Married to the Mob

Ginny Aiken

Daniel answered, “O king, live forever!

My God sent his angel, and he shut the mouths of the lions. They have not hurt me, because I was found innocent in his sight.

—Daniel 6:21, 22

This book is dedicated to the caring and talented

physical therapists at Lancaster General Hospital’s

Columbia Medical Center, without whose

help this book wouldn’t have been written.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Somewhere in New Jersey

“What part of ‘The mob’s got a contract on you’ do you not understand?”

Dan’s whispered question didn’t faze the stunning blonde at his side. She shrugged. “I understand you’re trying to do your job, Mr. FBI Special Agent Maddox, but you should remember I’ve lived with these people all my life.”

He went to press his point, but she cut him off.

“Do you really think they don’t know where to find me?” She tossed her tawny mane. “They have more arms into more places, people and things than a family of octopuses…octopi?”

Dan looked around at the innocent bystanders, busy pretending not to listen. Why did he always get the nutcases? “How about this, Carlotta—”

“Hold it right there! Your memory’s not so hot, is it? I’ve asked you and asked you not to call me that. Carlie—that’s what you want to call me. It’s not so hard, is it? Try it, you might like it.”

Her wink nearly sent his patience over the edge. “Do you ever take anything seriously?”

“Yes,” she said, her eyes intent, her voice warm and vibrant. “I take God seriously. And then I leave the rest to Him.”

Dan had heard this kind of crazy illogic before. David Latham, one of his closest friends and a fellow agent in the Philadelphia Organized Crime Unit, was a gung ho religion sellout. Then, after a recent case, his partner, J.Z. Prophet, went and married another one. To really throw him for a loop, J.Z. succumbed to the lure of false confidence in the same philosophical game of mirrors, and was now one of them.

“You go ahead and do that,” Dan said, in a low voice. “But while you’re in the Witness Protection Program, you better leave the driving to me—so to speak.”

She rolled her large brown eyes. “Speaking of driving—”

“Would you please lower your voice? People are staring, and we don’t want to draw attention to you.”

Carlotta—Carlie—laughed. Here he was, trying to keep the crazy woman alive, and she laughed.

He tried again. “Don’t laugh like that. Keep it quiet. I just told you we don’t want to draw attention—”

“Just look—at where,” she gasped between laughs, “we are. Then you tell me who’s causing the commotion.”

Dan pressed his forehead against the aggressively pink door frame. “I know, I know, I know. But that’s the whole point. Why did you feel the need to come—”

“Simple,” she said. “I love nice nails, and mine looked like fence posts after a dust storm. So where did you want me to go? A drive-in lube shop?”

From the corner of his eye, Dan caught the fascinated stares of the nail techs, noses and mouths covered with baby-blue dust masks, and the dozen or so women in various stages of acquiring lethal prongs on the tips of their killer claws.

He took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go. We’ve overstayed our questionable welcome.”

“But I’m not done yet.”

“Oh, yes you are.” Dan grasped her upper arm and urged her toward the—what else?—pink door. “And I don’t mean the paint on the nails either.”

“But I have no color—”

“Believe me, you don’t lack in that department.” He glanced at the talons on her hands. “Even when your nails look like the glow-in-the-dark fake ones kids wear.”

“How dare you? These are the finest acrylic—”

“You want to die for plastic nails?”

That finally made her pause. “Well, no. Of course I don’t.” She took a step toward the bubble-gum-colored front door. “But I’m not willing to live a shadow life either.”

Dan took advantage of her forward motion and took hold of her hand. Carlie confounded him when she called out over her shoulder, “Bye, Dianna. Take care of little Davey, Sarah. Shonna, remember to tell your mom to try the echinacea for that cold. And Trish? Dump the jerk. He’s not worth it—”

“What are you doing?” He turned to stare at her. “Who are all those women? How do you know them all?”

“I’m saying goodbye. Don’t you do that when you leave?”

“Why did you come to a place where you’ve been before? Don’t you realize that’s the quickest way for your brother’s pals to get you?”

“I didn’t come back to where anyone knew me. This is the first time I’ve been here.”

Why me? “So how do you know about the mother’s cold or the other one’s jerk?”

“I don’t know. I said hi, and we got to talking. It’s not just about the nails, you know.”

“But you still risked your life for them.”

“I told you I don’t want to die for my nails.”

He led them out of the shop and to his Bureau-issue car. “I’m glad you’re not ready to die for plastic. And that shadow life you mentioned isn’t a forever thing. All we need is a conviction on your husband’s killers.”

Carlie yanked her hand from his and stuck her fists on her slender hips. “And you really think that after my brother Tony, Joey-O, Larry Gemmelli and my dad are behind bars I’ll be free to roam wherever I want?”

“Pretty much. At least, that’s when my job ends, as far as you’re concerned.”

“Think again, Cop Boy. Larry’s got more ‘family’ than Giant Stadium has seats. And they won’t be too happy with me—they aren’t already. Then there are all of good old Dad’s zillion ‘business associates.’ Think they’ll like visiting Dad at the pokey? Not hardly.”

“What makes you think we won’t get them all?”

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said—”

A loud, appreciative wolf whistle cut her off and jerked him back to reality. “Come on. Get in the car. Before the next obnoxious idiot shoots a bullet instead of a whistle out his window.”

She didn’t budge. “Um…there’s just one teeny, tiny, teensy-weensy problem here.”

Yeah, her. “What’s the problem now?”

“That’s your assigned car, not mine. Do you figure you’ll telepathetically drive mine back to the apartment?”

This was pathetic, all right. “Woman, you could drive a man right into a loony bin.” He ran a hand through his hair. “No, I can’t drive both cars back, nor can I come back by myself later. Go ahead. Drive yourself.”

He looked around for his car’s clone, but didn’t see it anywhere. “So what’d you do with it?”

“I parked it out back, in the salon’s lot. What’d you want me to do with it? Stick it in my pocket?”

Nothing fit in the pocket of her slim linen pants. “All right, Carlie. I’ll walk you back to the car.”

They began the trudge back toward Nail It. Dan looked up at the marquee, and shook his head. How much more ridiculous could a place get than to advertise its work with a gargantuan neon fingernail decorated with a hammer and—yes, of course—a nail, the pointed steel kind?

“While we’re at it,” Carlie said as they reached the parking lot, “how about a better set of wheels? I mean, really. It barely moves. Do I look like I want to be a moving target in a poky-slow car?”

Against his better judgment, Dan looked at his gorgeous charge. From the top of her fabulous lioness’s mane, to the satiny cream skin over model’s features, to a curvy, feminine figure encased in the latest light green silk and old-gold linen, and all the way down to the feet in strappy, high-heeled green leather sandals—toenails coated with chipped polish—Carlotta Papparelli, mobster’s widow, looked nothing like any target he’d ever seen.

And yet, at the same time, beautiful as she was, she was a target.

“Get real,” he said. “A peacock car would be like waving a red cape at an angry bull. You need to blend in. That’s the reason for the plain agency car, since there’s not a lot we can do about you—unless you’re ready for plastic surgery and a hair makeover.”

She rolled her eyes—again. She was quite proficient at it, too. “Get over it, Danny Boy. I’m a blonde, not a boring bland, bland, bland, like the car.”

That’s for sure, that trouble-making corner of his head retorted. “Let’s get something straight. You’re no boring bland but a bottle blonde—”

“Ouch! That’s not nice—”

“Neither are the guys after you.” Would she ever get it? He went on as if she hadn’t interrupted him. “And in the second place, no one calls me Danny Boy and lives.”

“Wow! I never thought I’d ever see it—didn’t know you even had it. A sense of humor, that is. Is it an FBI requirement to be grim, gloomy and glum—eeeeek!”

She could’ve busted a window—maybe she did, but Dan didn’t bother to check. He grabbed the shaking woman and shielded her body with his. That’s how he approached the beige car.

He realized this might be Carlie’s wake-up call. The formerly boring midsize model now sported a particularly realistic portrait of a massive rodent, and in case the observer didn’t quite get the message, under the critter, it read RAT.

Dan pulled out his gun, held it in front as he approached the graffitied vehicle then gestured for Carlie to stay where she stood. When he circled the car, he noted an even more grisly message across the back window. The artist had detailed a skull and crossbones severed from a stick-figure skeleton. Again, the creative creep had titled his work RAT.

“Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh! Gross!”

Dan turned and saw Carlie’s face glued to the passenger side window—the woman didn’t listen worth a dime. Before he could yell at her—again—she resumed her wail.

“Yuck! There’s a big, fat, repulsive rat in the front seat. Oh, would you look at that?” She looked at Dan and pointed. “Did you know their tails were that long? And hairless?”

“Yes—”

“And what’s all that white fuzz all over the place—oh, that is so sick.” She shuddered. “It’s built itself a nest.”

Dan shrugged. “Rats need homes. What can you do?”

“You are crazy.” She headed back toward the front of the nail salon. “I’ll have you know, Super-Duper Agent Daniel Maddox, that’s no longer my car. As of right now. We can go back to yours, and you can have your pals from the Bureau pick up the rodent palace. I’m outta here.”

Dan ran to her side, slid the gun back into the holster under his jacket, and reality slipped away. Slipped away? Yeah, right. It was zipping down the sanity highway, but what could he do? He’d been saddled with a beautiful but crazy witness.

She beat him to the car and stood at the passenger door. She crossed her arms. She tapped the toe of her stiletto-heeled sandal, as if she’d been there forever.

He unlocked the door. “Get in.”

“Yes, Mr. Gracious.”

Okay. It wasn’t the nicest thing he’d ever done. But he was frustrated, they hadn’t taught him how to deal with this kind of witness at Bureau training, much less law school, and she took too much pleasure driving him nuts. He slammed the door shut the minute her rear hit the seat.

And he had to keep her alive long enough to get convictions on her family and their dubious friends? He shook his head, rounded the vehicle, sat behind the wheel and peeled away, all without another word.

While he drove in silent mode, he continued to fume. Now he had to call Eliza, his supervising Special Agent. Not something a man—anyone—in his right mind would want to do. But from where he stood, he had no choice.

To be more accurate, Carlie had left him no choice. He didn’t know if he could keep her alive much longer. She refused to cooperate.

The next light turned against him. He sat and watched seconds crawl by. At his side, Carlie began to hum.

Dan hated humming.

And everyone had always called him laid-back. He scoffed. They oughta see the man he’d become post-Carlotta Papparelli.

She slanted him a look.

He ignored it.

The light turned green, so he drove on toward the safe house the Bureau had set up for Carlie in a massive, Lego block–type apartment complex.

Moments later he heard the faint whee-uhn, whee-uhn, whee-uhn of an emergency vehicle approaching from behind. He glanced in his rear-view mirror. The cherry light on the roof of the squad car strobed closer by the second. Dan pulled over to the shoulder.

“I hope no one’s hurt,” Carlie murmured.

Dan glanced her way. She’d closed her eyes, clasped her hands in her lap. Her expression, for once, was serious, intent. Somehow he knew she’d begun to pray.

Who for? The unknown—and only possibly injured—party?

Strange.

He merged back into the heavier-by-the-minute late-afternoon traffic. Carlie didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Then sirens started up again. They approached from his right, so he eased up to the left shoulder. This time, an ambulance zipped up and rounded the corner. In less than three minutes, three more squad cars, an additional ambulance and two fire trucks raced by.

“Must be big,” he murmured.

“I’m afraid so,” Carlie answered, her voice softer and more serious than he’d heard it yet. She really wasn’t that bad.

“I’m sorry.”

She made a startled sound. “What for?”

“I acted like a jerk back there. I didn’t need to slam the door on you.”

“Thanks for the apology, but I’m not totally innocent either. I tend to have a smart mouth, and I gave you a pretty hard time. I know you’re trying to do your job, and I understand you want to keep me alive, but I’m not used to all these restrictions. Besides, if the Lord wants me home at His side, then I’m ready to go.”

A chill went through Dan. “Don’t be so ready to croak, okay? You’re very young. You’ve a long life ahead of you. By the way, how old are you? I mean, I have all that information in your case file, but I don’t remember everything that’s in it.”

“I prefer to keep that piece of data private.” A touch of humor came back into her voice.

“Not for long. When I get back to my place tonight, you’ll be busted.”

“I’ll take what scrap of privacy I can get these days.”

With an air of comfortable companionship between them, they turned the corner three blocks away from Carlie’s apartment complex. As they approached, a nasty feeling took root in Dan’s gut.

A hideous orange glow tinted the blue sky, and clouds of smoke spread and hovered on the light wind. Right over the complex.

Dan slowed the car. At his side, Carlie caught her breath. His pulse pounded through him, throbbed in his temple.

Every one of his internal alarms detonated.

Which is what seemed to have happened to the structure, a detonation of some sort. All the emergency vehicles that had passed them no more than ten minutes earlier were lined along the backside of Carlie’s apartment building. A HAZMAT team had joined the party, too.

That nasty feeling morphed into a ravening certainty. Still, he had to know. “You stay here,” he said. “And I mean it, Carlie. Don’t move.”

She nodded, her eyes glued to the scene. Firefighters in their yellow suits ran around the trucks, some climbed the giant ladders, others helped people to the ambulances. Uniformed cops talked to a throng of civilians.

Dan approached an officer. “What happened?”

The woman turned to him and shrugged. “We’re not sure. That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

A burly man in a white muscle undershirt and tan shorts walked up. “You wanna know what happened? I know what happened.”

Officer Shenise Davis turned keen hazel eyes on the guy. “So tell me what happened, already.”

“Easy there.” The guy’s bearded jaw pushed out. “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled up, you know?” He shook his shaggy head. “Kids! Anyway, there’s this blond broad who lives across from me, and either her gas line went nuts or something else did. All’s I know is the place went kaboom! The whole building shook like one of them California earthquakes. Smoke started to stink up my place, and I opened the door. Well, the babe don’t have much to go back home for—if she wasn’t home, know what I mean?”

Dan knew. Too well.

The walking, talking wealth of information ran a massive paw through the wild thatch on his head. “Either the explosion busted her place to pieces, or else the fire ate it all up.”

Although sure he already knew, Dan asked, “What floor was this?”

“Tenth, over in the middle section.” He pointed an arm heavy with dark hair. “See? The ladder’s up to the window to the right of the babe’s place. Mrs. Schulz is seventy-five. Sure, she’s got more vinegar to her than I got hair, but she can’t go running or nothing like climb down on her own. I figure they’re gonna have to carry her down….”

Dan gave what he hoped the officer and the verbose bear read as a nonchalant shrug, then walked back the excruciating distance between him and Carlie. He got in the car, turned the key, then shot her a sideways look.

“We’re outta here. Your friends and family came calling, and they left you a calling card. Of the exploding kind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t ask me where we’re going, because I don’t know. I have to call in, report this, check out what’s available and then get you there. We can’t stay here anymore. Someone bombed your apartment.”

And then she threw Dan for a loop—again.

Carlie chuckled. “And you gave me grief about my nails. Just be glad I wasn’t here. Face it, Danny Boy…er…Dan. I’d better get a manicure more often. It’s good for my health. My nails—you know, the ones you said were going to get me killed—just saved my life.”

TWO

Yes, she should be scared.

And yes, she was in serious danger.

But what could she do for herself? Nothing. So Carlie blocked out Dan’s griping and turned to the Lord.

Father, I’m not so good at this yet, but I don’t want to die. Don’t get me wrong. If You want me, I’m there. But if it’s not urgent, then I’d like to hang around here a little longer. The deal is, I don’t know what to do, how to avoid Dad’s and Tony’s slimy friends. And Dan? Well, he tries, but there’s a lot more of them than of us. So help us out here. Okay?

“You! Did you go deaf or something?”

Carlie shook herself. “No. I just had to…” He didn’t share her new faith, but with this latest development…He’d asked. “I had to pray.”

“Okay.” He looked way uncomfortable. “Well. That’s fine. Ah…we’re going to have to pull over long enough for me to make some calls, get an idea what we should do next.”

“Fine. What do you want from me?”

“Ah…nothing. I just figured you’d want to know why I was stopping when we need to get away ASAP.”

Carlie peered at her companion, but couldn’t read him, and she really did try. “Oh-kay, Mr. Secret Agent Man. I’ll be right here, seat belt on, ready for takeoff whenever you’re ready.”

