Warrior's Second Chance Read online

  “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 inte
rviews, 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 looke
d 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.

  Chapter 2

  He’d stood behind the forest of racks at the gift shop for almost fifteen minutes staring, not at the line of passengers being herded onto the plane, but at the tattered papers in his hand. A sensational newspaper clipping, an airline ticket and a short note from a onetime friend he’d never expected to hear from again. But it wasn’t the sordid nature of the article dealing with a six-month-old murder case, or the tersely worded invitation that brought him to this place. It was one fact. That fact had beaten like a wild, hopeful heart every mile of the hard day’s drive to get to Detroit Metro.

  Barbara Calvin D’Angelo was free again.

  Just seeing her name in the article ripped into him with all the delicacy of a chest cutter, exposing emotions still raw and pulsing with desperate life. The years didn’t matter. He’d last seen her, last touched her, last heard her soft voice more than three decades ago, but the memories were as fresh as the strong aroma of coffee in a vacuum-packed jar. Tear back the protective cover and the immediacy of feelings long stored away overwhelmed him.

  A fool’s errand. That’s what he was on.