, Barbie. Did you think I’d forgotten you?”
For a moment she couldn’t respond. Her entire system shriveled into a tiny knot of disbelieving panic. How could it be? How could it be him?
“Babs? You still there? Cat got your tongue?” His chuckle was warm and jovial, making it all the more terrifying. “Nothing to say to me after all we’ve shared? That’s okay. You can just listen. Guess where I am?”
Finally, her shocked stupor ended upon a snap of outrage. “You should be burning in hell, but a life behind bars will have to do.”
“I’ve been to hell, Babs. It was hot and green. But no, I’m not going back there, not for a long while. And right now, there’s nothing between me and a fine view of Lake Michigan. Nothing but two lovely young ladies.”
He was out. That knowledge stabbed through the protective bubble of her supposed safety, leaving her exposed and alone. She gripped the receiver in sweat-slicked palms, clinging to it in desperate denial. Another more awful notion began to germinate like a toxic virus in her brain. She wanted to hang up, to sever the link, to halt the horrible truth she feared was coming. But she couldn’t. She had to know.
“Why are you calling me?” It was little more than a whisper.
“It’s a beautiful day. It’s great to be alive. At least I’m sure that’s what your daughter is thinking. I’m watching her right now.”
Barbara’s eyes squeezed shut. Panic and helplessness tightened within her chest. Tessa…
“We’ve been having a wonderful time here on the Navy Pier,” Chet Allen continued cheerfully as if he were a part of the outing of school children her daughter was chaperoning in Chicago for the long weekend. “Your Tess particularly enjoyed the display of stained glass inside, but the girls are dragging her down to the Ferris wheel. She’s not afraid of heights, is she? I didn’t think so. Your scrappy little girl isn’t afraid of anything. That’s because she doesn’t know what you and I know. She doesn’t know that her life could be over before she finishes paying for those ice cream cones.”
“What do you want?” she all but screamed into the phone.
She could almost see him smiling on the other end of the line, a cold, smug smile of control.
“I want you to do me a favor. But first, a few ground rules just in case you get confused about who’s in charge here.”
She could hear carnival music in the background and the innocence of happy girlish chatter. She could hardly breathe as she heard him say, “Excuse me, young lady. I think you dropped this.”
And then Barbara trembled at the sweetly familiar sound of her adopted grandchild’s voice with its delicate Spanish accent.
“Thank you, señor.”
Rose. Sweet Rose.
After a brief pause, Chet Allen spoke crisply, clearly, so there would be no mistaking the danger.
“You see how close I am? I could have just as easily given her a blade between the ribs as returned her bag of cotton candy. Do we understand each other, Barbara? Do you get the picture?”
“Yes,” she whispered. She got the picture in Technicolor.
“Good.” He was all pleasant humor once again. “Make no mistake. There is nothing, no one, that can come between them and me if you don’t do exactly what I tell you. Before you can call your commando son-in-law, before you can scream for help to the Windy City police, I’ll have them. They’ll be dead. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes.” Clear as her Waterford crystal.
“Excellent. Now, back to that favor. You’re flying to D.C. this afternoon. I’ve expressed a ticket to your office. It should be there in about an hour. That doesn’t give you much time to pack your party dresses. You’ve got reservations for two at the Wardman under your maiden name.”
“For two?”
“I’ve arranged for a traveling companion for you, seats 12A and B. Someone who’s capable of handling the behind-the-scenes work that needs to be done while you dazzle and distract. The two of you will have a common goal when it comes to saving your daughter’s life. Whether you want to tell him why he’s got so much at stake is up to you. Just make sure he’s motivated to help you. And to help himself.”
Surely he couldn’t mean…
She couldn’t even bring his name into focus for fear of remembering all. She tried to take a breath through the complex emotions wadding in her throat. The effort nearly strangled her. She forced herself to get behind the paralysis of surprise. Not now. Not yet. She could deal with that later. Right now, she had to think of Tessa. She made her mind move forward. Think. “How did you get out?” Suddenly, that mattered, knowing who was pulling the strings. “They said you couldn’t make bail. The evidence—”
“Is gone. No more damning paper trail. No more greedy Councilwoman Martinez.” She heard his fingers snap. “No more solid case against me. I’m free as a bird with clipped wings. The only ones who can try to put me back in that cage are you and your daughter. But before you get the chance to testify, one of two things will have happened, either you’ll join Martinez and disappear or I will.”
It took a long moment for her to digest that. What if he was telling the truth? “Martinez…”
“Had an unfortunate accident in her cell. I’d just as soon neither of us have to keep her company. She was really quite unpleasant.”