He gave her another of his exasperated looks. She had come to identify and catalog 37 flavors of weird looks Dan Maddox used on her—she would’ve preferred the ice cream. Pulling over to the side of the road wasn’t the smartest thing to do. And yeah, yeah, she’d figured Dan as the Boy Scout–type right from the start. He’d never cell phone and drive. But the New Jersey Turnpike was no lonely country lane. Anyone could come along here and pop the two of them with the greatest of ease.

Ever since she’d helped Maryanne Wellborn, now Prophet, save her elderly father from dear brother Tony’s murderous intents, Carlie’s world had turned into a surreal series of images, each one weirder than the last. All because she’d agreed to testify against her father, her brother Tony and a bunch of their mob pals.

She’d also acquired her intense, good-looking blond shadow.

Carlie had never been so squeezed into a box. She’d called her father a tyrannical spoilsport during her high-school years. Then, after she married, Carlo gave her complete freedom—as long as she stayed out of his business.

That business, the same as her father’s and brother’s, was what landed her smack in the middle of this mess. She’d done everything she could during those years of marriage to ignore the signs, the same ones she’d ignored at home. What woman wants to admit her family, and the handsome, debonair older man her father insisted she marry, were all mobsters?

The driver’s side door opened. “Okay,” Dan said once behind the wheel again. “We’re on our way.”

“On our way where?”

“Some other place over in Pennsylvania.”

“Could you be a little more specific? That covers a big chunk of ground, you know?”

He gave her another of those worried looks. “It’s probably safer for you not to know too much about our plans.”

“Oh, sure. I might telepathetically transmit the location to Dad’s pals. Give me a break. What do you think I’m going to do? Hop out of the car—while it’s zipping down a highway—flag down some unsuspecting soul, then run and tell on you?”

“It’s telepathically, Carlie. And it’s safer for you not to know too much in case someone takes me out and they snatch you.”

“I like telepathetically better. And what you just said made no sense. If they snuff you—that’s so cool! I feel like I’m reading the script for a TV cop show. Yeah, if they snuff you, don’t you think they’ll just grab me from the passenger seat? I’ll be no more than a memory.”

His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Sorry. You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t usually get this rattled on a case. I guess it doesn’t help that I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Are you an insomniac?”

“No. Just working a tough case—you.”

“Takes one to know one.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “What is this? Elementary school?”

“Beats me. It’s your game, remember? I’m just along ’cause you agency guys insisted I play. So where are you taking me? And I don’t mean that little piece of ground out on the back forty of New Jersey some call Pennsylvania.”

“Lancaster County.”

She turned as far as the seatbelt let her to better look at him. “Oh! Can we stop at the outlets? Please. I love shopping there. You get the best deals on just about everything with a label.”

Another weird look from Mr. Intense. “A bargain hunter mob wife? One who’s become their number one target?”

“Hey! They can get me just as easily in a store as in this car. And just because I could get my hands on Carlo’s and Daddy’s money, doesn’t mean I’m ready to pay more than I have to. That’s just stupid.”

“Okay. So you’re a thrifty mob wife—”

“Widow, remember? The hit on Carlo is what started all this.”

“You think I could forget?” He clamped his lips shut, swerved to avoid a maniac driver who cut them off from the right, then, once the nut was far enough away, changed lanes back to the right. Carlie clung to her seatbelt for dear life.

“By the way,” he went on. “What was the deal with that empty coffin you guys shipped to Italy? He was supposed to be inside, but when Italian customs agents X-rayed the thing, it was empty as…well, you get my drift.”

She sure did. He’d probably been about to say “your head” or pay her some other similar compliment, but she let him get away with the near-smear this time.

“There’s no ‘you guys,’ Dan. I never knew what went on day-to-day, and I absolutely, positively had nothing to do with the funeral home, the funeral and why or for what reason they shipped off the empty casket for an Italian burial. I just knew Carlo’d died. His uncle Louie handled all the details.”

He shot her a look Carlie didn’t like. He didn’t seem to believe half of what she said, but there was nothing she could do about it. The guy was the most suspicious critter she’d ever met.

He pushed the gas pedal, and the speed shoved her back into the seat. “What are you doing?”

“Getting off the Turnpike. This rush hour traffic is not my thing.”

“But you live and work in Philly.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like the traffic there.”

Carlie studied his profile as they crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge. So far, she hadn’t found a thing Dan liked. What really threw her was that when he’d first been assigned to protect her, J.Z. Prophet, Dan’s usual partner at the Bureau, had described her shadow as an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy.

This guy didn’t have a laid-back hair on his blond head. And she was stuck with him. At least, until the trial was over and the verdict came in. After that…well, she didn’t know what came after that, but she wasn’t about to give it much thought. She still had to live long enough to get to “after that.”

“Then allow me the pleasure to distract you from the horrors of after-work traffic,” she said with a grin. “How about you tell me where you’re taking me? I really, really want to know.”

“We’re going to a safe place just outside Bird-in-Hand.”

“Huh?”

He shot her a smile. “So you don’t know everything. Bird-in-Hand is a sleepy little town with the best Amish bakery and a huge quilting shop.”

“You know about bakeries and quilt shops?”

“I’m a multifaceted kind of guy.” He turned just enough for her to see his wink. “Actually, my mom’s crazy about quilting, so she knows every one of those stores in the eastern half of Pennsylvania.”

“So you’re from that area.”

“I grew up in a suburb of Harrisburg.”

“Okay. Sounds good.” By now he’d relaxed enough that his fingers didn’t remind her of the color of overcooked macaroni before the cheese was added anymore, a food group she now knew too much about thanks to her underground existence. “So how about you tell me where you’re taking me—exactly where you’re taking me? I mean, I have nothing against road trips, but really. This is just too weird.”

“Curiosity is a dangerous thing, Carlie.” He slowed down for a red light. “But I’ll go ahead and tell you. My mom knows a Mennonite family who’s willing to let us stay at their farm.”

“Farm, huh?”

“Yes, the Millers own a dairy farm, and I remembered them when I tried to come up with a quiet, inconspicuous place to stash you. My mom and Mrs. Miller shop for their quilting supplies at the Bird-in-Hand store. Over the years they’ve become friends.”

What was he getting them into? “The Mennonites, they’re not the ones with the buggies and no electricity, are they?”

“No, those are Old Order Amish, but Mennonites are still very, very conservative.”

She shrugged. “I’ll figure it out as I go. I can handle anything as long as I get a decent night’s sleep, a shower in the morning and a blow-dryer for my hair.”

He squirmed in his seat, looked very, very uncomfortable. “We can do the sleep, and the shower shouldn’t be a problem. But the blow-dryer might not be so easy. Because the women wear their hair twisted up in the small white kapps, I’m not sure the Millers own one, and yours is…”

Carlie’s stomach sank. “Mine’s a blob of melted plastic and a couple of blackened wires. So we need to look at this as a new life experience. Okay. I’m sure it’ll come in handy someday.”

From the way Dan’s shoulders shook, she knew he was trying to hold in his laughter. At least she was good for comic relief. They had enough grim to survive. And Mennonites were Christians, so staying with the Millers couldn’t be too bad.

They’d ditched the Pennsylvania Turnpike at around four o’clock. They pulled into the Miller farm at around six. The white farmhouse stood at the end of a long gravel drive. A huge oak tree spread its full, green branches in front of the home and shaded the wide porch. A big red barn flanked the rear of the house to the right. Various other smaller structures spread out toward the left rear. A bunch of black-and-white cows crowded each other on their way to what must have been dinner.

“Speaking of dinner,” she said, “what are we doing for food?”

“Trust me,” he answered with a smug smile.

“Oh, fine. Have it your way.”

“I’m planning an experience you’ll never forget.”

Her stomach flipped. That easy smile made Dan look more human. And a million times more attractive. She wondered what he was like when not on the job.

“Come on,” he said.

Carlie blinked. Saved by the bell…or something like that. She really couldn’t afford to find her keeper appealing. So she’d better think about these people whose quiet life they were about to invade.

The woman who opened the door looked like a storybook grandma. This one, though, wore an unusual gray dress with sleeves that poufed a little on the shoulders then snugged down to just above the elbows. The dress made Carlie think of something one might have seen decades ago, if not way more than that. The plain top had a flat-over thingy that ended at the waistline. A skirt generous enough for the woman to do just about any kind of farm chore came down to the shin, where legs covered with dark cotton stockings led to old-fashioned black lace-up shoes.

