Warrior Without a Cause Read online

  "Justice, Mr. Chaney. For my father and me."

  "Vigilante style?"

  "Would it matter to you?"

  Her sharp tone was a quick barb to a conscience he wasn't sure up until that very moment could be reached by mere words. His features stiffened.

  "Obviously you think it shouldn't." She thought she was looking at a gun-for-hire, a quick, violent solution to her problems. What had Stan told her to give her that erroneous impression? Why come to him when the streets of the inner city were most likely teeming with guys who would kill for a quarter? That wasn't what he did and it was about time she found that out. "What do you want from me, Miss D'Angelo? You want to put a contract out on whomever you think is responsible for putting your father in the ground? You want me to pull the trigger, is that it?"

  She never so much as twitched. "I plan to pull my own trigger, Mr. Chaney. That's not why I need you."

  He blinked.

  "I need you to teach me how to stay alive long enough to pull it."

  * * *

  She was blowing it.

  Tessa could tell by the sudden blanking of his dark eyes. Gorgeous dark eyes that she bet could beg for forgiveness while making a woman forget what he had done wrong. Eyes that saw right through her tough outer shell to the marshmallow filling. It didn't help that with his smoldering George-Clooney-like sex appeal, he looked more like a romantic leading man than the Rambo she'd been expecting. She had maybe a minute to plead her case or he was going to be gone. And with him, her last chance at finding out the truth.

  "Stan said you could help me."

  It was an emotional ploy but she could tell it was effective by the way his sensuously shaped mouth thinned into a disagreeable line.

  "Stan told you I could make you into a killer?"

  Now, she was surprised. "N-no. No, of course not."

  Chaney relaxed ever so slightly. "Then I'm to assume we are speaking of a symbolic trigger."

  "Yes. Oh, you thought—that I— No." Indignation stained her cheeks in hot points. "Mr. Chaney, my father gave his life to defend a system I will not abuse, even if it failed him. This isn't about vigilante justice, it's about truth. A truth someone doesn't want me to find."

  "Isn't that what the police are for, Miss D'Angelo?"

  It was hard to hang on to her patience. Just what did he think she'd been doing since the official report and its damning summation had been released to the press? But no one wanted to listen to a distraught daughter anxious to save her father's reputation with unsubstantiated tales right out of high-tech spy fiction.

  "They don't want to look beyond the truth they think they've already found. Someone framed my father and now he can't defend himself against their lies. But I can and I will. But I can't do it … the way things stand now."

  The coffee arrived and gave the tension between them time to ease to a manageable level. Tessa sipped her coffee, not caring that it burned her tongue and brought a swimming dampness to her eyes. She wasn't a stranger to pain or tears these days, but she wouldn't give in to either. Not any longer.

  "Okay, I've heard your story. Now tell me how I fit into the next few chapters."

  She took a shallow breath and made herself meet his steady stare. She couldn't let his sullen silent-screen-star looks distract her from what he was. He was a killer. A man who trained assassins for the government. A man so dangerous and beyond the laws she revered that she felt soiled just speaking to him. He had no respect for her cause or for honor; men like him never did. They had their own agendas, outside the rules that governed her world. But he was just the kind of man she needed to see those rules bent to her advantage.

  "I've been threatened."

  Her simple statement had the impact of a ten-pound sledge. The evasive glassy look was gone from his keen gaze, replaced by a sharp understanding. "Is that verbal or physical?" He was studying her battered features, betraying no reaction to the sight. She forced herself not to cover the ugly reminders. Better he look and judge for himself.

  "Both." She didn't care to go into more details with a stranger. He didn't need to know that she lay awake at night listening for a telltale footstep, that if she was lucky enough to fall into a restless sleep, she always woke from it screaming and drenched in a sweat of dread. But he did need to know that the stakes were, as he'd said, serious.

