Make Mine a Marine (53 page)

"Help! Security!"

Fortunately, his astigmatism didn't prevent him from seeing the bag hurtling his way for a third time. He deflected it with his arm, twisted the straps around his wrist, and yanked the offending weapon toward him.

Ms. Navy Blue Pinstripe came with it. They tumbled backward, crashing onto the marble floor, her long legs twisting with his. There was no time to enjoy the fantasy that sprang to mind. In a split second she shifted, and Drew guessed the direction her knee was headed.

"Damn it, lady, I'm on your side!"

He rolled over, pinning her to the floor beneath him. She struggled valiantly, a sinuous, writhing, dangerous opponent whom he dared not release if he intended to be physically able to chase down Begosian.

"Mom! He's the g-good guy I told you about. He s-saved me from the bad man! He's a policeman."

The girl's words stilled her mother's struggles. With wary precision, Drew shifted the lower half of his body off hers and knelt beside the woman. He helped her to a sitting position, but she quickly jerked from his grasp, adjusting her clothes as she scooted away from him.

"Show me your badge." Her throaty voice contained more venom than sex appeal at the moment, and Drew judiciously obliged.

"I'm not a cop. I'm a private investigator working for the district attorney's office," he explained. He pulled his wallet from his pocket and opened it so she could match the picture on his I.D. to his face.

All at once, Drew's world stood still. Face to face, up close, he looked into eyes of deep smoky blue. She had porcelain skin dusted with freckles, high cheekbones, and a regally straight nose. Her perfect oval face, framed by dark brown hair, looked familiar.
Felt
familiar

"Have we met before?" He heard his own voice as little more than a rasp in his throat.

Her eyes narrowed. She studied his photo, then looked at him. She scanned him from head to knee, from the crown of his shaggy blond hair to the faded threads where his jeans had worn thin.

Then her gaze met his, guarded and dismissive. "I don't think so, Mr. Gallagher."

She curled her legs beneath her. Drew stood and extended his hand to help her up. Once on her feet, she pulled away as if his touch might transfer some horrible disease. She circled her arm around her daughter, the ewe drawing her lamb into the fold. "Thank you for helping Kerry."

Drew choked back his annoyance. As verbally polite as leggy Ms. Priss might be, she'd relegated him to the status of that Begosian creep. What had he wanted, really, an invitation to dinner?

"Sure. You'd better have a talk with her about strangers, though."

The woman released the girl and squatted in front of her. "How many times have we talked about trusting people you don't know?"

Kerry shrugged. "Faith said it was oh-k-kay."

Her mother bristled. Her deep, controlling breath made Drew wonder what she might have said if he wasn't standing there. "Sweetie, you shouldn't listen to Faith if she tells you things you know are wrong. Use your common sense."

"Faith s-said she'd protect me." The girl grew agitated in her defense, and her struggling speech became almost incoherent.

"Kerry! She's not real. Angels don't…" The rest of the reprimand disappeared behind a cool mask of control that slipped onto her face as though it had been there all along.

She stood and faced Drew, a woman of backbone and grit. With a quivering chin. That acknowledgment of her emotion was fleeting, and quickly hidden with an arrogant thrust of her jaw. "Sometimes my daughter's imagination gets the better of her."

Drew wondered why she fought the display of weakness. Most moms would be sobbing with relief or cussing up a storm by now. But not this one. Maybe her detachment had nothing to do with him, after all. Maybe she'd keep all her feelings locked up no matter who she was with, whether it was a smooth talker in a three-piece suit or a cynical bum like himself.

"No problem. Just glad I was here."

The woman's expression softened a bit. "I'm Emma Ramsey. Do you need me to file a report?" Even in this clipped, businesslike demeanor, her voice had a sexy undertone.

He fought the nagging feeling of recognition. Where would a no-name like himself run into a class act like her? Only in his dreams. He shook off his confusion. "I'll take care of it. I'd better see if he's still on the premises."

