Nobody's Angel (39 page)

“Hick,” he said firmly. “Cowboy hat and big-haired blonde with him.”

Sam Shaw. She tried to feel relief, but her lungs wouldn't work. The message on that card scared her to death. She wouldn't have to worry about all the implications of still being married. Tony would kill her before the divorce papers could hit his desk.

He would want his money back.
All
his money.

She wanted Adrian here. She could face Sam and Sandra together. She might even be willing to tackle a bastard like Piggy McCowan. But she couldn't face the idea of Tony alive and well and returning to torment her life again. She just couldn't do it, couldn't face him and his charm and all the old neuroses that had held her shackled for years.

Tony could prove Adrian's innocence.

Faith's head shot up and her fist crushed the card into spitball size. “Call George and the other guys for backup. I have to write a note I want you to deliver to somebody in the audience. We have a major creep going down if we do this right.”

The kid's eyes widened, but he hurried to do as instructed. Faith had warned the bandleader that there might be trouble, but she'd told him Adrian had it in hand. Adrian wasn't here, and she wouldn't wait for him. If Tony was alive, she needed to know
now
.

She scribbled a note to Jim, checked the audience, and found him sitting with one of his officer friends at the bar. She pointed him out to her messenger and watched to be certain the note was delivered before she made her next move. She might not wait for Adrian's arrival, but she wasn't taking any other chances. She wanted all the force behind her that she could gather.

She searched the dimly lit barroom but couldn't spot the Shaws. “Where's the man who gave you the card?” she whispered as the kid returned to report his task complete.

“Booth on the far side of the bar. You can't see him from here. His old lady was bitching because she couldn't see the stage good.”

“Well, she'll see this part of the act real well.”

“Faith, you sure you want to do this?” George arrived and put a hand on her shoulder, restraining her from marching out. “We're going on in a few minutes. Wouldn't it be better to wait for Raphael and talk to them after the show?”

It was almost nine, and Adrian wasn't here. Faith fought a new panic. Maybe he was caught in traffic. Maybe the kiln hadn't cooled properly. Any number of things could have delayed him. She wouldn't think about their conversation of yesterday. Men like Piggy didn't “off ” people like in the movies.

Retreating from beneath George's arm, she squeezed his hand instead. “I may have stirred up a little more trouble than I anticipated. I don't
think
anyone would shoot at me on stage, but I don't want to risk it. Do you think we could delay the show?”

Alarm rippled across the expressions of the men around her. She'd much rather go out there and sing and pretend nothing was happening, but Adrian's theory scared her to death. She didn't want to endanger innocent people.

“I think we better call the police,” George said slowly.

“Adrian's brother-in-law is a cop, and he and a buddy are out there, but they can't stop bullets. Jim's wife is expecting their first baby. I can't involve him in this. It's not as if anyone has done anything that he can arrest them for.”

She didn't want to panic and rush into anything without thinking, but she couldn't intellectualize this to death either. If it were just the Shaws out there, she didn't foresee any problem. She could go out on stage and wait for Adrian. But if there was any chance Tony or McCowan were in the audience, it was a whole new ball game.

“Go on without me,” she ordered. “They'll be watching the stage and not me.” She held out her hand to one of the band members. “Give me that beer bottle. I can cut a man's throat with a bottle, if necessary.”

“Not if he has a gun,” George said quietly.

“He'd have to be stoned out of his mind to shoot in a room full of witnesses. I can handle this.” Faith took the nearly empty bottle and smiled bravely. She'd seen men stoned out of their minds. If they were inclined toward murder, they'd lay out anyone who crossed their path, including witnesses. No one could second-guess madmen. She had to take her chances. No man would paralyze her into helplessness ever again. Not even Tony.

Terrified, she waited for the band to hit the first notes of the opening number. As the crowd clapped and cheered, she clutched her beer bottle weapon, and still smiling, stalked into the smoke-clouded barroom.

“You!” Sandra screeched, slapping her hands on the table and struggling to rise from the booth as Faith walked up.

