Sensuous Angel (10 page)

Her teeth were suddenly chattering; she felt a chill. Had he come through the window? But why? And how much had he witnessed?

She struggled to gather her thoughts. Andrew McKennon! She had come here to meet Andrew McKennon. But why had he come through the window? Why?

Dear Lord, nothing was making sense, much less her sudden passion for a man she barely knew. And now, here at last was Andrew McKennon. The man who had the answers. She had wanted him to realize that she was persistent and dignified—determined and tenacious. But instead he had found her entangled in a very passionate kiss. It was not quite the way she wanted to impress a man when she was going to demand answers from him.

“Good evening,” Andrew said. Beneath a shaggy beard, he had a smile of secret amusement very much like Luke’s. But it was a surprisingly nice smile, just as his eyes were a surprisingly warm green. And his voice was pleasant, his words soft-spoken.

Luke’s scowl had the appearance of a dangerously brooding thundercloud. “Damn it, Andrew. I’m accustomed to you coming through my window, and normally I don’t mind. But I wish you’d learn to knock on the wall or something.”

“I tried to clear my throat! No one was paying attention.”

“How hard did you try?”

“I am sorry to interrupt, Luke.” The newcomer chuckled.

“I’m sure you are,” Luke replied dryly, his anger apparently controlled and perhaps fading. After all, Andrew McKennon was
the
guest of the evening.

They were both nuts. Completely off the wall, Donna decided. And she had to be just as crazy to be standing here, listening to this absurd exchange. Andrew McKennon always came through the window?

McKennon turned to Donna, still smiling. “Personally, Miss Miro, I think he deserved a slap much more than a kiss.”

She was too dumbfounded to speak. Shamed, embarrassed, horrified—and more confused than ever. Luke hadn’t completely released her, but that was probably for the best, because she was still shaking ridiculously.

The man who had appeared as mysteriously as a genie from a magic lamp stepped forward, grinning with a wicked appeal that rivaled Luke’s. Donna noted that despite the unkempt appearance of his hair and beard, he smelled clean, and that his worn jeans and denim shirt were laundered and fresh. He seemed about the same age as Luke, perhaps a year or two either way.

He stretched out an arm, offering a hand to her. “You’re Donna. I’m Andrew McKennon. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult to find, but I’m afraid it’s all been necessary.”

She stared at the hand outstretched to her. She felt Luke’s arm about her waist, encouraging her forward.

A little stream of tremors rippled along her back and settled in her spine. She had come to New York believing the worst of this man. She had been certain that he had preyed on Lorna, that he had somehow hurt her, or taken her in a con game.

But now the stakes seemed far higher than a mere con game. If she could believe Tricia, Lorna was being held for her own safety. So what did that make this stranger with the shaggy appearance?

Donna searched his eyes quickly. Quick, alert, knowing. Very green, and very sharp. As if they had seen a lot.

Donna sighed. She had met a strange priest, and in twenty-four hours everything had changed. She didn’t understand who she was herself anymore so how could she really understand who Andrew McKennon was?

But everything was still wrong. There were no answers. She was being told to trust the situation on faith, but why was she meeting him at night, and why was everything about Andrew McKennon such a dark secret?

“Donna?” He said her name lightly, but there seemed to be a tense appeal that hung in the air.

If she took his hand, she accepted him. She accepted the mystery. She put her faith blindly in a priest who had drawn her into a tempest of emotion and passion.

Donna still hesitated. She knew somehow that she would enter a misted maze and that she would not know if she would ever find her way through.

“Donna?” Luke spoke even more lightly than Andrew. Apparently his anger at the interruption had entirely faded. It seemed that the two men knew one another very well. Teasing was one thing, business was another.

And this meeting was important somehow to both men. Luke’s voice did not carry appeal; it carried the demand: Trust him, trust me; I have trusted you.

She couldn’t ignore that voice. God help her, she didn’t know why, but she couldn’t. She stretched out her own hand to accept the one offered to her.

She had to clear her throat. “Hello, Andrew. I-I’ve been trying to meet you for some time.”

“I
GUESS THE FIRST
thing that I have to do,” Andrew told her, “is ask that you keep everything you are about to hear entirely confidential.”

Donna glanced at him and then at Luke, warily.

“I know I’m asking a lot,” Andrew said softly.

“I really have no reason to trust you,” Donna said. She felt Luke squeeze her arm. “But I guess I’m going to.”

Andrew moved into the room, helping himself to a cup of coffee. “Why don’t you sit down, Donna? This could be a long explanation.”

Donna moved to the couch and sat. Andrew was in one corner of the room, Luke in the other. She felt as if she had been placed between a pair of uncaged Bengal tigers. And they wanted trust?

“About a year ago,” Andrew began, “New York City became plagued by a strange string of robberies.”

“The ‘church robberies’ you and Tricia were talking about yesterday?” Donna asked Luke. Luke nodded but remained silent. Donna glanced at Andrew. He seemed to be waiting for Luke to speak, but when Luke didn’t, he began his explanation again.