Mrs. Miller shook her head when Dan told her a gas problem had left Carlie temporarily homeless. “So sorry to hear,” she said, her voice spiced with a slight accent. “But please, make yourself welcome.”

Carlie was charmed, but she felt like an impostor, lower than a slug. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Miller. I do appreciate your hospitality.”

Their hostess smiled and gestured for them to follow her. “Come, come. Supper is served.”

“Pay attention,” Dan whispered close to her ear.

On their way to the kitchen, Carlie asked Mrs. Miller about the farm. She learned all kinds of details the woman gladly shared. And when they entered the enormous kitchen, Carlie understood what Dan had meant. A huge oak table filled the center of the room. Spread out over its surface was a feast, a banquet, a smorgasbord of sights and smells. Carlie’s stomach growled.

Dan chuckled. “Told you.”

“No, Mr. Close-mouthed Secret Agent, you did not. All you said was another of your enigmatic ‘trust mes.’ That didn’t even give me a hint.”

“You can’t fault a guy for wanting to surprise a girl.”

“You surprised me, all right.”

“This is Richard.” Mrs. Miller indicated the oldest boy. “Beside him is Jonas, then Ruth. On the other side, Rachel and Stephen…”

In minutes, Carlie asked and learned the children’s ages, where they went to school and their usual chores around the farm.

Finally, they joined the Millers, all seven of them, for the meal. Mr. Miller said grace in what sounded kind of like German, and after resounding amens, everyone dug in.

Evidently, Mrs. Maddox had let her friend know she’d soon have guests, and Mrs. Miller had put on what she called “a little more” into the pots and pans. To Carlie, it looked like she’d gone a whole lot further than that. A gentle prod with her fork broke the pot roast into tender morsels. Parsley and butter coated the potatoes, a colorful variety of homegrown veggies filled another third of her gargantuan plate, home-baked bread melted in her mouth, and cinnamon-dusted applesauce tasted more refreshing than Carlie remembered from her childhood.

“What do you think?” Dan asked.

“Wow! Nothing but wow.”

Just when Carlie was sure she couldn’t possibly swallow another mouthful, Mrs. Miller brought out two different pies. One was apple, and the other the well-known Pennsylvania Dutch shoofly pie.

“Which one?” their hostess asked.

“Oh, I’m going to try the shoofly,” Carlie answered. “I’ve always wondered what it was like.”

With her first bite, she fell in love, as she told her hostess, and thanked the kind woman for the best meal she’d eaten in years. Afterward, she insisted on helping Mrs. Miller and the girls in the kitchen, and when the last plate was put away, Carlie found herself more tired than she’d ever thought she could be. She yawned, and Dan caught her.

“Time to hit the hay,” he said with a wink and a grin. “Say good night to our hosts, Carlie.”

“Good night,” she said like a dutiful child. But instead of heading upstairs, where she figured the bedrooms would be, Dan led her to the back door. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. You’re going to hit the hay.”

The glee in his face told Carlie more than she wanted to know. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Yup.”

“How can you do that to me? I’ve been shot at, bombed—more than once, I might add—burned out of my apartment, and now you want me to sleep with the cows? You never told me about the perks of this deal, Danny Boy.”

“Give me a chance to explain. Mrs. Miller didn’t understand why I wanted you in one of the older outbuildings either. But think about it. If your family’s pals follow us out here, and I’m not saying they will, but you never know, do you want to put the Millers at risk?”

“I never thought of that, and I should have.” She sent a silent prayer heavenward. “Thanks, Dan. I’m so glad you did think it through.”

Unless she was much mistaken, a hint of a blush warmed up the tan over his chiseled cheekbones. To her amazement, he looked embarrassed. By a simple thank-you. Go figure.

To defuse the awkward moment, she said, “Lead on, fearless leader. Where do you want me? Roosting with the chickens?”

He pointed toward the left field. “There.”

Oh, yeah. It was the one she’d feared he would choose. “Tell me why you decided we needed to occupy the frumpiest, dumpiest, most dilapidated pile of boards here?”

“Because the Millers are about to tear it down plus a couple of the other outbuildings, now that they put up the big red barn. If something happens while we’re here, I don’t want them to suffer any major loss.”

Again his thoughtfulness surprised her—for the Millers, that is. “Let’s go, then.” She began to sing “Away in a Manger.”

“You are just too much.”

She snickered. “Too much what? Too much trouble? Too much fun? Too much of a good thing? Or maybe too much effort?”

“No way. That’s the problem with you women. You lay traps for us guys to trip into. I’m not touching that one even if I’m drowning and it’s the only thing that floats.”

In a good mood, they reached the old structure. Dan held the wide, warped door open for Carlie. “Rich, the Millers’ oldest son, brought out some pillows and bedding,” he said. “You should be pretty comfortable.”

She frowned. “What about you?”

“I’m keeping an eye out for trouble. Naps in the car aren’t so bad.”

“Great. Another guilt trip. I’m kinda tired of all the extra travel you’re taking me on.”

“Forget it. It’s my job. I’m used to stakeouts.”

She tilted her head and gave him a long look. “One of these days you’re going to have to tell me all about being an FBI guy. It’s not your everyday kind of job.”

“Neither is being married to the mob. So once you tell me, I’ll tell you.”

Carlie held out her hand. “You got yourself a deal, Mr. Secret Agent Man.”

He gave it a brief shake then let go as if burned. “Well. Ah…good night, Carlie.”

“You, too.”

She went inside, and on a pile of fresh-smelling hay against the rear wall Rich Miller had spread out the bedding. At one end, a pair of fluffy pillows were piled one on top of the other. All of a sudden, the strain of the recent upheavals overcame her.

Exhaustion claimed Carlie. She plopped down onto her makeshift bed, pulled the lightweight quilt over her shoulders, and dropped off faster than she thought possible.

A while later, she woke up. She had no idea what roused her, but she opened her eyes, her heart beating a frantic, furious pulse. Instead of her cozy quarters, she found herself in Dante’s vision of Hades.

Tongues of flames licked toward the roof, the walls, her nest of hay. Smoke made it hard to see—worse, to breathe. The billows swirled before, beside, behind the flames.

“Oh, Father…dear God. Your will be done.”

As she finished her scrap of prayer, she heard Dan’s yell.

“Hang on, Carlie! I’m coming for you.”

Everything went black.

THREE

Bit by bit, sound penetrated the thick, heavy darkness around Carlie. People jabbered, but she didn’t understand a word. A rushing noise whooshed behind the chatter, and the smell of a barbecue gone bad stung her nose.

Then she remembered the fire. She remembered the meal, the Millers, the bombed apartment. Did Tony’s slimy buddies get the farm, too?

She groaned. Everywhere she went, disaster and devastation followed.

A man called her name. He demanded that she breathe deeply. He commanded her to wake up. He ordered her not to die. “Come on, come on, come on!”

Carlie fought her heavy eyelids and tried to sit up.

No dice.

She needed someone to help her. The elephant who sat all over her body had to find a new seat, and the pins that held her eyes shut had to go.

But help didn’t come. At least, not the kind she wanted. Instead, she was lifted upward, through the air, a frightening experience eased somewhat by the firm support at her back. A woman spoke, but Carlie still couldn’t make out the words. Then she was poked, prodded, jostled, lifted, lowered, and then—finally—breathing wasn’t quite so hard anymore.

A weird wail started up, and Carlie fought against the weight of her eyelids. After a superhuman effort, she got them pried apart and wished she hadn’t. What she saw stunned her. Faces hovered just above her, weird gadgets hung beyond the faces, lights blinked, things clinked, and everything jerked and jolted to the tune of the ongoing wail.

“Carlie? Can you hear me, Carlie?”

She tried to answer, but her throat wouldn’t work. She tried to nod, but her head wouldn’t move—that scared her, so she tried to talk one more time.

“Don’t,” the female voice said. “Just blink if you can hear me. You have an oxygen mask over your nose and mouth, and that’ll make speech difficult.”

Oxygen mask! She blinked up a storm, but couldn’t ask the million and one questions that buzzed in her head. What had happened between Dante’s Inferno in a Mennonite barn and…where was she now? A hospital?

“Good,” the woman said. “You can hear me. Let me explain a few things for you.”