“Sit down, Sandra.” Faith poured the dregs of her beer into an empty mug and swung the bottle idly. Sandra got the message. She sat back down.

Faith didn't like it that Sammy had chosen this moment to disappear. Like a gunfighter, she'd prefer having her back against the wall so she could watch for him. Unless she wanted to climb into the booth and stand on the bench with her back pressed into cow horns, she decided that wasn't an option. “We have bigger problems than old grievances. Where's Tony hiding out these days?”

Sandra looked genuinely startled, then fury returned. “You bitch! Don't give me that innocent miss stuff. I know you got that death certificate and claimed what was rightfully mine.”

“C'mon, Sandra. If I had half a mil in life insurance, would I be working in this dump? Where's Sammy? Did you think he would actually help with the death benefits? When are you going to quit relying on men?” Faith contemplated sitting down, but the booth made her nervous. She leaned against a post and tried to keep half an eye on the audience. The band had cranked into a loud number, and she had to shout to be heard above the bass notes.

“Sammy has his lawyer friend working on it,” Sandra said defensively. “He says you got to it first. I have
kids
to raise. How could you steal food from the mouths of children?”

“Dammit, Sandra, I
sent
you the insurance policy. It had
your name on it. It wasn't any good to me. What the hell did you do with it?”

“I damned well never got no policy from
you
!” Sandra shouted back. “Tony said he'd take care of me, but you stole everything!”

Faith sighed. Adrian had been right. Talking to Sandra was like talking to a broken record. She couldn't see past her grievances to find the solutions. “Where's Sammy?” she repeated. “I know he was out here. Maybe he could explain a few things.”

“He's gone to take a leak. This is between you and me.” Sandra picked up the mug Faith had filled and gulped the warm beer before continuing. “I don't need nothing explained to me. Tony was a horse's ass, but he was
my
horse's ass. Me and him go way back. He was gonna see our kids had better than we did growing up. You were just his ticket into the big-time. He was gonna dump you and put me in one of them big new mansions at the lake. It was gonna be
wonderful.
And then you had to pull the plug.”

“Live in your fantasy world if it makes you happy,” Faith replied wearily, half watching the action on stage now. She'd built up a bucket load of adrenaline and fear for a drunken moron. “I have to get back to work. But if you think Al McCowan will help you with Tony's money, you're a bigger horse's ass than Tony. He's a crook, pure and simple, and he's out for anything he can steal.”

“Now that ain't a nice thing for a lady to say.”

Faith recognized Sammy Shaw's drawl behind her. The ominous point of metal pressed against her spine froze her first response.

“Mr. McCowan has a few things he'd like to ask you,” Sammy continued. “Why don't we mosey on out of here and give him a visit?”

“Sammy, she says she sent me Tony's insurance policy, and she ain't got it. She's not dressed like she's rich.”

Stay calm, Faith.
She took a deep breath as Sandra's whine unfroze her thought processes. “Yeah, Sammy, what happened to that policy?” she taunted. “And what was that note
about Tony being alive? Maybe you know something Sandra doesn't?”

“What?” Sandra screeched, so furious she managed to shove the heavy table toward the opposite seat so she could stand up. “So help me God if that bastard is—”

“Shut up, Sandra,” Sammy hissed. “You're making a scene. I gave McCowan the policy. He was gonna make it right. Now we're gonna make him clear up a few things. She's the key we need.”

“I don't think so.” Without giving it a second thought, Faith stepped away from the knife at her back, smashed her beer bottle against the table more as signal than weapon, and swung around to face her antagonist.

From the corner of her eye Faith watched a half-dozen six-foot-tall men push back their chairs and start across the room in their direction. Faith smiled. Adrian had really stacked the deck this time.

“Sandy, grab her arms and let's get outta here,” Sammy ordered nervously, not noticing the approaching posse. “She can't do nothing with that damned bottle.”

