Beauty and the Badge Page 2

  She looked up at him, her eyes wide with terror.

  “You can do this. I know you can,” he whispered, then squeezed her shoulder.

  He draped the blanket over her and watched for a few seconds after she began staring out the narrow gap between the wagon’s canvas cover and wooden frame. Ford admired the way she took orders and behaved under pressure. Not exactly a bundle of courage, but at least she hadn’t gone hysterical.

  Ms. Shaw made a very small, silent and motionless lump wedged into the corner of the wagon. Even if someone looked in, they couldn’t see her unless they climbed up on the wheel and craned around to see inside.

  Ford drew his weapon, donned the cap and wrapped the other blanket around himself. Then he quickly stationed himself against the back of the vehicle where he could face the oval opening.

  He could see a portion of the open area Perry would have to cross to pass by the exhibit. If the man approached the wagon with anything at all in his hand, Ford fully intended to take him out

  An older couple ambled into Ford’s line of vision, walked over and began studying the exhibit. With the kepi pulled low over his eyes, his body wrapped to the neck in the blanket, Ford stared straight ahead. He counted on passing in the dark shadows for another dummy.

  Just then, Perry arrived in the area behind the couple, one hand in his jacket pocket. Ford watched his sharp, squinting gaze dart left, then right, scanning for possible hiding places.

  With a loud sniff, the old man turned away from the wagon and pointed to one of the standing figures in the foreground. “Hey, Martha, this un looks like Billy’s old history teacher, don’t he?”

  “Just like Mr. Carpenter!” the woman agreed, a little too enthusiastically, gaining them a cursory glance from Perry. He walked up behind the couple and gave the exhibit a once-over, settling on the wagon.

  Ford inhaled slowly, then held his breath. He didn’t dare raise his weapon to draw a bead on Perry, and he couldn’t risk firing with the old people between them in any case. He remained frozen. God help them all if the Shaw woman sneezed.

  After what seemed like hours, Perry backed away and continued his search. The interested duo remained for a while longer, arguing the authenticity of the uniforms, piece by piece.

  Ford felt his muscles cramp from the tense inertia. Yep, he’d pulled too many routine assignments since he’d left covert ops. Two years ago, he could have held himself immobile for hours. He was out of shape mentally, if not physically.

  He hadn’t heard so much as an indrawn breath from Mary Shaw. Hadn’t seen the slightest wiggle or shudder. Maybe she had fainted in place.

  Finally, Martha and her grizzled companion drifted away. Ford could hear their voices diminish with distance. He glanced down at his watch and then held himself motionless for another ten minutes. There were no further sounds that would indicate other visitors nearby.

  “Are you okay?” he whispered to the bundle in the corner.

  The top of the blanket moved slightly.

  “You did just fine,” he said, scarcely breathing the words. He clicked his weapon on safety and carefully crawled into the corner next to her.

  She shivered then. It escalated into a racking shudder. Ford embraced her rigid little form, patting her back gently. “We’ll need to stay here awhile, until he’s had time to give it up. Why don’t you relax now? Try to sleep or something.”

  “Sleep!” she rasped. “Are you crazy?” But she didn’t attempt to move away. Instead, she fitted her body even closer to his until he felt wrapped around her.

  A great sensation, he admitted to himself, but not one he ought to get used to. Her hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt, reminding him of a kitten burrowing out a comfortable place to curl up and nap. Or hide. He squeezed her shoulder with a firm hand, offering what reassurance he could.

  Her smallness and air of fragility moved him somehow, made something tighten right around where her hands were. Lower, too, but he wouldn’t let himself think about that right now.

  “Was it him?” Ford asked. “Did he shoot your friend?”

  “I—I don’t know,” she said, “I wanted to tell you before—I never saw his face. But it must be him! Why else would he be after me?”