  "Just phone calls, lately. And I've been followed. Someone's been in my apartment. More than once. The second time I walked in on them. A robbery gone bad, the police called it." Her chin trembled slightly until she clenched her teeth. She could hear the voice whispering in the back of her mind and shook her head slightly to chase it away. Easy to do here in the light with noise and the companionable smells of coffee, grease and cigarette smoke to surround her. She fought to keep her own tone level.

  "So far, it's just a game of intimidation but I don't like games with no rules, Mr. Chaney. I play to win. I always have. And to have any chance at all in this game, I have to be able to compete on their level."

  He made no comment on that, no judgment. "Do you have a gun?"

  "No."

  "Get one."

  "I will. But when I do, I need to know that no one is going to take it away from me. I've been a victim once and I didn't like it much. Next time they come for me, I want to be prepared. They hurt me and they scared me. And they killed my father. But they don't know me. I'm not going to run and hide, Mr. Chaney. And I'm not going to give up. That's why Stan sent me to you. I'm a sitting duck and I don't want to be. Teach me how to protect myself so that I can see justice done for my father and see those who killed him brought to trial."

  Teach me how not to be afraid.

  She didn't have to say that. She knew he saw it in her face, in the shaky hands that nested the bottom of her coffee cup seeking the warmth she lacked inside. But would he do something about it?

  Would he make it his fight?

  "You're wasting your time, Miss D'Angelo."

  His crisply spoken summation struck the wind from her lungs, the hope from her heart. For a moment she couldn't respond, so he continued with that same detached calm.

  "Go to the police. This is their job, not mine. I won't give you any false confidence so you can go out and get yourself killed. I train professionals who are already without fear to do a job they have no illusions about coming home from. I don't do Girl Scout camp. I'm sorry if Stan misled you."

  He didn't look sorry.

  He placed his hands on the table and started to rise. With nothing left to lose, she pulled out all stops.

  "I don't suppose it would do any good to speak to your innate sense of decency. Men like you can't afford any, can they?"

  A thin smile warped his lips. "No, ma'am. We're not do-gooders like your father. We're not flag wavers who think justice will always triumph. We know better. That's why people like you always come to people like me. I have no illusions left."

  "I feel sorry for you, Mr. Chaney. How sad not to believe in anything worthwhile."

  "I believe Detroit will have another crappy year despite a new billion-dollar home field. I believe the new fall season on television will end up in early midyear replacements. I believe a man can spit in the wind and have a better chance of not getting wet than you'll have in proving your father is innocent of the nasty things this paper says about him."

  "I believe you're a coward, Mr. Chaney."

  "Then you would be right, Miss D'Angelo, if being a coward means never taking on a fight you know you can't win."

  He gathered up his heavy coat and laid two wadded bills on the tabletop. He no longer bothered with eye contact. He obviously didn't want to see her disgust.

  "With or without you, I'm not giving up.

  "Good luck, Miss D'Angelo."

  And he was gone, just like that.

  Tessa sat for a moment, struggling to take a decent breath. Now what was she going to do? All her bold statements blew apart like smoke in a sudden breeze when she thought of the darkened
corners of her parking garage and the 2:00 a.m. ringing of the phone. There would be shadows and threatening silences. And she would experience, all over again, the crippling panic of being helpless.

  To hell with Jack Chaney. He was about as useful as the Metro police. Both wanted to take the easy way out in spite of the very real danger she was in. So be it. Tomorrow she would buy a gun. And she would keep right on digging for the truth until someone stopped her with something more than whispers over the phone and footsteps in the dark.

  With something more than a beating disguised to be a robbery.

  It was cold outside. October bit with the force of January but she'd been cold even before she'd left the diner to traverse the near empty streets. When she'd arrived, the only space available had been three blocks away. Now, with the curbs abandoned and the sidewalks a wasteland of tumbling wind-tossed litter, it seemed like three miles.

  Gripping her keys, she started down the walk, hurrying between the weak pools of light spilling out from liquor stores and places of dubious entertainment value. She didn't look around but stayed focused on her goal: a lone silver Lexus promising warmth and protection with the turn of a key and click of a latch.