In a clear, soft voice, the woman told Carlie how Dan had axed a hole in the old, brittle wood walls of the small barn then dragged her out before the entire structure went up in flames. She’d passed out while in the burning building, and the Millers had called for the ambulance, which was now on its way to Lancaster General Hospital. The EMT wound up her explanation by insisting that Carlie was lucky to be alive.

But Carlie didn’t call it luck. She called it another of God’s many mercies. She couldn’t quite see a family like hers as any kind of luck, other than maybe the worst.

But where was Dan? Did he get hurt?

Carlie couldn’t stand the thought of her shadow being harmed because of her. But she couldn’t ask, and her head weighed about a ton. Her eyelids drooped again, and she slipped off for a nap.

Green and purple cows and orange and blue nails danced through her dreams.

“How much longer is she going to sleep?” Dan asked, frustrated.

Dr. Wong retained his calm. “We don’t know, Agent Maddox. It depends on how she reacts to pain meds, plus a number of other variables.”

“I have to get her out of here.” Dan began to pace. “They nearly got her this time.”

“This time?”

“That’s why she’s in the Witness Protection Program.” When they’d first brought Carlie into the hospital, Dan had no alternative but to reveal his identity and their situation. It was the only way he could get adequate protection for his charge.

“Then I’d better not ask you more questions.”

Relief felt good. “I appreciate that. And I appreciate the care you’re taking with her.”

“It’s all in a day’s work,” the young doctor said with a grin. “I’ll alert the rest of the staff. I’m sure they’re dying to know about Carlie’s vast and professionally serious extended family.”

“Thanks.” Dan hadn’t known how he was going to disguise the crew his boss, Eliza, had sent. The doctor’s understanding would go a long way in keeping things under some kind of control.

“But, Mr. Maddox?” the doctor said. “You yourself need to rest. You took in a big wallop of smoke, almost as much as Carlie did. And those burns of yours can get infected very easily.”

Dan shrugged. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

“Tripped up by my own words.” Dr. Wong punctuated his words with a wry grin. He tapped his forehead in a salute, then turned and left the room.

Dan returned to his sentry post on the nasty green pleather chair next to Carlie’s bed. But his patience wasn’t much to write home about, and before too long, he paced again from the foot of the bed to the large window that looked out on congested traffic.

“Noooooooo!”

The ear-splitting scream shocked him still for a moment. Then he spun, ran to Carlie’s side, and found her scooted up hard against the headboard, her legs bent at the knee, her medicine tree tipped partway over the bed.

Horror contorted her beautiful features, and the slight smudge of soot under her right eye, one the nurses missed when they’d cleaned her, added to the atypical, weirdly tough-girl look she now wore.

“Get out of here!” she yelled. With her non-IVed hand, she scrabbled through the pile of sheets and blanket at her side. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what she wanted to find, who she wanted to summon.

“It’s okay, Carlie. It’s me, Dan Maddox. You’re fine. The hospital and I are taking good care of you.”

A bulldog expression replaced the horror on her face. “I don’t know what your game is, bub, but you’re not Dan Maddox. He has gorgeous blond hair. You don’t have any.”

Something in Dan leaped when she admired his hair. But it soon settled down thanks to reality. “Carlie, it is me. They shaved my head because so much of my hair got singed when I went after you in the barn.”

She wrinkled her nose, and drew close. “You sound like Dan, but you look a little alien, kind of like that weird guy on the bottle, that Mr. Clean on TV commercials.”

“Gee, thanks. I’ve always wanted to make a beautiful woman think of floor cleaner.”

“Now I know you’re not Dan Maddox. He’d never tell me I’m beautiful. He’d call me trouble, a pain, crazy and who knows how many other snotty names.”

What could he tell her? That he had to force himself to think of her along those “snotty” lines to keep him from thinking of her as the drop-dead gorgeous woman she really was? That he didn’t want to admit her quirky sense of humor made it tough for him to keep from laughing? That he was scared to death he might fall for her over the duration of his assignment?

Not in this lifetime.

“I’m sorry you think I’m snotty, but you are a handful,” is what he went with. “And you don’t make my job—keeping you alive—any easier.”

“Oh.” She seemed to melt into her pillow. “You are Dan after all. Well, I guess that’s good. You really look scary, though. Wouldn’t want to bump into you in a dark alley.”

“Maybe that’ll help us. Just think. Maybe I’ll scare your brother’s buddies away.”

She snorted. “That’s not even funny. They’re pretty determined.” She settled down under her blanket again. “So what’s our next move?”

“It’s not all sewn up yet, but one thing’s for sure. We’re leaving the mid-Atlantic area ASAP. They got your apartment, and they followed us to the Millers’ place.”

Before Carlie had a chance to comment, a knock at the door drew their attention. Dan slipped his hand inside his jacket then nodded for her to answer.

He never would have guessed the identity of her visitor. Fourteen-year-old Jonas Miller walked in, his steps hesitant, his face flushed, his old-fashioned button-down shirt and dark navy pants an odd contrast to his youth.

“Jonas!” she exclaimed. “How are you? Do your parents know you’re here?”

Pure misery filled his adolescent face. “Ja. They know. They made me come. They even brought me.”

She blinked. “I see. And why would that be?”

The boy looked down at his feet and mumbled something Dan didn’t catch. Obviously, neither did Carlie, since she asked him to repeat himself.

“I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Carlie looked more puzzled than ever, but her voice came out soft, gentle, caring. “What are you sorry about, Jonas? What is the ‘this’ that happened?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t mean for the old barn to burn.”

“And that means…?”

“That it was all my fault.” Jonas looked ready to cry. “I—I know it was wrong, but the guys are always mocking me, so I figured I’d better practice for the next time after school.”

Dan knew what was up, but Jonas had to do this on his own.

“What were you practicing?” Carlie asked.

Jonas shifted his weight from foot to foot. He shoved his hands in his pockets. Then he seemed to come to a decision, squared his shoulders and stared straight at Carlie.

“I don’t want to choke when I smoke again!”

Carlie’s reaction was a quick blink. Dan had to fight the laugh on its way out. Then his mob widow surprised him—again.

“That’s the easiest thing,” she told Jonas. “All you have to do is not smoke. You’ll never choke that way. And those ‘friends’ will be the ones to worry about lung cancer and emphysema while you’re still healthy as a horse. You’ll have the last word.”

“But these guys already tease me because…well, I…I…”

The poor kid’s face turned redder than pizza sauce.

He shrugged. “I get good grades. It’s not so hard. I just go to class, do the homework, and that’s it. But they think I’m some kind of sissy.”

“Jonas, my man,” Carlie said, a smile on her lips. “Come on over here. Have a seat in Dr. Carlie’s office. You and I need to have us a chat.”

Dan’s admiration grew as each one of the next fifteen minutes went by. With her sense of humor and brilliant smiles, Carlie soon had the teen laughing with her. By the time she was done, Dan knew Jonas Miller would never pick up another cigarette. And he genuinely regretted the fire he’d caused. Then Carlie threw him for a loop.

She held her hand out to Jonas and invited him to join her in prayer. For some strange reason, their earnest expressions did something to him. He didn’t back off as he normally would have, but instead he stayed and watched them, their heads close, their hands clasped, their voices low and intense.

An odd pang hit him, a sudden loneliness, nothing he’d experienced before, something he hoped never hit him again. It was a restless sensation, an urge for some unknown something, a sense of need.

After they said amen, Jonas headed for the door. “Bye, Miss Carlie.”

“Now you just wait one cotton pickin’ minute there, Jonas Miller.” Carlie’s fake scolding dripped with her trademark humor. “You don’t think you can leave here without giving me a hug, do you?”

Dan watched the boy, one whose background inspired reserve, bend down to Carlie and give her the hug she’d asked for. It was an awkward, stiff hug, but a hug is a hug is a hug.

Amazing.

A nurse came into the room as Jonas left and she shooed Dan away. She insisted he had to go so she could take Carlie’s vital signs. He left, went to the snack shop downstairs, and bought himself a bucket of coffee and a gooey sticky bun. Of course, as soon as he bit into the pastry, his cell phone rang.

“Yeah,” he mumbled around the mouthful of delicious dough.

“How’s it going?” asked his partner, J.Z. Prophet.

“If I said bad to worse, it wouldn’t begin to give you a clue.”

