Beauty and the Badge Page 3

  “Recognizing my feelings, are you? Think that gets you off the hook?” she fumed. “Well, I happen to believe avoiding danger is a mark of sanity, even if you don’t!”

  He scoffed. “So now you’re saying I’m insane! Is that nice?”

  “It was an idiotic thing to do!” she replied, angry enough to punch him. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Mary realized her sudden fury might be a result of the afternoon’s harrowing events. Nerves. Had he done the only reasonable thing? Or was she right about him? “You must have some deep-seated need to show off, or else a death wish.”

  Very slowly, his movements deliberate as if to control his temper, he removed the key from the ignition, opened the door and got out. Mary watched as he rounded the van and opened her door.

  “Let’s get inside, and you can play doctor all you want.”

  Mary stiffened at the outrageous suggestion. “I would hate to think that was intended as sexual innuendo, Agent Devereaux!”

  “I would hate for you to think so, too, Miz Shaw,” he drawled. “It could be very embarrassing if you confused your wishful thinking with reality. I was merely anticipating the rest of your half-baked analysis.”

  “You are...really crude!” she said through gritted teeth, wishing she dared call him what she was really thinking.

  “And crazy,” he added with a lift of one dark brow. “Let’s not forget crazy.”

  For a long moment they stayed exactly where they were, glaring at each other until he broke the highly charged silence.

  “Now why don’t we get you inside where you can throw the rest of your little tantrum without the risk of getting shot?”

  Mary stalked along beside him, shooting daggers he didn’t even bother to notice.

  “Here we are,” Ford announced as he opened the front door of his condo. They would be safe enough here for the time being, he thought. He had only moved in a week ago and the address wasn’t on file at headquarters yet. Nobody knew he had bought the condo because he really hadn’t bought it for himself.

  He meant to live here only for as long as he was based in Nashville—a couple of months or less—and then move his mother in when he had to go. She would never leave their old neighborhood unless he pretended he needed somebody to live here and look after the place for him.

  “Love your decor,” she said as she scanned the living room.

  Ford looked around, seeing it through her eyes. She would be used to something a hell of a lot fancier, but his place wasn’t all that bad. It looked like what it was—temporary bachelor digs.

  “At least everything matches, even the cardboard boxes,” he quipped. The furniture was mostly new, and he hadn’t bought a single thing that wasn’t some shade of brown. Guy stuff, and it suited him just fine. “I lean toward early chaos.”

  She hummed some kind of noncommittal response, then asked, “Do you have a bathroom?”

  “Indoor plumbing and everything, would you believe it?” He pointed down the short hallway. “Careful, don’t step on the rats. They’re pets.”

  After she disappeared, Ford shucked off his jacket and went to the kitchen. He was examining the contents of the fridge when she returned.

  “I sincerely hope you keep something besides samples of evidence in there,” she said.

  “You want food or penicillin?” he asked, as he emerged with a half carton of eggs. He thanked God there wasn’t really any mold or junk on anything. Probably the only thing that saved him was the fact that he had been here less than a week.

  He saw that she had combed her hair and washed her face. Even free of makeup and wearing those wrinkled clothes, she still looked classier than any model he had ever seen. Must be in the smooth way she moved or her bone structure. Hard to tell. It was just there, whatever “it” was. Probably inborn, like the silver spoon in her mouth. That continued to bother him. Why would a rich girl get tangled up in a jewel theft? Thrills?

  “You cook?” she asked, one haughty little eyebrow arched.

  Ford laid the eggs on the counter and reached for the cheese. “I guess you expect eggs Benedict or something.”

  Both eyebrows flew up in a hopeful expression. “You make eggs Benedict?”

  He laughed. “I don’t even know what the hell it is, much less how to fix it. You get em scrambled.”

  She shrugged. Ford delved into a lower cabinet for his nonstick frying pan, talking over his shoulder. “Hunger’s a good sign you’ve recovered from our race around town. Since you have, I wonder why you aren’t playing Twenty Questions about now.”