  Footsteps.

  Her own quickened in pace with her heart. She fought the fatalistic desire to turn around, to confront the skulking threat head-on. What kind of weapon was a car key gripped in a sweaty palm against the fear that banged within her breast?

  The footsteps grew bolder, closer, more determined in their cadence. The urge to run the length of that last block twisted within Tessa's belly and trembled down her legs. If she ran, there was a chance she would be pursued. Could she outrun whatever followed? Her breathing shivered noisily as she bunched her calves and cursed the heels she'd worn to impress Jack Chaney. Three inches of fashionable thinness. She might as well be on stilts.

  Anxiety knotting through her, she held her coat together and readied to bolt for safety.

  And just then, safety in the person of Jack Chaney separated itself from the shadow of her car ahead. A true professional, he'd checked her background to learn what she drove. He'd been leaning there, waiting for her. She didn't have to listen to know there were no longer footsteps behind her. Intimidation was a solitary business, not one meant for an audience.

  "This is a dangerous neighborhood for a lady alone at night."

  She smiled crookedly at his generic observation. "You have no idea." She came to a stop in front of him and was momentarily surprised. She thought he'd be taller. He'd seemed like a veritable giant seconds ago. Nervously she risked a look over her shoulder.

  "He's gone."

  Her gaze jumped back to him. "Who?"

  "We didn't exchange names. I noticed him outside Jo's and wondered who he was waiting for while trying so hard not to be seen. Shall I try to catch up to him?"

  "No." Her hand flashed out to fasten upon his coat sleeve just in case he might be serious about leaving her alone on the barren sidewalk. "It doesn't matter who he was. I know what he was."

  Jack took the keys from her cold, cramped fingers and unlatched her door. He opened it for her and stepped aside as she slid in behind the wheel.

  "Would you like me to follow you home?"

  Yes!

  She bit back that frantic cry and forced a competent smile. "I don't think I'll have any more problems tonight." At least not until she closed her eyes. But what could she do? Ask him to sleep at the foot of her bed like a faithful watchdog? He'd already said in so many words that her problems were her own. "Thank you, Mr. Chaney, but I've taken up enough of your time."

  He didn't shut the door on their conversation. He draped his forearms over it and gave her a long, assessing look before asking, "And how much of your time are you willing to spend to see this thing through?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "A day, a week, until the thrill rubs off and the work gets too hard?"

  "I don't understand."

  "I don't think you have what it takes to take what I dish out."

  She stared up at him, hope crowding into her throat. She forced a steady stare so he wouldn't know how close she was to believing what he said. Her words were heroic even though she quivered in frail doubt inside.

  "I can take it."

  "Really? Day in, day out, until I think you're ready? Not until you think you are? Do you have that kind of commitment, Miss D'Angelo? I run a boot camp, not a Club Med. What I do isn't a trendy gym class in pseudo-self-defense for bored housewives. I'll work you until you drop and push you until you beg for mercy."

  "I won't beg, Mr. Chaney."

  Begging hadn't helped her before.

  Her fierce statement gave him pause. "Maybe, maybe not. But I guarantee it'll be on your mind every minute. You'll either cry uncle or I'll shape you into something that will make them think twice before sneaking up on you in the night."

  "I want them to think twice, Mr. Chaney."

  "Then you think twice, right now, while you can. If you come with me, I'll show you no mercy."

  "I'm in your hands, Mr. Chaney."

  His features tightened into a sudden impenetrable mask. "I don't want you in my hands. I've got enough on my hands to last a lifetime. I'll train you to survive, but no more than that. Don't expect me to get involved in your cause."

  Tessa's elation took a grounding nosedive. Jack Chaney was no hero come to rescue her. He was a tool for her to use in her own rescue.

  "Don't worry, Mr. Chaney, I know exactly what I can expect from you."

  He nodded once. "Good. Pack a bag. I'll pick you up tomorrow at three. You're going to camp."

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  « ^ »

  Stan Kovacs looked worried.