“What’s the deal? The family’s after you again?”

“They never stopped.” Dan gave J.Z. a brief rundown of the latest events, even told his partner about Jonas’s ill-fated attempt at being cool. That made them both laugh, but didn’t ease their concern.

“You know what’s got to happen, don’t you?” J.Z. asked.

“Yeah. We’ve got to hit the road again. I’m just waiting for Eliza to let me in on the secret of our destination.”

“And she’s no more cooperative than usual.”

“You got it.”

“Well, Maryanne and I will keep you both in our prayers. Be safe.”

The prayer bit made Dan squirm on his stool. He ignored that statement, and said, “You, too.”

He hurried to finish his pastry and the transfusion of caffeine. He had to get back to Carlie. Who knew what kind of trouble she’d kicked up by now? The woman needed a keeper, and unfortunately, the Bureau had picked him for the job.

The second he stepped into the elevator, his cell phone rang again. This time, the caller wasn’t quite as welcome as his previous one.

“Yes, Eliza. Do you have instructions for me?”

In brief, his boss gave him a laundry list of steps to follow. When she finally disclosed their ultimate destination, Dan couldn’t stop his groan.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Eliza. That’s inhuman.”

“Live with it, Maddox. It’s the best solution for a difficult situation. Or to be more accurate, the best solution for a difficult witness.”

He didn’t much care to hear his snippy boss refer to Carlie that way; it was different when he did it. He knew Carlie, while Eliza had just met her once or twice during the investigation into Carlo Papparelli’s murder.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ll take off as soon as the doctors let her go.”

“You might not want to wait that long, Agent Maddox. I won’t tell you how to do your job, even though I can, and you know it, but don’t think time is on your side.”

The elevator door opened just as Dr. Wong walked out of Carlie’s room. “I hear you loud and clear, Eliza. And now I have to go meet with Carlie’s doctor. I’ll let you know as soon as we hit the road.”

Dan hurried to catch up with the doctor. He explained the need for speed, the urgency of the situation.

But Dr. Wong refused to commit. “I’ll discharge her as soon as she’s ready to go.”

He wouldn’t budge from that stance, no matter what Dan said. So, more frustrated than ever, he retreated to Carlie’s room.

“Hey, Sunshine,” she called when he walked in. “What’s with the joy and happiness?”

That was all he needed: Carlie in one of her more outrageous moods. How was he going to break the news to her?

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m a lot better. But it still feels like I breathed in a bunch of mascara brushes.”

Mascara brushes? “Then I hope you cough out the little porcupines faster than you breathed them in.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re going to have to feel well enough to sneak out of here sometime tomorrow. We have to get going while we still can.”

Her eyes widened, and she swallowed hard. “Where are we going? Or can’t you say?”

“I shouldn’t say anything, but I know how hard this has been on you. Prepare yourself. We’re headed for the steam bath better known as Florida in August.”

Once again, Carlie took his words and turned them upside down. “Really?” she asked, excitement in her voice. “I’ve always wanted to go to Florida! Promise me one thing.”

“I’m not promising anything. Tell me what you want, and I’ll tell you whether we can work it out.”

She sat up and crossed her arms. “Work it out, nothing. You owe me, Secret Agent Man. You wouldn’t take me shopping at the outlets, so now you have to take me to see the Mouse. We, Danny Boy, are going to Disney World.”

Dan had the sinking feeling he’d lost control of his assignment. And the loss was all because of a beautiful blonde, her killer smile and his growing desire to please her.

He was in trouble. And it had nothing to do with the mob.

It was the mob widow who posed the danger, to his health.

His heart’s health.

FOUR

That bruise on Carlie’s forehead was going to drive him nuts. How long did bruises last, anyway?

Against his better judgment, he stole another glance across the width of the front seat of his Bureau car.

He had to face the truth. Her beauty exerted a pull on him. It was shallow of him, but with a woman as attractive as Carlie Papparelli, a man would have to be totally blind not to feel it.

He wasn’t blind.

The small bruise over her left eyebrow stood out from the near-perfect background of her looks and underscored her vulnerability. It made him more aware than ever that her life—literally—was in his hands. He’d never shied away from responsibility, and he wasn’t about to start now, but for some reason this assignment weighed more heavily on him than most others did.

He almost couldn’t recognize himself.

Everyone he knew commented on his easygoing nature, his lighthearted view of the world, his ability to cope in tough circumstances with ease and poise. That all changed the day he’d met the mobster’s widow.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

Another glance.

Carlie had closed her eyes, leaned her head against the window and appeared to nap. The slightest hint of a smile curved her lips, and her peaceful expression nearly stole Dan’s breath away. How could she stay so calm?

Mobsters wanted to make mincemeat out of her, yet she still slept with the trust of a child.

Maybe she did trust him. He hoped so, because otherwise their circumstances would be grimmer than even he thought them to be. He knew his job; he had an excellent track record with the Bureau. He’d yet to lose a single witness under his care.

One more look at her reminded him of the scale of his task.

He usually handled mousy paper-pushers who’d blown the whistle on crooked colleagues. He’d never had to worry about making the subjects of those assignments inconspicuous; they were inconspicuous. But Carlie?

He needed someone to show him how to turn a stunning Cinderella back into a frumpy maid. He didn’t have a magic slipper to take from her foot.

The thought of her footgear made him smile. Carlie struck him as a firm supporter of “the more, the merrier” approach. That is, when it came to her heels. He’d never seen anyone handle stilettos, even while wearing jeans, quite as expertly as Carlie Papparelli did. The most irritating part? She looked great while doing so.

He chuckled. She’d better hope they didn’t have to hoof it to safety any time soon, because if they did, she’d be in major trouble. Those spikes weren’t made for running.

When he realized how indulgent his thoughts were, he forced his attention to the matter at hand. He couldn’t afford to expend many warm and fuzzy thoughts on Carlie as a person. That would spell danger.

So he drove on in silence.

She slept on.

“Hey!” she said about two hours later. “How about we hit a fast food joint or something? It’s way past time for me to use the little girls’ room.”

“And here I thought you just loved the little toys.”

“Watch it, Secret Agent Man. If I get a squirt gun, you’re in trouble.”

Dan cringed when, as they walked into the burger place, every head turned their way. All its patrons stared at Carlie, who, oblivious of the attention, headed for the ladies’ room.

Yeah, he had trouble on his hands, all right. The biggest part of that trouble was to convince Carlie that something had to be done about her looks.

“Aw, come on,” she wheedled moments later. “Why can’t we eat at least one meal a day at a table? I’m really tired of squeezing stuff out of foil packets and decorating my clothes with it because you hit yet another bump.”

He almost broke. Almost.

“Be glad that’s the only kind of bump we’ve hit on the road to a long and healthy future for you. Those bombs and bullets weren’t figments of our imaginations.”

She shuddered, and an infinitesimal pang of guilt hit him. But then, in a subsequent moment of reason, he banished the pang to where it belonged: far, far away from his thoughts.

“I intend to get you to that witness stand in one piece. If that means you’re going to wear a mustard-ketchup-and-barbecue-sauce tie-dye job, then you’d better get yourself a new perspective on stains.”

She rolled her eyes, grabbed her bagged meal, turned away, and click-click-clicked her way to the door. There she paused to give him a glare. “So, Danny Boy, are you just going to stand there? If my memory serves me right, you’re the one who finished reading me the riot act about the dangers of exposure not two seconds ago.”

He shook his head and followed.

Outside, he yielded just a bit. They ate in the parked car. In silence.

When Carlie was done, she turned to face him. “How long is it going to take you to get me to Florida? All I know is that we’ve been driving for ages, and I don’t see any sand or palm trees yet.”

“That’s because it takes more than a couple of hours to drive from Pennsylvania to Florida. Especially if we want to make sure none of your family’s friends are on our tail.”

She sighed. “So how much longer do you want us to live out of your car?”

“As long as it takes.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, I don’t think it’ll be more than three or four days.”

“Are you kidding?”

The horror on her face almost made him laugh. He controlled the urge. “Okay, okay. Tell you what. We’ll take the scenic, tourist route, and go through quaint little towns with well-maintained Victorian cottages. That way you’ll be able to enjoy the picturesque views.”

“How about that nice, quiet place in Florida you told me about? I’m looking forward to a regular home—at least, for a while.”