  She shook her head and quaked again, but she didn’t cry. That surprised Ford. He began stroking the tense muscles on either side of her spine. “That’s okay, hon. Just take it easy. We’ll wait an hour or so, and then I’ll take you someplace safe. I won’t let him get to you, I promise.” Same thing he’d tell anybody who was this scared, Ford assured himself. Made sense to pour oil on the waters, didn’t it?

  She nodded against his chest. His admiration for her upped another notch. No tears, no screams and no wild panic. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t fly to pieces when they reached safety, however. He expected that, and would deal with it. For now, though, Ford just thanked his lucky stars she was holding it together.

  Finally, she relaxed against him and he could feel her steady, quiet breathing. Maybe she had fallen asleep after all, a handy escape mechanism Ford wished he could ape about now. Every nerve in his body screamed for action. One by one, he encouraged his muscles to unknot.

  A mantra would be good, he thought with a smirk; something to chant over and over until it stuck in his brain. Something meaningful like Keep Your Cool. He felt as hot as hell, stirred up to the max, and knew it wouldn’t work. He tried it anyway.

  She didn’t move and neither did he as the heat built. If she woke up right now, she might think he had an additional weapon stuck in the front of his jeans. It felt like steel and was certainly loaded.

  His coarse imaginings did absolutely nothing to ease the situation. The harder he worked to suppress his thoughts, the more attention that took from his watching for Perry, so he let them wander as they would.

  Ford held her that way for over an hour, hidden from the halfhearted inspection of a few visitors, until his watch read five forty-five. The museum would be closing shortly. He wondered if they should stay the night.

  With nothing else to do, Ford tried to analyze the appeal of the woman in his arms. His physical reaction to her came as no real surprise. She was a looker. Not his type, of course. Not by a long shot.

  He never picked fragile women who needed coddling. Give him one who’d been around the block a few times, one who could poke disaster right in the eye and then laugh it off.

  The guys he worked with might joke around about his tomcat reputation, but Ford chose his women carefully. No soft, sweet clinging vines for him. Not after Nan.

  Experience had taught him there were two kinds of women. His mom and his sister, Molly, were both independent, tough, aggressive. Never leaned on a soul.

  His ex-wife had been about as opposite to those two as anybody could ever get. And Nan had been his opposite as well, in a hell of a lot more than grit and gender.

  The differences had appealed to Ford at first. Her pampered upbringing had been the flip side of his own. As Ford’s grandma would have said, Nan had been “gently raised,” but Ford had been “drug up. ”

  She’d had everything she’d ever asked for. But in her second year of college, her father had gone broke, just lost it all. When the old guy had found out that taxes were as inevitable as death, he’d up and died on purpose.

  Nan had scrambled around for somebody to latch on to, but none of her former prospects wanted anything to do with the daughter of a suicide who practiced tax evasion. She’d had to search further afield, and had stumbled on Ford. Biggest mistake of her life, he thought. And of his.

  Nan’s dependence on him, her bid for constant and undivided attention had fed his ego. But it sure hadn’t done a damned thing for his career. He had resigned his commission and left a job he did well, intending to study law the way she wanted. Six years in the military down the tubes, just to make his wife happy.

  Couldn’t say he hadn’t tried. The minute the paperwork came through, however, she had left him anyway. For a d
amned banker. A very rich banker, at that.

  Ford blamed himself for letting Nan change his life that way, but he blamed her, too. Not much in the way of a fifty-fifty settlement, but he hadn’t had much else to offer.

  It had taken her over a year of marriage and a hasty divorce, but Nan had certainly cured his need to be needed.

  Now he picked women who didn’t demand total commitment and half his soul. A few hours of fun and games were about his limit, and he stuck to that. He didn’t want anyone stirring up any protective feelings except those required by the job.

  Ford glanced down at the sweet-scented cocoon nestled trustingly against him. No, he could never afford this little butterfly, even if she were available. And innocent.

  The night before last, she had witnessed the murder of Antonio, the antiques dealer they’d had under investigation for smuggling stolen jewels out of the country for recutting and sale. The death was related, no doubt about it.

