The Angel And The Outlaw. Ingrid Weaver

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СКАЧАТЬ drained his mug, pulled his feet from the desk and stood. The room suddenly seemed smaller. He was a tall man, his body lean, his movements projecting a careless sexuality. He took a second mug from the top of the filing cabinet and filled it with coffee. “We’re at the Long Shot.”

      She knew the place. The Long Shot was a bar at the northern edge of the Latchford, Illinois, city limits. The parking lot was usually packed with pickup trucks or cars such as Mustangs and Camaros with tinted windows and oversized tires. Hayley had driven past it many times but had never been inside before. “You’re not a cop,” she said.

      One corner of his mouth twisted upward. “Nope. I’m a bartender, but it’s after hours so all I can offer you is coffee. Wouldn’t want to break any laws.”

      “Why did you bring me here?”

      “Didn’t want to argue with the Sproule guards or the Dobermans.”

      “I guess I should thank you for getting me off the estate.”

      “Yeah, you should.”

      “Thank you.”

      “No problem.” He hooked his chair with one foot, rolled it toward the couch and sat down in front of her. He held out the mug. There was a tattoo of an attacking eagle on his forearm. Its faded blue talons seemed to flex with the shift of his muscles. “You look as if you’re feeling better.”

      She braced her hands on her knees and rocked forward. “Yes. I’ll call a cab and—”

      “Later. We’re not finished yet.” He caught her fingers in his before she could stand and wrapped them around the heavy porcelain mug. “Before you go, we need to get a few things straight.”

      She focused on their joined hands. It was easier than looking at that vicious tattoo or the muscled arm beneath it. “You’re not going to turn me in, are you?”

      “That depends.”

      His touch was oddly gentle for a man who looked so…hard. She decided not to struggle. Considering his size, it would be pointless. As it turned out, it was unnecessary—the moment she firmed her grip on the mug, he released her hand. “What does it depend on?” she asked.

      “On whether you plan to try shooting Oliver Sproule again.”

      “I realize how it must have appeared but—”

      “Don’t lie to me, Hayley. I was there.”

      He was right. There was no point denying the truth. This man had seen her when her soul was naked.

      And he’d said her name, she realized. She wasn’t carrying any ID. She hadn’t carried anything but the loaded rifle when she’d walked to the Sproule estate. She hadn’t thought past pulling the trigger. “How do you know who I am?”

      “It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who might want to shoot Sproule. Adam Tavistock had a little sister named Hayley. I read in the paper that she made statements all through the trial about how her brother was murdered and Oliver Sproule should burn in hell. That would be you, right?”

      There was no point denying this, either. “Yes, that would be me.”

      “Better forget the Winchester and stick to talking the man to death.”

      She inhaled the aroma from the coffee. It was strong enough to make her eyes water. Or at least, that was one way to excuse the spurt of tears. “Oliver Sproule is a criminal. He’s guilty of murder. He deserves to be punished.”

      “He was charged with manslaughter and acquitted.”

      “The verdict was wrong. He should have been charged with murder. The whole trial was a farce.”

      “What else did you expect? Sproule owns this town. The only reason he got charged with anything in the first place was because your brother was a cop. That couldn’t be covered up, so they went through the motions of a trial.”

      Hayley blinked. For months it had been only herself and her father. No one else had supported her. Not the police who had been Adam’s colleagues and his friends, not the D.A., not even the private detective she’d hired. Oliver Sproule, backed by his wealth and his criminal associates, was just too powerful. To hear this stranger express so easily what she’d fought to prove made her throat close with a lump of emotion.

      She’d felt alone for so long. Could she have found an ally?

      “Hey, steady there.” He took the mug from her hands and set it on the edge of the desk. “You’re not going to start crying again, are you?”

      She wiped her eyes with her knuckles. Flakes of dried mud fell to her lap. “It wasn’t an accident.”

      “What?”

      “Adam’s death. It was a clear night and a well-lit street. Oliver Sproule waited outside that nightclub downtown for Adam to walk to his car and then ran him down in cold blood.”

      “Oh, yeah. That’s a given. But if you keep gunning for Sproule, you’re liable to meet an accident of your own.”

      Where was her caution? She was alone with a strange man. Shouldn’t she be afraid? Hayley glanced at the door. “Was that supposed to be a threat?”

      With a nudge of his heel, the man rolled his chair to the left, placing himself between her and the room’s only exit. She would have to climb over him if she wanted to get out. “Relax, Hayley.” There was a hint of impatience in his voice. “You were passed out for three hours after I put you on that couch. If I’d wanted to hurt you, I would have already done it.”

      That was true. He’d had plenty of opportunity to do her harm. For starters, he could have left her in the garden to be mauled by the dogs or caught by the guards. Or he could have taken her to the police. That would have been the ultimate injustice, to be thrown in jail while Oliver Sproule walked free. Instead, he’d brought her out of the rain and covered her with a blanket. He’d let her sleep. For three precious hours. Why?

      She returned her gaze to his face. His change of position had put him directly in the cone of light from the lamp on the desk. For the first time she had a clear view of his eyes. They were ice-blue and framed by spiky lashes as black as his hair and the stubble on his chin. His gaze was compelling in the way of something deadly, like the bird of prey that rode his arm.

      Awareness tingled down her spine. The way he moved, his voice, his gaze, everything about him was stirring a response in her. Was it recognition? Had she seen eyes like that before? “You know who I am and why I was at the Sproule place,” she said. “But you haven’t said why you were there.”

      His gaze didn’t waver. And it gave nothing away. “That’s my business.”

      “Do you work for them?”

      “If I did, you wouldn’t be sitting here. You would already have had one of those handy accidents like the one that killed your brother.”

      His tone was still mild. Hayley realized that he spoke about evil and the threat of death with the same casualness he displayed when he poured coffee. She wondered once more why she wasn’t afraid. “Who are you, anyway?”

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