  She made herself right at home, Ford noticed. Reaching up, she dragged down two plastic plates out of the cabinet and began opening all the drawers looking for silverware.

  “Someone tried to kill me and you got me out of danger,” she said softly. “Now I suppose you will have them caught so that I can get back to my life. What more should I know?”

  “That your faith astounds me?” he asked dryly, whipping the eggs with a vengeance. “Put on some coffee, will you?”

  He watched her comply, marking the tremble of her hands and the paleness of her face. Much as he was tempted to offer her a little sympathy right now, it would just make her fall apart. When she did that, Ford didn’t want it to be on his shift. Since he was such a sucker for tears and lost-kitten looks, he didn’t trust himself not to get really involved. Blevins could handle all that after Ford took her in.

  “Toast?” he suggested, nodding toward the bread box and toaster as he scraped the eggs around the pan.

  She took a deep breath and gave her head a quick shake, unaware that Ford kept her in his peripheral vision. Too bad, he thought. Got herself in a little too deep. That would teach her to choose her playmates more carefully next time.

  Mary Shaw didn’t strike him as tough enough for this kind of deal. If she had a motive, he couldn’t think what it might be. She must have plenty of money. Her clothes were obviously expensive—looked like designer stuff to him. And he’d damned near die for a vintage Jag like hers, left sitting in the back lot at the preschool. Why had she gotten mixed up in all this, and how deeply involved was she?

  He doubted she’d do much time for it, if any, given her lack of priors. She would plead ignorance. Maybe she really didn’t know where the gems came from. Yeah, right. And maybe she never read the papers or watched the news.

  The diamonds weren’t on her, he knew that much. Her sweater and pants fitted her too well to conceal them. Wherever she had hidden the things, the guys would find them eventually. She couldn’t have gotten rid of them since the murder because Ford had watched her every move. She hadn’t been anywhere except home and the school. No drops had been made. Nobody had contacted her in person or by phone. No outgoing mail.

  If only Perry hadn’t turned up, Ford could have waited her out the way he was supposed to do.

  Ford heaped the eggs out onto the plates while reveling in the rich scent of coffee. He loved it. Boy, how he’d suffered being smack in the middle of Colombia that time and unable to get a decent cup of the stuff. Irony at its worst. Staying out of sight and alive had taken precedence then, but only just.

  He laid the frying pan in the sink and went back to the refrigerator. Then he plunked a bottle down on the table in front of her. “Want some catsup on your eggs?”

  She cringed, looking a little nauseated. Probably all the excitement was catching up with her. Ford shrugged and turned to pour the coffee.

  The man was altogether too sure of himself, Mary thought. He was certainly no gentleman. But considering her current problem, sensitivity and politeness ranked way down there on her list of preferred qualities in a man.

  His quick thinking had saved her. Surely he hadn’t turned right around and risked her life on purpose. Now that she thought about it, he must have had a very good reason for not escaping out that back door of the museum immediately.

  Her accusation had riled him, that was all. Had made him too defensive to explain why. He liked to goad
her—she knew that much. He did it on purpose.

  Well, she didn’t have to like the magnificent Neanderthal, but she supposed she really ought to be thankful.

  And Devereaux was magnificent, all six feet of him. Tanned and muscled, with quick blue eyes that didn’t miss a trick, and a smile that stunned. If she were not already engaged to a perfectly wonderful man, she might even consider looking twice.

  Even then, she would never do anything but look, however. Ford Devereaux epitomized the kind of man she dodged at all costs—brash, cocky, and just too...physical. Judging by his occupation alone, he was a born risk-taker. Just like her father. That weapon tucked in at the back of his belt made her shiver just looking at it. She hated guns.

  Still, he provided safety. True, he had kissed her and later cuddled her in that wagon. And he touched too often, though not in a salacious way. She admitted she found it comforting that he seemed worried about her as a human being, not just as a potential victim under his protection. They probably taught agents to do that, to keep from seeming brusque and impersonal.

  FBI rules surely would protect her from any serious advances on his part. And she somehow knew that Ford would protect her from everything else.