Barbara’s mind spun like that dizzying Ferris wheel, trying to make sense of what she was hearing. Martinez was dead. Allen was out on bail. “Who killed her? Why?”
“Let’s just say my particular talents were needed to finish up some long overdue business and certain parties were eager to have me on the streets. So I want you to play a game with me. You remember how much I like to play games. This isn’t hide-and-seek or spin the bottle. It’s a survival game.”
“Why should I care if you survive? You killed Robert. You killed my husband.”
“That’s what I do. And I do it better than anyone else. Don’t hold that against me. It was just a job. And now I have another job to do.”
“Keeping Tessa and me from going to court,” she all but whispered.
Allen laughed off her greatest fear. “Babs, you’re not that important in the giant scheme of things. Neither am I. They wouldn’t have gotten me out just to tie up my loose ends.”
“Who?”
“Them that makes the rules. Rules I have to follow. Rules they’ve always made me follow even when I didn’t want to. It’s not about what I want. I can’t break those rules. But you can.”
“Rules? What are you talking about, Chet?”
“Ask Mac. Those rules used to apply to him, too. He broke them and now they want me to punish him for it. That’s my new job, Barbie. That’s why I thought you might be interested in playing.”
“I don’t understand.”
The voice on the phone grew harsh and cold as gun metal. “Then let me spell it out for you, Barbara. In fourteen days, I have to appear in court to stand trial for Robert’s murder. You and your daughter are the only witnesses who can testify against me. I’m motivated to see that doesn’t happen. I have a choice. Either I can silence the both of you or I can disappear. I need help to disappear. In that fourteen days, I have another job to do if I want to live long enough to make that choice, to get that help. I have to silence the only other friend I’ve ever had. Those are the rules to the game I’m playing. But I’m no fool, Barbie. I know once that job is done, my usefulness will have expired. They may decide not to follow their own rules. Either I’ll be buried so far undercover no one will ever know I existed or I’ll be buried next to Robby. I’m not ready for that hot, green hell yet.”
“So what do you expect me to do?”
“You don’t have to follow rules. You can break them for me. You and Mac. He knows how to play. You have thirteen days to break the rules so Tag doesn’t have to die. Then we’ll discuss that other choice. The one that involves you and your daughter. You’re safe, she’s safe for now, as long as you play the game.”
“Who makes the rules?”
“Ticktock, Barbie. Better get packing.”
“Wait! What is it you want me to do?”
“I’ll call you when you get to the Wardman. And Babs, they are lovely girls. You should be proud.”
The line went dead.
She sat for long, tense minutes staring at the receiver as if it would yet speak some answer to her. Silence. The only sounds were the tortured gasps of her breathing.
Then, the mellow bongs of the grandfather clock in the living room sounded, tolling out the time and how quickly it was passing. Ticktock.
Without thinking, Barbara dialed. A moment passed. Then, at last, a connection.
“Hi, Mom. You should be here to rescue me from this unruly mob of twelve-year-olds. I’d rather be facing a box of angry jurors.”
Tessa’s voice, cheerful and alive. Barbara clutched the phone, struggling against a maternal demand that she scream an alarm across the miles that separated them. But Allen was there, watching. She inhaled and let it out in a slow controlled stream before speaking.
“Things going that well. No one said motherhood was a cakewalk.”
“It’s not for sissies. You could have warned me what I was getting myself into. The other moms have had a dozen years to get used to the idea and I’ve only had a few months. But you know what? I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”
Emotion thickened in Barbara’s throat as she pictured her toughly independent daughter over-wrought by the pleasures of parenting. Pleasures that had slipped quietly and almost unnoticed away from the two of them during Tessa’s growing-up years. She blinked back the burn of tears as she phrased her words, knowing someone was nearby, watching Tessa’s reactions to whatever she said. “Enjoy yourself, but be careful. Chicago can be a dangerous place. You need to be ready to protect those little girls against anything. And yourself, too.”
“Are you suggesting I should have packed my piece to go on a school field trip?” She laughed. Then the ever practical side of her personality took over. “Don’t worry, Mom. Jack trusted me to make sure nothing ever happens to Rose and I take that very seriously. I’d never let him down.”
“I love you, Tessa.”
The impulsive statement was met with the silence of surprise. There was still too much healing to do between them for Barbara to have expected a reply. So instead, she filled the uncomfortable void with lighthearted small talk. It wouldn’t do for Tessa to guess the truth about the danger she was in. Not when she was vulnerable, unprepared and unarmed and caring for a group of children. Because Barbara knew her daughter, knew she would rush headlong into a confrontation that could cost her her life and the life of the child she loved. Those were the risks she, herself, would take to keep them safe and unsuspecting.