  A listening device had picked up the conversation between Mary Shaw and Antonio just prior to the shooting, when Antonio had given her the gems.

  Three weeks ago, while delving through the reports, Ford had made a connection between a series of three major jewel heists, this robbery of the Portsmouth gems included. Each of the owners had gotten a recent appraisal on his collection that was subsequently stolen. They all had used the same appraiser, a Nelson McEvan from New York. The man had since disappeared.

  The perp who cracked the safe and shot the owner had been apprehended in the Portsmouth case. He couldn’t identify the mastermind who had hired him anonymously to steal the gems, but had named Antonio as the man who was to receive the goods. These were not stones anyone could sell on the open market. They’d be instantly recognizable by their size alone.

  The team Ford worked with would locate McEvan eventually, but meanwhile, they meant to capture every human link in the chain that led to Amsterdam, where the disposition of the gems was to take place. So, they were following through with this little bag of goodies, the Portsmouth diamonds.

  Blevins himself had taken his turn watching the antiques dealer that night. He had seen Mary Shaw enter the shop. But he hadn’t seen the murderer. Too busy listening to Mary’s conversation with Antonio, Ford supposed. Blevins’s ineptness at street work didn’t surprise him much. The man was a computer wienie, and a good one, apparently. That was how he’d gotten promoted to senior agent. But being in charge of a task-force team was a real challenge for him. He had let Mary Shaw walk without even having her searched, saying she would lead them straight to the overseas courier. So far, she hadn’t done that.

  On Blevins’s orders, Ford had monitored her every step since then. No way she could have passed those jewels on.

  One of their junior agents had questioned her briefly before the police had released her. Blevins, as agent in charge, immediately ordered Ford to watchdog duty.

  Now Perry was after her. If he intended to kill her, that was probably to keep her from identifying him as the shooter. If he wanted to grab her alive, that meant he must know she had the gems. Either way, she’d wind up dead if Ford didn’t prevent it.

  Just what he needed, Ford thought with a smirk—a hard-on for a woman who was either a criminal or stupid enough to help a friend who was. But he had a gut hunch Mary Shaw had been suckered into all this.

  Now that she realized this was no lark, she was scared out of her little mind. Or maybe this delicacy was all an act and she was tough as boot leather.

  Whatever the truth turned out to be, Mary Shaw was not a female he could afford to fool around with, even in his fantasies. Trouble was, every time he touched her, every time he looked at her or even thought about her, those fantasies gained a few more details.

  Now he wished he had stayed in the jungles of South America where all he had to worry about were rebels and snakes.

  Chapter 2

  Mary woke with a start. She brushed frantically at the scratchy mask covering half her face.

  “Easy there,” a deep voice whispered. “You’re okay.”

  She pushed away from the hard, masculine chest where she had rested and sat up. Everything came back in a rush: the preschool, this man, the car chase, hiding here. The murderer! Had she fainted? “Where is he?” she whispered.

  “Probably outside watching the Jeep.”

  “How will we get out of here?” she asked, not even caring that she sounded afraid. She was afraid. Damn scared.

  “Back way. We’ll take my sister’s van, like I planned.”

  Mary nodded, remembering the incident at the front desk and the tall, pretty redhead who acted as though this happened every day. “Molly?”

  “Right.” He smiled down at Mary and brushed the hair out of her eyes with one long finger. “You ready to go, ma’am?”

  Ma’am, indeed. Too late to play the gentleman now, Mr. Fed, she thought. Not very convincing after the caveman act. But he had saved her life.

  He helped her untangle herself from the musty blanket and climb out of the wagon. Silently, he clasped her hand in his. It felt as warm and comforting as his voice, though there was nothing soft about this man.

  Mary followed him up the stairs and toward an unmarked door. She shuddered as he drew his gun and checked the surrounding area. He kept her directly behind him as they exited the museum and headed for a blue van parked nearby.

  “Where are we going?” she asked while she buckled in and he cranked the vehicle. “Agent—Devereaux, is it?”