“I can, but I won't.” Faith shrugged and tried to look nonchalant while Jim and his friends pushed through the crowd. “Unless you have a gun, you won't get more than three steps from here. I'd suggest you start preparing your story for the police.”

Sammy glanced around, recognized the determined look on several square-jawed faces, and panicked. Grabbing Faith, he swung her in front of him, holding the knife to her throat.

Oh, hell. She should have figured stupidity into the equation.

With a hard downward thrust, she spiked her boot heel into the arch of Sammy's Nike-shod foot. Sammy howled.

In the next motion, she slashed upward with her broken bottle, aiming for the beefy arm at her throat. Sammy screeched in agony and dropped her like a hot rock as he grabbed his gushing arm.

Counting on stupidity this time, Faith brandished her beer bottle and swung on Sandra, but Jim already had her clapped
in cuffs. Screaming protests and obscenities, Sandra staggered backward into the arms of another officer.

The room around them erupted in panic as bar patrons retreated to escape the fracas. The band squealed to a halt as all four members disentangled themselves from instruments and leaped from the stage. Seeing the fight ending before they could reach it, they strolled uncertainly toward Faith.

“Where's Adrian?” Faith demanded of Jim as one of his buddies prepared a hasty bandage to stop Sammy's bleeding.

“I don't know,” he admitted worriedly. “But we have to take these clowns down to the station. We'll need you to press charges. Adrian can catch up later.”

“Not until we check the pottery,” she insisted, fear pushing past her adrenaline rush. “Sammy didn't come in here just to harass me. McCowan's up to something.”

Jim nodded, watching the proceedings carefully as his fellow officers led the Shaws away. “We'll go around that way, check things out, but Adrian takes care of himself.”

George stepped up, his expression one of concern as he hugged Faith's shoulders. “You all right, babe? Can we help?”

Not realizing until now how shaken she was, Faith stepped away, trying not to wipe hot tears of terror from her eyes. She didn't have time for comfort and tears, not from this man. She wanted Adrian. Oh, God, please don't let anything happen to Adrian. His family needed him.
She
needed him, if only to ease her panic, or so she told herself.

Frantically praying, she edged toward the door. “I'm all right.” Her teeth chattered, and she tried to hide her terror with boldness. “I have to go down to the station, so tell Adrian if he shows up. And stay away from any bulky blond guys in suits if they come nosing around.”

“Want us to tie them up and haul them down to the station if they show?” George asked teasingly.

“Yeah, just tie up every big blond that walks through the door,” Jim answered impatiently. “Works for me.”

“I'll check back with you later,” George called after her. “We could make a good act.”

Faith tried to smile at his insistence, but singing was the last thing she wanted to do right now. She didn't need that outlet anymore. She needed Adrian. She was insane to ever want any man again, but she needed Adrian to be alive and safe and in the same world she inhabited. She looked to Jim, who nodded toward the door.

“C'mon. I've got an unmarked out there. We'll find him.”

They caught the Isuzu as it was leaving the parking lot. Faith shouted a warning, Jim hit the brakes and the blue lights and swung the Crown Vic to block the exit.

The Isuzu screeched to a halt and a familiar lanky form stepped into the flash of blue.

“Adrian!” Relief pouring through her like tears, Faith leaped from the police car. Jim followed slowly, but she didn't care if he saw her public display. Flinging herself into Adrian's welcoming arms, she collapsed, babbling, into the unquestioning warmth and security he offered. In a minute she would be herself again. Right now she needed someone who understood and didn't mind if she fell apart.

“It's okay,
querida.
Hush, slow down, let me talk to Jim.” As she rattled on about Sammy holding her at knifepoint, Adrian held her close, stroking her hair, but he fixed his brother-in-law with a look over her shoulder. She finally quieted enough for him to sneak a word in edgewise. “There's a barney in back of the shop,” he warned Jim. “If he's awake, he's probably not too happy, but he can't go far.” Hanging around teenagers had expanded his vocabulary more than prison had. He didn't know if the slang referred to purple dinosaurs or the Fifes of this world, but either worked.