Naked In His Arms. Sandra Marton
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Название: Naked In His Arms
Автор: Sandra Marton
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
isbn: 9781408941171
isbn:
The brunette leaned closer, said something and smiled. Alex didn’t hear a word of it, but he smiled back.
Shaw wasn’t given to hyperbole. He used words like those only when he meant them.
Damn it, he should have listened to Matt and Cam. They’d had dinner together at their father’s home. Things had changed in their relationship with the old man. It wasn’t perfect but it was a lot better than when they’d been growing up. All it had taken to accomplish that, Alex thought wryly, was Cam almost dying and Matt involved in a shoot-out.
His sisters-in-law had bustled off to the kitchen to get coffee and dessert. He and his brothers had joked around for a while, even the old man joining in, and then Alex had casually mentioned that the director had asked to see him.
“He wants me to fly down tomorrow.”
Matt laughed. “He must be nuts, thinking you’d come.”
“You told him what he could do with his request, right?” Cam said.
Alex hesitated. “I have to admit, I’m curious.”
“To hell with curiosity,” Matt said bluntly. “Whatever Shaw wants, you can bet your ass it isn’t good.”
Later, his father had drawn him aside. He’d been quiet through the conversation, so quiet Alex had almost forgotten he was there.
“You never talk about your time in the Agency,” Avery said quietly, “which makes me suspect it wasn’t all pleasant. But you must have believed in it once, son, or you’d never have taken the oath that made you part of it.”
It was true. He had believed. In the oath to serve and respect his nation, its people…
Damn it. A pledge was a pledge.
He was on his feet before he remembered the brunette. Hell. He’d completely tuned her out. The fixed smile on her face made him wince.
“Sorry,” he said, and cleared his throat. “I, ah, I’ve changed my plans. I’ll be staying in D.C. Business, you know?”
She looked surprised but she made a quick recovery, dug in her purse and handed him a small vellum card.
“Well, call me,” she said brightly. “When you have the chance.”
He smiled, said all the right things. But he knew he wouldn’t call and, he was sure, so did she.
He parked in the same lot. Went through the same smoked-glass doors, through the same security gate. Rode up in the same elevator. Pressed his thumb against the same keypad, had his eye scanned by the same impersonal machine.
If Shaw’s secretary was surprised to see him, she didn’t show it.
“Take a seat, Mr. Knight,” she said, and scurried down the hall.
Seconds later, Alex stood inside the director’s office. Shaw rose from behind his desk, smiling broadly, and held out his hand. Alex pointedly looked at it, then ignored it.
“Let’s get something straight,” he said coldly. “I do this one thing, you never contact me again.”
Shaw nodded.
“I work alone.”
“I know you’d prefer that, but—”
“I work alone,” Alex said sharply, “or I don’t work at all.”
Shaw’s mouth thinned but he didn’t protest.
“And I have carte blanche. I’ll do whatever it takes to safeguard this witness without interference or second-guessing from you or anybody else.”
Shaw nodded again. “Done.”
“Tell me the basics.”
“The witness lives in New York City.”
“Married? Single? How old is he?”
“Single. Mid-twenties. And it’s a ‘she,’ not a ‘he.’”
A woman. That only complicated things. Women were invariably more difficult to handle. They were emotional, hormonal…
“The witness’s connection to the Gennaros?”
Shaw’s lips curved in a cold smile. “She was Anthony Gennaro’s mistress.”
No wonder she was important to the feds. And hostile. This particular lady would know a lot, including just how vicious Tony Gennaro could be.
The director handed Alex a large manila envelope. “That’s everything we have.”
Alex opened the folder and took out a photo. Gennaro had good taste in women. Excellent taste.
“Her name is Cara Prescott,” Shaw said. “She lived with Gennaro until recently.” He smiled coldly. “She worked for him.”
Alex turned the photo over. All the details were there. Name, DOB, last known address. Hair: brown. Eyes: brown. And yet, the photo told him the words were meaningless.
Cara Prescott’s hair would be the color of ripe chestnuts; her eyes would be flecked with gold, and her mouth would be a tender pink.
She had a look that could only be called delicate, even fragile. He knew it was only that, a look, but scum like Gennaro would have been drawn to it like the proverbial moth to the flame.
He looked up. Shaw was watching him with a little smile on his thin lips.
“Beautiful woman, don’t you think?”
“You said she was Gennaro’s mistress,” Alex said, ignoring the question. “Now you say she worked for him. Which is it?”
“Both.” The little smile twisted. “Then Gennaro took a more personal interest in her.”
“And now she’s going to testify against him?” Alex glanced at the photo again. “Why?”
“Because it’s her civic duty.”
“Can the crap, Shaw. Why has she agreed to testify?”
The director plucked a bit of lint from his dark gray suit coat. “Perhaps the thought of prison doesn’t appeal to the lady.”
“Federal prison isn’t a day in the park but it’s a hell of a lot safer than turning against the Gennaro family.”
Shaw was still smiling, but his eyes were icy. “Perhaps someone told her she might not go to a federal prison. That New York might charge her with a felony, unless she cooperates.”
“Did she commit a felony?”
“Anything is possible, Alex. Surely you know that.”
Yes. Oh, yes. He did. And, СКАЧАТЬ