He could understand how she felt. He’d worked for the Bureau long enough that he’d come to hate the anonymity of hotel rooms. He also hated to sleep in his car during a stakeout. His nomadic lifestyle got to him at times, even though it came as a result of his chosen career. Carlie hadn’t chosen any of this.

“Look, I know you’re in a rotten situation,” he said, his tone conciliatory. “But it would be even more rotten if anything happened to you—”

“Get real! What you mean is that it would be rotten if they whacked me. You’d lose your prime witness, and your oh-so-important case would go down the toilet. There’s nothing about me in your plan.”

“It’s all about you, Carlie. I don’t want to see you dead. I joined the Bureau to protect my country and its people. Last time I checked, you were a citizen. I don’t think anything’s changed that.”

“There you go again. I’m a citizen.” She crossed her arms. “That’s garbage. I know what I’m facing, and I still have an identity. There is still life ahead of me. Spending what’s left locked inside this rolling tin can—” she pounded the car door “—is not what I’m ready to do.”

His frustration reached the boiling point. “Well then, I guess that choice is out of your hands. You may have some weird kind of death wish, but I’m not going to play. Buckle up. We’re out of here.”

She yanked the seat belt down to the latch, and once he heard it click, he turned the key in the ignition.

He pulled to the parking lot exit then waited for traffic—a single school bus full of kindergarteners.

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me where we’re headed next,” she said.

“You suppose right. Your best plan is to get some more of that beauty sleep you’ve been catching up on. Who knows what’s going to happen even ten minutes from now.”

They drove again in that uneasy quiet he’d come to expect. How could he tell her he was winging it? That he didn’t have a plan besides making sure no one followed? That wouldn’t reassure her. It didn’t make him feel all that great either, but under the circumstances, it was the best he could do.

When he couldn’t stand the stony look on her face and her shrieking silence for another minute, he turned on the radio. Although he’d never gotten into the sports-over-the-radio deal—no visuals—he found a station that offered kick-by-kick coverage of a soccer game somewhere in the Hispanic world. Even the loud, heartbeat-like drumming in the background was better than the thick, uneasy stillness.

The hysterical cries of “Gol, gol, gol” when either team scored provided a weird kind of punctuation for the afternoon. When the game ended, he frantically searched for a classical music station.

Then the sun finally began its descent toward the horizon. That simple reality forced him to face the need to come up with another meal option and overnight choice. He couldn’t drive all night after driving all day. He’d only snagged about three hours’ sleep the night before. The way he saw it, he had no choice but to find an out-of-the-way motel, nothing like the famous chains that everyone recognized.

“Um…”

Carlie’s murmur caught his otherwise-engaged attention. “What’s up?”

“You’ve worn this fierce expression for hours now. Tell me it has something to do with my next meal and a place to take a hot shower.”

He chuckled. “Believe it or not, that’s exactly what’s been on my mind.”

“How so?”

“More than food, we need to find a safe place to stay the night. I have to catch some sleep so I can continue driving—”

“I’ve told you I’m a great driver, but you just won’t share. You could have taken a nap anytime today.”

“You’re getting over a concussion. How can you drive long distance?” He gave her an exasperated glare. “I’d rather drive till I drop than nap and find myself wrapped around the nearest lamppost. Your rattled brain could wig out on us anytime.”

“I’d rather trust my rattled brain than ride next to a guy who’s sleep deprived. Doctors have proved that a sleep-deprived brain behind the wheel is the equivalent of an intoxicated brain.”

He sighed. “We’re not going to discuss the merits of medical studies. We’re going to focus on finding a motel.”

“Fine. I know we’ve passed a couple of cute ones along the way. I just hope we haven’t run out of luck on that regard—”

“Nope. Look to your right. And the best part about it is that across the road there’s a—”

“Wow! A real diner. The kind with the shiny metal building! I didn’t know those still existed.”

He clicked on his turn signal. “You never know what you’ll find along a back road. There are still diners in Pennsylvania. I suppose North Carolina’s the same.”

“So that’s where we are.” She grinned. “You let the cat out of the bag. Uh-oh! Carlie now knows where she is!”

Dan had never rolled his eyes this much in his whole life. It was contagious—he’d caught it from her. “I’m going to trust you to keep your mouth full of food. That way you won’t blab. Then sleep should do the trick for a few hours overnight. After that, I’ll have you so lost, you won’t know what hit you.”

“I’m going to assume you think you’re being cute.”

“No. Just dealing with you the best I can.”

“Let’s eat.”

“Well, well, well,” Dan said as he parked in the diner’s lot. “We have to mark this moment. Our first agreement so far! I hope it’s a sign of more harmony to come.”

The truce of sorts lasted through dinner. Carlie oohed and aahed over meatloaf, mashed potatoes and gravy, creamed corn, buttered peas and apple pie with vanilla ice cream. Dan had to agree that the meal came close to Mrs. Miller’s supper. And he did love comfort food.

Then they drove across the street. In the motel’s tiny lobby, they both endured the owner’s scrutiny. After all, how many couples their age asked for separate rooms in an out-of-the-way place? The discomfort, however, was nothing compared to what he’d feel if Carlie were harmed.

Once in his room, he enjoyed every second of a quick shower. And then he collapsed on the surprisingly welcoming bed.

Nothing woke him until the alarm rang. Tendrils of sunlight slipped around the blue and gold curtains on the window.

He dressed, threw his few belongings in the duffel bag he always kept in the trunk of his Bureau-issue car, and headed out. He fully intended to knock on Carlie’s door, but the sound of laughter out in the parking lot derailed his intentions.

What he saw left him stumped. Three children, all of whom appeared to be under the age of ten, two girls and a toddler boy, had drawn a chalk hopscotch on the asphalt. The oldest girl threw a round rock to one of the squares then hopped one-legged in the traditional steps of the game.

But the kids weren’t the ones who’d caught his attention. The woman cheering the girl, however, was. Carlie had pulled her long, blond mane into a ponytail, and despite her high heels, looked more like a young babysitter than the widow of a shady character.

Her eyes sparkled in the morning sunshine; her cheeks wore a soft rose tint; her voice rang with enthusiasm; her slim body looked ready to take on the game—and win.

There was something about that woman…something that drew him and scared him in equal measure. If he were a smart man, he’d listen to his fearful side. He had to constantly remind himself that they weren’t on vacation, that she had the mob on her tail, that she would have died had the Bureau not put her into the Witness Protection Program.

“Morning!”

Her radiant grin hit him square in the gut and stunned him for a moment. She took his brief silence and continued.

“Drop that bag and come join us. We’re having fun!”

Fun? They were supposed to be on the run. Once again, Carlie seemed able to find something to appreciate in even the direst situations. He didn’t know another woman who would cope as well.

“Don’t be a party-pooper!” The teasing look on her face tugged at him. “Come on, Danny Boy, be a sport.”

The three little ones stared at him in fascination. The younger girl took a step forward. “Yeah, mister. You can play with us. It’s not so hard. I’ll show you.”

A small hand reached out for him. A car drove down the road past the motel. His professionalism returned with a vengeance, but he found himself unable to deny the child…or the woman.

“One time,” he said, dropping his bag. “Only one time, okay?”

The kids clapped.

Carlie murmured, “Thanks.”

He hopped, and memories of his childhood flooded him. It had been a long time since he’d thought of things like hopscotch on a summer morning. The games he’d played recently involved expensive equipment and far-flung locales. He enjoyed golf and tennis, but the simple pleasure of tossing a rock and bounding from square to square on one leg touched a different corner of his being.

Bang!

His instincts took over at the blast. He reached behind his back and drew his pistol.

“Run!” he yelled, and aimed.

But no one moved. The kids stared at him, their eyes wide open, their mouths forming perfect Os. Carlie also stared, but her stare came full of fascinated horror.

“What are you waiting for?” he cried. “Run for cover.”

She dropped to the children’s level and opened her arms. The boy toddled to her. She held the little guy close, murmured something soothing to the girls and then gave him the glare he’d come to expect from her.

“You owe them an apology,” she said, her voice quiet. “You’ve scared them for no reason.”

“No reason?” He shook his head and pointed to the plain car with his weapon. “Get in there before they come back for another try.”

Carlie shook her head. Her look turned pitying. “Have you lost all touch with reality? Is that what your job does to you?”