  The hugs and pats were one thing, but that kiss was quite another. That troubled her. He kissed just the way he drove—expertly, at warp speed, and with a definite destination in mind. She knew now that he had kissed her in pretense, of course. Surely she needn’t worry that it would happen again.

  It bothered Mary that she could recall the exact texture of his lips, the taste of him, and the look in his eyes when he had released her mouth.

  Even stranger than her ability to remember those things so vividly, was the fact that they had totally erased the memories she had of other kisses that certainly should rate more significance—such as Jim’s kiss when he had proposed and given her the ring she was wearing.

  Mary frantically searched her mind, trying to remember where that event had taken place. Her children might ask one day and she would have forgotten it completely.

  She jumped as Ford spoke. But when he did, he seemed to be speaking as much to himself as to her. “Since the surveillance is shot, we might as well get right down to business. If I keep you hidden from Perry, your contact won’t be able to find you anyway.”

  “My ‘contact’? What are you talking about?”

  He addressed her directly enough then. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed—”

  Mary stared at him in total disbelief. “My rights? You’re reading me my rights?”

  “Do you fully understand—”

  “You’re damned right I understand! What in the world—”

  He looked away from her then as he cut in on her question. “Trust me, Mary, you’d be wise to cooperate fully right up front. If you could give us the big guy, the one who set all of this up, that’ll get the Bureau off your back and most likely get you full immunity.”

  “‘Immunity’? From what?” she demanded.

  “Prosecution,” he stated, his voice flat with what sounded like regret “Accessory to armed robbery. Maybe murder, since you were actually present at the scene.”

  Mary issued a wordless gasp, struck dumb by the very idea. Accessory to murder?

  “Hey, even the guy who drives the getaway car in a felony gets the full treatment,” Ford informed her. “Now, do you know who put it all together?”

  “No!”

  After a moment of silence, he nodded. “Okay, I didn’t think that was too likely, but it was worth a—”

  “Damn you, why are you doing this to me? I reported the murder! Did that occur to you?”

  He continued as though she hadn’t interrupted him, as though the blood were not pounding in her ears so loudly she could barely hear. “I’ll keep Perry from killing you in any case, but you gotta know we’re also after the rocks and who you’re supposed to give them to. Just turn them over now, give me a name, and we can set you up in witness protection until Perry’s caught. You’ll probably get off with probation if you do what I say.”

  “Rocks?” she asked, thoroughly confused.

  “The Portsmouth gems.” His penetrating gaze unnerved her.

  Mary didn’t dare look away. Avoidance might make her seem guilty. “Mr. Devereaux—”

  “Why aren’t we on a first-name basis, I wonder?” he drawled. “We are sharing an intimate little meal here, and about to pass diamonds back and forth. Aren’t we?”

  Mary laid down her fork very carefully before she was tempted to stab him with it “I do not have these gems you’re talking about, and I cannot imagine why you think I do.”

  He blew out a harsh breath and sat back, fiddling idly with his paper-towel napkin, which still lay beside his plate. She watched him put on his friendly-cop face.

  “Mary, look, I’m trying to give you an out here,” he said. “If you tell us who your contact is, it’ll go a lot better for you, I promise. Try to play this out to the end, and you could do some hard time. Now, give up the gems, for a start.”

  “For the last time, I do not have any stolen diamonds!” Mary declared, slamming her fist down on the table.

  His eyes turned icy blue as they fastened on hers. “The shop was wired. We know Antonio gave them to you.”

  “He did no such thing! I don’t know what you think you heard, but he did not give me any gems!” she insisted. Her heart pounded and she felt ill. She knew nothing about the Portsmouth gems other than that they were missing—six very large diamonds stolen from a wealthy businessman somewhere in Virginia. She recalled reading that the owner of the gems had been shot during the robbery. Ford thought someone had killed Antonio over those same diamonds. She leaned toward him, hoping to make him believe. “Ford, you are wrong about this. Please—”

  “You have them, Mary. I know you do.” He looked certain.