“Tell Rose I said hello and not to eat too much junk food.”
“Ha! You tell her. Twelve-year-olds think sugar is a primary food group. How are things holding together at the office?”
“Fine,” she lied. “Everything’s under control here. You just concentrate on having a good time.”
“On keeping my sanity, you mean. Gotta go. See ya later this week.”
Sitting there, listening to dead air as her inner spirit wept, Barbara made a promise to do anything necessary to see her daughter safely home.
Even if that meant making a deal with a devil.
“Are you sure you can handle everything until Jack gets back?”
From the front-row seat of his wheelchair, Michael Chaney watched his son’s mother-in-law pace the length of the office as if it were a fashion runway. She was the most sophisticated creature the ex-cop had ever known. All class, all the time. Not intentional, just instinctual. That classiness had been passed down to the woman his son married, along with a not-so-delicate grit. Despite the polish, despite the poise, that sandpapery grit was showing on Barbara D’Angelo like the ragged edge of a crooked slip hanging below her stylish hemline. Something was wrong. Something that had to do with the suitcase and matching overnight bag she dragged into the office behind her. Something to do with the airline ticket she held clenched in one white-knuckled hand. But because he was an ex-cop, as well as her friend, he approached the situation carefully.
Michael snorted at her question. “I’ve handled worse than eight badass bodyguards-in-training. Stan’s working with them this week, probably beating them over the head with his cane to keep their attention focused on surveillance equipment instead of that hot little pilot with her long, long legs.”
That won a rueful smile. “Sounds like you’ve been doing some surveillance yourself.”
“I’m crippled, not dead. I’ll handle the phones and the interviews, and Stan will keep the probbies in line. Hey, no worries.”
But he could sense worries aplenty behind her artfully made-up surface. Barbara knew it. And she couldn’t afford to rouse his suspicions.
He’d know if she made one tiny slip. Family was the only thing that would wear concern into her flawless face. Nothing was wrong there that he knew of and she had to see that he continued to believe that. As far as he knew, Barbara was loving her stint behind the desk of Personal Protection Professionals. Who would have guessed? Less than a year ago, she’d been a regular on the society page, hosting elaborate fundraisers for charities and her husband’s political aspirations. Her biggest worries then had been whether the hired kitchen staff could keep up with the demand for shrimp puffs. Then a gunshot ended that superficial existence.
All Michael Chaney knew, from what she’d told him, was that at fifty, she was a widow whose résumé was as trophy wife. She had no skills, no passions, no purpose. Her sons lived on different sides of the country and her daughter might as well live on another planet for the distance that separated them. She was alone for the first time in her life, though she’d been lonely for years. Hard to believe, but she’d made him into a believer.
And then Jack Chaney proposed marriage to her daughter and a business arrangement to her.
She’d been surprised, doubtful and, more than that, genuinely excited. A job opportunity. A chance to be a part of something real and important and growing, like her relationship with her daughter now that the secrets between them had been torn wide open. Office manager for Personal Protection Professionals, or Lone Wolf’s Warriors, as Tessa liked to call it after Jack’s former black ops code name. They’d rented space in the center of a run-down strip mall, wedged between the hot pink vertical blinds of a hair salon and the flickering neons of an income tax service. The sign was still so new the paint looked wet. Her job was to coordinate between the training compound that housed Jack and his family, and the office; paying bills and spearheading the background checks with the elder Chaney and Stan Kovacs, his partner from their days on the streets before a criminal’s bullet put Michael in a wheelchair. And though this was the first paycheck-earning job she’d ever had, Barbara took it seriously. She wouldn’t let Jack’s unsubstantiated faith in her down for anything.
And one of the things she’s promised him was to take care of his new wife and their adopted daughter when he was away. And she wouldn’t break that promise.
Barbara finally gave up her aggressive travels and collapsed gracefully into a utilitarian office chair. She looked like a Saks Fifth Avenue marionette with the strings abruptly severed; inside, her emotions were just as tangled. “Where is Jack, anyway?”
“Someplace in Mexico doing a favor for his buddy Russell. He’s not very good at cards and letters when he’s in the field, but he’ll check in when he’s supposed to. Anything you want me to tell him?”