Emma nodded. "Thanks again."

"You'll need these t-to c-catch the bad guy." Drew looked down and found Kerry offering up his glasses.

"Thanks." Acting on an unusual impulse, Drew reached out and cupped the girl's cheek. Her soft skin reminded him of home. At least, it reminded him of the kind of place he wished he could call home. The gentle touch earned him a shy smile that warmed him despite her mother's frosty dismissal. "You listen to your mom, you hear?"

"Oh-k-kay."

Drew put on his glasses and gave a mock salute to Mrs. Ramsey. She clutched her daughter in front of her. He turned and walked toward the exit where Begosian had disappeared. This do-gooder stuff wasn't exactly his thing. The reluctant gratitude shining in that mother's eyes and the wide-eyed trust placed in him by that little girl were undeserved. And unwanted.

He came out at the top of a back stairwell. Begosian was a cockroach kind of criminal. He'd keep to the dark, try to blend in unnoticed if people were around. Drew pulled out his gun and slipped down the stairs, noiselessly closing in on his prey. The cockroach might not have escaped yet. He had probably moved slowly, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Drew had no intention —

"Freeze! Drop your weapon!"

A door swung open and a security team swarmed in. Surrounded, Drew slowly lowered his gun to the floor, keeping his free hand raised in surrender. "Easy, guys, I'm with the D.A.'s office. I have a permit.  I was cleared when I came into the building."

One of the guards thumped him on the back, forcing him to the floor. "Face down and stay put!"

The clock ticked away as Drew seethed with indignant frustration. Several guards frisked him. One found his wallet and identified him.

But Drew's opportunity had passed. The guards returning his gun and i.d., dusting off his jacket, and apologizing repeatedly did little to reverse Drew's darkening mood. Begosian was long gone, and by now the trail would be cold. He'd botched what should have been a textbook assignment for a seasoned pro like himself.

Nope. This was definitely not a good day. Sweet little girls and sensible mothers weren't just out of his league. They were bad luck, pure and simple. They'd never mix with a man like Drew Gallagher.

* * *

Emma waited for the school bus to pull away before hurrying across the parking lot to her customized van. After talking to the police, it had taken a considerable degree of willpower to let Kerry get on the bus with her classmates. What she really wanted to do was bundle the girl up in her arms, take her home, lock the doors, and stand watch over her.

But Kerry had begged to finish the day with her friends, and Mrs. Arnold, her teacher, had assured Emma that maintaining a normal routine would be beneficial to her wayward daughter. So Emma had waved good-bye and buried her fears deep inside.

She concentrated on reviewing the rules of self-defense that Jonathan had taught her, and she made a mental note to reinforce those same precautions with Kerry. She had her keys ready as she approached her van, and casually scanned the area, alert to spots that offered hiding places for the kind of man who would steal a child from her mother. Or detain a woman with bad come-on lines.

Have we met before?
She allowed herself one, short laugh. She'd heard all the lines—good and bad—and had turned them all down. She was a married woman, after all. Although her heart might be gathering dust on a shelf, it still belonged to her husband.

A voice inside her said he was still alive somewhere, struggling against captors or injury to find his way home. The men Jonathan Ramsey had served with continued to pursue any leads on his whereabouts. She'd traced him through military channels. Foreign embassies. Police. Private investigators.

But in five years, she'd found nothing. Nothing but heartache and loneliness and a dying faith that he would one day return to her.

Emma glanced beneath the frame of the neighboring car and her van before stepping between the vehicles. She fought off a feeling of guilt. Somehow, that Gallagher man had diverted her attention long enough for her to lose track of Kerry. He was lanky and lean. So intense, so unpredictable. With those incredible eyes. Behind his glasses, Mr. Gallagher's eyes reminded her of rough-cut emeralds—deep green, without a tinge of blue or gray.