  As he watched Tessa pull the zippers up on her suitcase, his expression had all the forlorn characteristics of a droopy-faced basset hound.

  "Stan, it was your idea," she reminded him as she set the case by the door of her apartment. She tried not to notice the significance of the chains and new dead bolt locks. "If you didn't trust him, why did you insist I call him?"

  "Oh, I do trust him. With my ex-wife, my money, my life. But not necessarily with my best friend's daughter. Chaney can be…"

  "Difficult," she supplied. "Yes, I know. But we're not dating, Stan. I don't care if he's difficult. Just as long as he's as good as you say he is."

  Stan's features didn't alter at his mournful reply. "Oh, he is. No doubt about that."

  She fussed with the tags on her luggage, trying to think of how best to broach the subject. "I know in your business you've met all sorts of rather unsavory people."

  "The dregs in the cup, so to speak," Stan agreed.

  "How did you meet Jack Chaney?"

  He smiled thinly. "Long story."

  "The Cliff's Notes version. How did you get tight with a mercenary?"

  That did manage to rearrange Kovacs's dour look. "What? Where did you get the idea that Chaney was a merc?"

  "You."

  "Oh." He glanced away sheepishly. "Guess I was trying to impress you or maybe scare you off from taking this particular path. Jack's a lot of things but he's not an indiscriminate killer."

  "So he's the discriminating kind."

  "He's the military kind. The Black Ops covert, no-record-of-his-name, disavow-all-knowledge-if-caught-or-killed kind. He's worked in a lot of places I'd never want to visit. His call sign was Lone Wolf. That'll tell you all you need to know about Jack Chaney."

  "CIA?"

  "I'm sure there are some initials involved but I don't want to know what they are. He's no angel but he's not the devil I obviously let you think he was, either. Sorry."

  "For letting me think that or because he isn't?"

  They shared smiles and a long silence. Realizing Stan had never exactly answered her question, which meant he had no intention of doing so, Tessa sighed.

  "No matter his initials, I need him. And, Stan, I need you to keep on top of things while I'm gon
e. I can't let the trail to the real killers grow even colder."

  "I plan to. I'm not giving up on your dad. He didn't give up on me when he had every reason to."

  She touched his arm, eager to defuse his umbrage. "I never thought you would, Stan. Not for a second. I just want you to be extra, extra careful."

  His face relaxed into a grin. "Yeah, like a fat, ex-alcoholic is going to put the fear of God into Martinez's men."

  "I'm just a girl and I worried them plenty."

  They both sobered. Stan nodded.

  "I'll be quiet as a mouse. They won't even hear me scratching around."

  She squeezed his beefy forearm through the truly ugly sport coat. "Good. Keep me posted. See if you can find out what Martinez had on Johnnie O' that was so bad he took jail time just to set up my father." That was the part of the case that had convinced the police to look hard at Robert D'Angelo. Johnnie O'Casey, three-time loser and small-time drug pusher, hadn't tried very hard to barter his way out of prison. He'd accepted the sentence and still named the district attorney as his accomplice. If saving his own worthless hide hadn't been the motive, something else had triggered his sudden desire to name names.

  The wrong names.

  But for what price and who had paid the bill?

  "I'll look in on your mom, too."

  "Oh. Thanks, Stan. I'm sure Dad would want you to." Her lack of enthusiasm implied that it wasn't her priority. Stan simply nodded. He never intruded on their family dynamics even though Tessa could tell by the pursing of his lips that he wanted to.

  A knock at the door had Tessa taking a quick, involuntary breath as Stan reached for the knob. A silly reaction. Did she really expect one of Martinez's hired hit men to knock?

  "Hey, Jack," Stan greeted jovially. "How's your dad?"

  "Wondering when you're going to stop over for a little five-card." Jack Chaney stood in the hall looking dark and sleek and dangerous. Just the man she needed to see. Tessa released her breath in a relieved gust. She hadn't been sure he'd go through with it. Take nothing for granted, her father had always told her.