There it was. The opening Barbara had waited for. The chance to unload the tension and terror continuing to build behind her composed facade. But she kept it to herself, hugged it close, as tight as she would have held to those two unsuspecting girls had they stepped into the office at this moment. Because she knew what Chet Allen was and what he was capable of doing. She forced a smile. If Jack had been here, if she was able to get hold of him, he’d know just what to do. He knew the kind of man Allen was, too, and he’d know how to handle this dangerous situation. But Jack wasn’t here and she couldn’t ask his advice. So she’d have to trust her own instincts. And pray she was doing the right thing.
“Tell him Tessa and Rose send their love. And that I’m taking care of things.”
“What things, Barbara? What things are you taking care of?”
There was no escaping that blunt question. She stared down at the ticket crushed in her hand. A ticket leading toward troubles untold and a madman on the loose. And, apparently, a long overdue reunion. The significance was too enormous to consider on top of all else.
But one thing she did know. If Allen was following her to D.C., he wouldn’t be here threatening her family. That, alone, was worth the risk she was taking.
And then there was that other matter Allen had hinted at. The matter she’d squeezed out of her thoughts but had her heart beating a rapid tempo of anticipation.
Taggert McGee.
“Things I should have dealt with a long, long time ago,” was the answer that would have to satisfy him. The honk of her cab’s horn relieved her from further awkward evasion. She took a shaky breath and regarded Michael Chaney through misting eyes. “Behave. I’ll be back…in a few days.”
But would she be returning to the life she was learning to love and the new family she couldn’t live without?
That, she realized as she towed her luggage out the door, was now in her hands. Hands that were damp and trembling.
“Excuse me. Has the passenger in seat 12B checked in yet?”
The airline attendant who’d just given the last call for her flight regarded Barbara with a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Not that I’m aware of. You’ll have to board now.”
She scanned the empty rows of form-fitted seats in the gate area as if she’d find her traveling companion still there like an unattended bag. Panic twisted beneath her ribs. “Are you sure?”
The attendant’s smile never wavered. “Yes, ma’am. You’ll have to board now. There’s another flight if your friend arrives too late.”
Too late.
Too late for whom? For the daughter and grandchild at the mercy of a maniac? A deadly lunatic, government-trained to do only one thing and do it well. A man like that didn’t value life. Not even his own. And that made him the worst kind of threat.
She was right to be afraid.
The moment she recognized his voice on her home phone, Barbara had shifted into a numb sort of overdrive. She’d called no one after confirming Tessa’s safety. A tenuous condition. Whether she remained in that state of grace was up to Barbara, and that burden weighed like a Mack truck parked atop her heart. What could she do but follow Allen’s dictates? Who could she call for help? The police were no match for a man like Chet. Not after Robert’s murder and not now. Even after she, Tessa and Jack had snared him and the councilwoman he’d worked for, the justice system had somehow opened their doors to put him back into a society where he didn’t belong. If she reached out to the world around her for assistance, he would know. Somehow, he would know. And the consequences were too awful to consider.
So she’d locked the doors of her palatial home and driven off in her big luxury car. She went to the office of Personal Protection Professionals, where currently she was the entire office staff. And with all that expertise, all that well-honed skill surrounding her, available upon her single word, she hadn’t dared speak it.
If she did, somehow he would know. And the two she loved most in the world would die.
There were only two people who’d ever been able to handle Chet Allen. One, her husband, was dead. The other belonged to the unclaimed seat.
“Please, ma’am.” The attendant gestured down the tunnel where the sound of her jet whined impatiently.
Lifting her carry-on, Barbara gave the terminal hall one last glance, then committed to the rush down the gangway. A relieved attendant directed her to her seat in the full main cabin. Two empty seats together. Too late now to regret her decision to comply with Chet Allen’s plan. She’d just have to find a way to handle things in Washington on her own. Whatever those things might be.
The overhead compartment was already full. While those seated around her glared at the delay, Barbara wrestled with her bag, trying to force it into the narrow space remaining. The Fasten Seat Belts tone sounded twice, urging her to hurry. Frustration knotted in her throat and burned behind her eyes. Just as the need to weep nearly overpowered, a man reached up to clear the necessary space into which her bag fit snugly.
“Thank you.”
Taking a jerking breath, she looked over her shoulder to her rescuer, but any other words died on her lips. Her pathetically grateful smile froze there.
“Hello, Barbara.”
She couldn’t draw a breath. Her head grew light, her vision unreliable. But there was no confusing the man in the aisle beside her with any other.
How could one forget the man who had fathered a child and then left her and the baby for another man to raise as his own? The man she must now depend upon to save that precious child’s life.