  “‘Ford’ will do. We’ll go to my place until I can arrange to take you to a safe house.”

  Mary inspected the man who was taking her home with him. Up until this point—though she had noticed—she had been too frightened to care much what he looked like.

  It was the aura of the man that had really impressed her, even when he had first arrived in her classroom, even as he had carried her out like a war trophy. The man possessed a presence that instantly overpowered, and not just physically.

  He tempered his tough aggressiveness with a kind of humor Mary didn’t understand. But it did soften his attitude enough that she found him intriguing instead of detestable. He was a rogue. She recognized the type, and it was one she always avoided.

  Yet he had made her feel protected, even while someone was stalking her. He exuded an air of capability only certain men possessed, as though he always had everything under absolute control. Mary found that a lot more important than his looks or his manners. Especially in this situation.

  But the man’s looks were certainly nothing to disregard. She stole another glimpse to reaffirm her impressions. Thirty to thirty-five, she would guess. Strong, very tall, with the build and grace of an athlete. Square jaw with the faint shadow of a beard. Dark hair, nearly black, which he wore a bit too long for government work. A real head-turner, she observed clinically. And he knew it, too.

  His deep blue, long-lashed eyes had seemed very warm and kind until she had returned the look. Then they turned wary, cool, and looked away. Not interested. Fine, then. Neither was she.

  She wouldn’t look again. What did she care if someone had broken his nose? It was none of her business. He’d probably asked for it. She’d have done it herself this very afternoon if she could have reached it.

  Mary risked a quick glance. And while she was at it, she wouldn’t think about that perfect mouth with lips that gently curved down when he was lost in thought. Like now. Or how it felt against her own when he had kissed her at the school. She was definitely not interested in his mouth.

  All right, so he was handsome, she admitted to herself. Gorgeous enough to stir lust in a statue. A hotshot, too—she would bet her last dime on it. A daredevil.

  Thank God he wasn’t interested. After all he had done for her today, she would hate to have to tell him to get lost.

  Mary smoothed her wrinkled slacks over the cramped muscles of her thighs and sighed. “That man. He’s trying to kill me, isn’t he? Because of what he thinks I saw him
do.”

  She felt him cast her a long look as he stopped for a red light. “Yes, he is,” he answered honestly. She wished he had lied. Then he added, “But I don’t intend to let him.”

  Mary smiled, still staring down at her hands. She flexed the finger wearing Jim’s ring. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said, and chuckled. She liked the sound, deep-pitched and suggestive. It did something warm to her insides that no other laugh had ever done. The fact that he found the situation humorous should make her angry, but instead she found it somehow reassuring.

  “Are you always this polite or are you just still scared to death?” he asked, grinning.

  “Yes.”

  He laughed full out then, as though they hadn’t a care in the world “Both, huh? At least you’re honest. I gotta say, you held up pretty well, all things considered.”

  Something suddenly occurred to her, and Mary turned in her seat to stare at him.

  “What?” he demanded, shooting smiling glances at her while he changed gears and maneuvered through the traffic.

  “I just now thought about it. Why did we hide in that wagon when you had this van available? We could easily have made it out the back door before we were followed. Was what you subjected me to back there really necessary? Couldn’t the police have arrested that man later and arranged a lineup for me to identify him?”

  “Hey, where’d your adventurous spirit go, girl?” he asked a little too brightly.

  “I am not a girl! Now was it necessary?” she repeated, more firmly this time.

  His lips tightened and he concentrated on the next turn, ignoring her question.

  Mary shook her head, more disappointed than she could have imagined that he had proved so reckless with her safety. “You risked my life, Mr. Devereaux. Our lives!”

  He pulled into a complex of modest condominiums, guided the van into a parking space and shut off the motor. Then he faced her, his expression serious and very professional. “Sometimes, in this business, snap decisions are necessary, Ms. Shaw. What happened frightened you. Naturally, you would have preferred a safer course of action.”