  She would call his bluff. “Then shouldn’t I call my lawyer?”

  He shrugged. “Sure, if you want to, be my guest. I’d just hoped we could work this out between us here and now. No promises, but maybe we can even keep you out of it altogether.”

  The oaf really believed she was a thief. “I tell you I don’t know anything about it! I swear!”

  He smiled, not in sympathy, but in challenge. “I made a tape off the master. Want to hear for yourself?”

  Mary watched him get up and amble into his living room, retrieve his jacket and reach into the pocket. He withdrew a small pocket recorder as he sat back down in his chair. “I want you to listen. Then I expect you to cooperate,” he said as he punched the rewind button.

  The soft whir accompanied his words. “If you’re doing this for kicks, Mary, now’s the time to get out of it. If you need the money—which I don’t believe for a minute—then you’re going to have to find it somewhere else. Everybody involved is going down for it eventually, and I don’t want you to go with them, all right? I’m pretty sure I can get you a deal. Your only option is to help. Turn over the goods, point us to whoever’s supposed to get the gems next. That’s all you have to do.”

  Mary shoved her plate away and rested her elbows on the table. This tape would prove her innocence. Once he listened again, he would realize it wasn’t her. He knew her voice now and he would know it was someone else. The rewind clicked off and he punched Play.

  Dread collected in her stomach as she heard Antonio greeting her, questioning why she came so late to the shop when he’d asked her to come by before closing time. This recording was not going to help her. Not at all.

  She heard herself answer. Her apology sounded a bit irritated, hearing it now. Mary felt terrible about that, now that Antonio was dead. She had been too tired to put up with his fawning after a rough day at school, but she’d felt sorry for him and had tried to be nice.

  “The reason I called, I want you to handle these for me,�
� Antonio was saying. He sounded a bit desperate in retrospect.

  “Oh, my, these are genuine, aren’t they? And so lovely,” Mary had replied. She recalled shaking her head vehemently. “I really don’t want to be responsible, Antonio.”

  “Come on now, Mary,” he said, cajoling her. “Just do exactly what you did with the others. I’d feel so much better if you take care of this. Please. Think how much they’ll bring!”

  “Well, all right, but—”

  “Hush!” Antonio’s voice interrupted. Silence reigned for a moment, then he whispered, “Into my office. Hide, Mary! Quickly!”

  Ford snapped off the recorder. “Heard enough?”

  It took Mary a moment to drag her wits back to the present. The events that had followed were replaying in her mind as accurately as they would have on tape.

  Mary had suspected a break-in the moment they heard movement in the storeroom. Rushing to Antonio’s office, she had hidden behind the door, peeking through the crack, trying to muffle the sound of the portable phone she’d grabbed from his desk as she dialed the police.

  “They argued,” she said, unable to dispel the images. “I couldn’t understand what they said.”

  “Neither could we.”

  “A moment later, he shot Antonio,” she whispered. “Just shot him. Little puffing thuds, but I knew what the sounds were. I almost screamed.”

  Mary heard the sirens in her mind, and then running feet. Her legs had crumpled beneath her. She felt crumpled now, hugging herself, leaning forward over the table.

  Agent Devereaux’s table, she recalled. A man who thought Antonio had given her stolen gems, and that she still had them.

  “He gave me dolls,” she said absently.

  He scoffed. “C’mon, Mary. You expect me to believe that?”

  Mary shook off her remembered terror. “Two dolls!”

  He smiled sarcastically. “Of course he did.”

  “Really! They’re antiques, eighteenth-century fashion dolls.” When she saw he still didn’t believe her, she continued explaining, “Look, I’m a doll collector, all right? Antonio just wanted me to set them up in glass display cases. You heard him. Well, I know how it sounded, but I tell you that’s all he gave me, I promise. I can show you the dolls. You can check them for hidden diamonds, if you want, but I assure you they contain nothing but what they’re supposed to. Antonio would never desecrate antiques like that just to hide something inside. The dolls themselves are extremely rare, due to their small size. Very valuable. They’d bring a fortune at auction.”