Virgin In Disguise. Rosemary Heim
tell me there was a timing issue.”
“I know, and I apologize for that omission. Nevertheless, it would be extremely awkward for me to take custody right now.”
“Awkward for you? I’m the one with a man in custody and no warrant. Can you at least help me out on that?”
“I don’t have anything to take to a judge. At least, not yet.”
“I’m skating a thin line here, Dex.” She paced the short distance from window to door and back. Working blind did not leave her with a good feeling. “Can you at least give me a clue as to what this is all about?”
“He’s been poking around in some old cases.” Dex paused, then added in a lowered tone, “Of your father’s and mine.”
Her throat tightened. “Why would he do that?” She pushed a swallow through the knot. “Do you think he knows something?”
“I really don’t want to say any more right now. I need more time. Do you think you could take him out of town for a while?”
“How long?”
“A few days, that’s all. You could use my cabin until it’s time to bring him back.”
Angel weighed the offer, comparing it to other obligations, trying to make this new scenario fit. “I’ll need to make a couple stops first, but I think I can work it out.”
“Good, good. I’ll leave a key with your mother—I assume one of your stops will be there before you leave?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. I’m about to leave my office for a few errands of my own. The key will be there when you arrive, along with some additional information.”
“Is there any chance you can get a warrant on him for something?”
“That simply isn’t a possibility at this time.” Dex’s sigh hinted at some annoyance. “Angel?”
“Yes?”
“I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate your help in this matter. You do understand that, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Did he understand the risk she was taking for him?
“And you appreciate the need to keep this strictly confidential?”
“I am a professional.”
“I meant no insult. This is a delicate project, and you’re the only one I can trust to do it.”
“Sorry.” Angel reined in her momentary irritation. “It’s going to take me an hour or two to get things in order. I’ll stop at home last, before I leave town.” That should give Dex plenty of time to drop off the key.
“What are you going to do with Cabrini until you leave?”
“Good question. I’ll figure something out.”
“I have every confidence that you will, Angel. You’ve always impressed me with your resourcefulness. When I have everything lined up here, I’ll be in touch with you.”
“We’ll talk then.” Angel closed her cell phone and slid it into her front pocket. Dex wasn’t telling her everything, but he was family. She trusted him more than she trusted most. That entitled him to some leeway. She just wished he’d been a bit more forthcoming with information.
He hadn’t given her any more than what she already knew—that he wanted Cabrini brought in. There didn’t appear to be any legal charges against him, so it was more of a P.I. locate job.
Considering she had Cabrini in custody, in handcuffs, she could probably be charged with kidnapping. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d bent the rules to suit the situation. Still, the idea didn’t sit well. Comfort came from knowing such a charge would never occur to most of the lowlife types she dealt with.
But then, Frank Cabrini didn’t fit that stereotype. He was nothing like she’d expected. The rough exterior he presented was every bit a disguise, same as her faked accents and wigs.
His eyes reinforced the perception that he wasn’t what he appeared to be. Clear and steady, his gaze spoke of curiosity and intelligence. He had barely shifted his glance from her since he’d awakened.
Those damned blue eyes seemed to see into her soul. And that, more than anything, unsettled her.
She didn’t like the feeling. Not one bit.
Frank tugged at the handcuff. He could probably work his way free, given enough time and a little ingenuity. Ingenuity he could handle, but the time factor was too big of an unknown. He didn’t like gambling when the odds were stacked against him.
In the hall, creaking floorboards betrayed the movements of his captor. The murmur of a one-sided conversation leaked through the thin wall. He caught a snatch that sounded a lot like, Do you think he knows something?
That finished any thoughts of attempting to escape—he wanted to know who the hell had ordered this bounty. He settled into a slightly more comfortable position and turned his attention to his captor.
First impressions didn’t yield much information. That, in itself, told him something. She was no rookie. She hadn’t let much slip, other than her accent. Even then, she’d run through so many variations, he couldn’t begin to guess what might be normal for her. Lacking that small bit of information prevented his figuring out her background, which could lead to more clues.
The fact that she had his real name could prove problematic. His assignment necessitated a cover story and false identity to work. He’d have to make sure he didn’t come in contact with anyone connected to his investigation.
Assuming she wasn’t somehow connected already. With no clues to her employer’s identity, he wouldn’t rule out that possibility.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. Waves of dizziness threatened to swamp him, and he hung onto the cool metal headboard, taking slow, deep breaths until his balance returned to normal.
Other than leaving him with a faint nausea, the drug seemed to have no lingering effect on his system. He stretched his arms and legs and did a couple of cautious squats. Everything seemed to be in working order, limited only by the very short leash of the handcuff around his wrist.
The door opened. His captor returned, and she was looking none too pleased. When she saw him standing, she pulled her gun from the back of her waistband. She didn’t point it at him, which seemed encouraging. She knew how to handle a gun and didn’t appear to be trigger happy, just cautious.
“Take your seat, please.”
Frank complied, sitting to face her, with both feet on the floor and his free hand on his thigh, palm up. His cuffed hand rested on the pillow, also palm up. He had no intention of doing anything that could be misinterpreted as a threatening gesture.
“What size pants do you wear?”
The question came from so far out in left field, he didn’t respond immediately. The information was hardly classified, and there seemed to be no reason not to share it. Then again, he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for her query.
“Mind if I ask why you want to know?”
“We’re going out of town for a few days, and I figure I better pick up some things to tide you over. You’re going to need clothes. No razor, but shampoo, toothbrush…” She continued, adding items to her list.
“Out of town” didn’t work for him. Not by a long shot. “It seems like a waste to buy new when we could just go over to my place and pack my own things.” If he could talk her into stopping at his place, he could get his hands on—
“Nice try, but neither one of us will be going anywhere near your room.”
Room, not apartment or house. She knew how he lived, if not where.
He