She'd been wary of him. Yet he'd helped Kerry, and for that she was grateful. But she couldn't shake the way his eyes had stared at her. Hungry. Pleading. He'd made a silent request of her, but she hadn't understood the question. Maybe they had met before. But she'd have remembered a man like him—so polished beneath his coarse veneer, with fluid strength and precise movements. He was coiled, cautious.

She had barely unlocked the van door when it was yanked from her fingers. "Get in!"

A leather-gloved hand pushed her inside. "Move over."

Emma obeyed the breathy commands. Shock clouded her ability to think clearly, but she reacted on instinct. She jumped to the other side of the vehicle, and her fingers worked like a broken toy, struggling to open the passenger door handle.

"Don't."

The man's fingers clamped on to her elbow and twisted it behind her back. He leaned over her, pinning her with his heavier weight. Flight would not be possible. Out of breath, the man's heavy panting fogged up the windows, leaving Emma to wonder if anyone could see her plight. She schooled her panic.

"Who are you?" Her own breath caught on a strangled whisper. "What do you want?"

"My name doesn't matter." She craned her neck to study his face. She saw sweat beading on his forehead, despite the chill of the day, and his wild gaze darted from the back of the van to the windshield, looking for something neither of them could see. She flinched when his gaze landed on her.

"I didn't intend to hurt your girl."

"You took her?" Fury swelled in her, overriding her fear. Emma jerked against his grip, but the movement only angered him.

"You listen to me!" He yanked her arm in its socket, forcing her down onto her knees in the space between the two front seats. Emma yelped at the pain shooting through her shoulder, but chose not to struggle. She gritted her teeth and listened to his coldblooded offer.

"I have a computer disk with proof your husband is still alive. For two hundred fifty thousand bucks I'll deliver it to you."

"My God. You were going to give that message to my daughter?"

She didn't know whether to scream or cry. To deliberately involve Kerry in this cruel scheme as bait or incentive to ensure her cooperation sickened her. But Jonathan? Could this bastard really know something about her husband? The possibility beckoned her. But her husband would never want her to be a part of something like this. He'd made a career risking his life to save the world from conscienceless predators like this lowlife.

"Where is he?" She heard herself ask the question, five years of grief and despair overwhelming the morals of a lifetime.

His hot breath lapped against her ear as he bent closer. "For another fifty, I'll tell you. Deal?" The driver-side door wrenched open.

"Having car trouble, Mrs. Ramsey?"

The deadly quiet voice startled her assailant. His grip slackened, and a blast of cold air swept over her Pulling her arm down and cradling it against her stomach, she could turn just enough to see a steel handgun pointed right at the man's temple.

She looked beyond his dazed expression to see the predatory gleam stamped on the taut features of Drew Gallagher's angry face. "Hands up, Begosian."

The eyes of her assailant dulled as he slowly turned and placed both hands on the steering wheel. With his gun still resting against her attacker's scalp, Gallagher spoke. "Let me help you out."

Drew dragged the man from her van, and Emma scrambled to her feet and climbed out after them. He hauled the man by the lapels of his brown tweed coat into the open parking lot and shoved him onto his knees upon the asphalt.

"Face down," he ordered, following the man down to frisk him for weapons and handcuff him. Then, with his knee squared in the middle of the guy's back, Drew pulled a cell phone from his jacket and punched in a number.

Emma huddled inside her coat, chilled by the cool efficiency of Drew Gallagher's actions as much as by the damp January wind. The shiver drew his attention, and he finally looked at her. His strange eyes narrowed. "You hurt?"

"Nothing serious." She dropped her gaze to the dirty slush that stained the hem of her coat where she'd been forced to kneel on the floor of the van. Had she been rescued a moment too soon? Was the chance to find Jonathan about to be bundled off to the police station?

"I thought you weren't a cop."

"I'm not." His short answer surprised her. "I'm doing a favor for the D.A.'s office."