“Reality, lady, is that you’ve got a bull’s eye on your back.”

“Reality, Dan, is that you overreacted to a car’s backfire.”

“What?”

“Dan…” She patted the boy then stood and approached, exasperated. “That old truck backfired when the driver pulled into the diner while we played, and it did the same thing a minute ago after the guy finished his breakfast or cup of coffee. Get real. We’re in the middle of nowhere. My family’s not about to show up here. Put that thing away, okay?”

He scanned the road, and when he saw nothing to arouse his suspicions, he realized how ridiculous he looked. Not to mention how frightening he appeared to three little kids. His outstretched arm suddenly weighed more than the average tree trunk, and his face heated up.

“Ah…well, if you’re sure that was a truck…”

“Listen up, Secret Agent Man, we’d better get out of here before the motel owners come out, see you in spook mode and call the cops. That wouldn’t help our cause any, would it?”

With one quick move, he shoved his gun into his waistband and grabbed his duffel bag. “You’re right. Let’s go.”

She grinned. “Can I have that in writing? That ‘you’re right’ thing? It’s the first time. We need to mark the event.”

He chuckled. Against his better judgment. But instead of commenting, he unlocked the car, threw his bag into the back seat, placed the gun on the console, where he always kept it while driving on assignment, and then turned to the kids.

“Sorry, guys. I figured we could maybe play ‘cops and robbers,’ but Carlie is right. We have to go. Maybe next time we’ll play some more.”

He slid behind the steering wheel and waited for Carlie to buckle up. Through the windshield, he watched the little boy run to his oldest sister and bury his face in her belly, while the younger girl reached out and patted him on the back. The air of vulnerable innocence hit him hard.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that stunt was?” he asked, barely leashing his anger.

“What stunt? All I did was play with a couple of kids.”

“Exactly. In an open parking lot, with no protection, in full view of the road. You know we’re being followed, yet you just hopped around out there.”

“But nothing happened—”

“They could’ve picked you off!”

“That could happen any time, Dan. I have to continue to live.”

“And how about innocent bystanders? Like the kids? Do you think your brother’s pals would spare that little boy? Or the girls? Not if they thought those children could identify them.”

Carlie gasped. Out the corner of his eye he caught her expression. Shock etched her face. All color drained from her cheeks, the sparkle left her eyes. She began to shake.

“Oh, Lord Jesus,” she murmured. “Forgive me.”

On the tail of her prayer, the tears began to fall. They didn’t come as a surprise. What stunned Dan was his pain at every drop that rolled down Carlie’s cheeks.

He didn’t want this.

He didn’t want to be this vulnerable—to her.

But he was.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her, hold her until the last tear dried, to promise her she’d be safe, that he’d make sure of that. But he couldn’t do that, none of it.

So instead he continued to drive, his feelings in a kind of tangle he’d never experienced before.

FIVE

Dan had never felt so incompetent in his life. Up till now, he’d always been confident in his abilities, but now, when faced with Carlie’s contrite misery, he had no idea how to proceed. Was there anything he could do? Could he offer comfort? How?

And her faith…how did he deal with that?

That faith seemed to be her greatest source of strength, of…well, yes, comfort. She’d kept her head down while she wept, and although he didn’t hear any proof of it, he knew she was deep in prayer. Any word he might offer seemed inadequate in this circumstance.

What did he know about faith?

Nothing.

All he had on which to put his trust was his training, experience and instincts. He couldn’t see the point of relying on some vague being out there somewhere.

Her words broke into his thoughts. “I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am,” she said, her voice soft and sad.

He tightened his hold on the steering wheel. “I know that. But you can’t go on beating yourself up about it. What’s done is done, and you have to look at the upside. No one was hurt.”

“Of course, I see that. What bugs me most is my thoughtless behavior. I’d rather think I’m more aware of what’s happening around me. Oblivion isn’t a good thing—at least, not in my case.”

He kept his eyes on the road, even though everything inside him urged him to look her way. “If it made you more aware of reality, then in the end, it was worth it.”

“But those kids…”

The shudder that racked her reminded him again of her extreme vulnerability. He reached out to place a hand on her forearm. “Carlie, forgive yourself. You made a mistake. You’re human. We all make mistakes.”

“That’s going to be tough,” she said. “I know God forgives me, but I’m not nearly strong or wise enough to see how I can forgive myself.”

Now what did he say? Where was J.Z. when he most needed the guy? Since nothing came to him, Dan offered a soft, wordless, hopefully sympathetic murmur, and continued to drive.

After a while, she turned toward him. “You know, I’m not afraid for myself. I’m serious, I don’t want to die, but more than what I want, I’m interested in what God wants. If He wants me to go home to His side, then I’m ready to go.”

She’d done it again. What could he say to that? He didn’t have that kind of belief.

So he just said what came to his mind. “I can’t quite get my head around that attitude of yours. Don’t get me wrong. I’m familiar with it. J.Z. and David, another agent at the Bureau, believe as you do. But I…I don’t get it.”

She stared at him for a moment, her gaze piercing and, he suspected, perceptive. He wriggled in his seat.

“I was in that place not so long ago,” she said. “And it wasn’t all that great an address. The loneliness hurt more than any other pain I’ve known.”

“But I’m not lonely,” he argued. “I’ve got friends—David and J.Z., for instance—and I’m always surrounded by people, suspects and colleagues.”

Her smile spoke of secrets. “Um-hmm, I know what you mean. But what happens when you go to bed at night, when you close the door to all those ‘friends and colleagues,’ when it’s just you in the dark?”

The question hit a private corner of his heart. He shrugged, somewhat defensive. “I’m like everyone else. We’re all alone when you strip away the outside world.”

“Oh, no. We’re not all alike.” This time she reached out, put her hand on his shoulder. “Not if we realize we don’t have to be alone.”

“If you’re suggesting marriage or a dog, you might as well forget it.”

“Don’t be so blind on purpose.” She shook her head. “You know where I’m going, and I won’t let you pull that kind of dumb act. You have Christian friends. You know they’re where I am on this. We’re not alone in the dark.”

“Now you’re going to tell me I have to come to Jesus, to be born again, to fall on my knees, a broken-down man.”

“If you would just cut out the sarcasm, maybe then we’d get somewhere.”

“Don’t you understand?” He spared her a sideways glance; her irritation made him even more uncomfortable, more resistant, more determined to get his point across. “There’s nothing out there for me to see, to cling to when the loneliness hits.”

Another shake of her head, this one accompanied with a look filled with pity. “Have you even tried? Have you ever reached out to God, to see if He did or didn’t answer?”

“Of course not. I’d feel ridiculous talking to something I couldn’t see or feel.”

She chuckled. “That, Danny Boy, is what’s called faith. We reach out and trust that something we can’t see or feel. And that’s exactly when God comes and meets us, at our most fragile moment, when we have no safety net under us.”

He shrugged. “I’m not ready to take that fall.”

“He won’t let you fall. God will catch you in the palm of His hand, and never let you go.”

“It must be nice to have that kind of image to hold on to.” Somewhere inside him, an even greater gaping hole than that of the private loneliness made its presence known. “I’ll admit I sort of wish I could believe. And I get what makes you tick these days. But I can’t join you on this. I can only count on myself.”

“And you think you can…oh, let’s say, go into the lion’s den, armed only with your self-reliance and your gun, and beat my family and all their connections? One other Daniel didn’t think that was so smart.”

He blushed. “Well, if you put it that way, it does sound kind of arrogant.”

“Yep. That’s just a teeny-tiny little bit like seeing yourself as equal to God.”

“Hey, I never said that.”

“No, but that’s the attitude that, like you said, makes you tick.”

His squirming got worse. He’d never thought of himself as arrogant, just a confident, self-sufficient man. “Look, all I know is that the federal government spent a bundle to train me. I’m an expert at what I do, and I’m highly motivated. Not only is success the goal in the job I love, but I’m personally sold out here, in your case.”

“What do you mean?”

“I owe you for what you did. You saved J.Z.’s wife—my partner’s future wife back then. That means a lot to me.”

“So you only see me as a job, a duty to repay a debt.”

“A crucial job, one that demands commitment at a higher level than most, and it’s an obligation I’ll gladly undertake, no matter how great the responsibility. After all, it’s in my hands, my alertness, my response to danger, whether you live or die.”

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