“The robber, mugger—or whatever you want to call him—started attacking single women coming and going from church. Obvious motive crimes, or so it would appear. The method of attack was always the same—one man, catching the woman alone. We’re not sure yet, though, if it’s always the same man. In which case, these robberies are planned. The man always wears a dark stocking over his head, and not one victim has ever been able to identify her attacker. They’ve been armed robberies, but no one was ever shot. The mugger strikes his victims over the head. One of the”—Andrew paused for a brief moment, then continued—“one of the first victims later died from head injuries. So suddenly we were after more than a petty robber—we were after a murderer.”

Donna swallowed suddenly, unnerved and also sure that she had missed something important. “I don’t understand where you fit into this, Mr. McKennon. Or what it has to do with Lorna.”

Andrew flashed her a brief, grim smile. “I’m getting to that, Donna. First of all, my name isn’t really McKennon. It’s Trudeau.”

Donna gasped and stared at Luke with angry accusation.

He shrugged, still refusing to speak and apparently undaunted by his deceit.

“Then you two are brothers,” she stated sharply.

“Yes.”

“I really don’t understand—”

“I’m a detective with N.Y.P.D. I’ve been working undercover on this case for almost a year. I’ve been living on the streets and eating in the soup kitchens, trying to get some kind of word from the street grapevine.”

“Oh…but I’ve been to the police! Why did they deny everything?”

Andrew sighed, taking a seat beside her, clasping and unclasping his hands in an idle gesture. Luke finally stepped up and began to talk, settling at her side on one knee and taking the fingers of her left hand into his own.

“Donna, while he was working on the streets, Andrew learned that the crimes were not as obvious as it appeared. The ‘robber’ or ‘robbers’—whichever the case may be—were hired to rob and paid a much higher sum than the money and jewelry stolen.”

Donna was truly confused and truly frightened. “I don’t understand.”

Luke straightened and idly paced before the low coffee table. “Someone was planning the ‘perfect’ crime.”

“Donna,” Andrew said, stepping back into the conversation, “nine out of ten times when a murder is committed, the police look first to the family. The wife, the child, and so on. And we’re not quite as bumbling as some people would like to make us out to be. We do catch most of those types of murderers.”

“Crimes of passion are often very easy,” Luke said. “Crimes with financial motive can be even easier.”

“Now I’m really confused,” Donna murmured.

“It is confusing and that’s why we’ve got all this subterfuge going on,” Andrew said.

“At the end of August,” Luke told her, “another of the mugger’s victims died. Her name was Hattie Simson. She was a very wealthy woman, and the majority stockholder in a company called Lithtin.”

“Her grandson,” Andrew continued, “was naturally distraught by her death. Too distraught. We discovered that he had been trying to wrest the old lady’s power from her for a long, long time.”

Donna felt a headache coming on; her mind was whirling, but she felt she was at last beginning to understand.

“I—I think I understand. This man wanted to kill his grandmother, so he staged a number of armed robberies so that when she was killed, suspicion would never fall on him, because it would appear that she was killed by someone the police were already stalking?”

“Exactly.”

“Oh, God,” Donna whispered, feeling ill. “But what…what does Lorna have to do with this?”

“Lorna stumbled onto the crime,” Luke said. “She happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She saw the man who struck Mrs. Simson, and she saw another man, the driver of the car that the killer ran to in order to make his escape.”

“And she can identify them both?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you arrest them?”

Andrew glanced at Luke, then sighed. “It’s not that simple. A good defense attorney could rip her apart on a witness stand. The night was dark, et cetera, et cetera. And I haven’t been able to find the man who actually committed the robbery and murder.”

“Donna, newspaper reporters tried to interview Lorna right after the crime. There were policemen all over the place, but suddenly shots started ringing out from a nearby building. She was grazed across the shoulder, and that’s why she went into the hospital.”

“She was hurt!” Donna cried out in horror.

“Not badly, only a flesh wound,” Luke assured her. “But there was no record of her having been at the hospital because the police knew then that someone would rather have Lorna dead than able to talk to anyone about what she had seen.”

“So where is she now?” Donna asked.

Both men were silent.

“Where is she?” Donna persisted angrily.

“I don’t want to tell you where she is, Miss Miro,” Andrew said softly. “You would be tempted to try to get there, to see her, write to her, or call her.”

“But why can’t I?”

“Donna,” Luke said, “we believe that Hal Simson killed his grandmother—or paid an assassin to kill her—for control of the company. At her death he became an extremely wealthy man. We’ve always suspected that he had links with the underworld. He has a network system of information that would put A.T. and T. to shame. He can hire dozens of paid assassins. The only way we could possibly keep Lorna safe was to make her disappear absolutely—so that no one could find her.”

“You can’t even trust me?” Donna whispered.

“Donna,” Luke murmured, “it isn’t a matter of trusting you. We don’t want you getting involved, and we don’t want you leading anyone to Lorna.”

Andrew laughed. “I have to stay so low myself that I crawl through windows to see my own brother. Can you understand what a horribly tenuous position we’re in?”

“Yes,” Donna said, feeling numb, “I—I guess I can.” She glanced sharply at Andrew. “What has Tricia to do with this?”

“She’s my partner, Donna. The club where she works is very elite, but it also hosts a number of our shadier businessmen. She’s hoping to pick up something there.”

Donna glanced at Luke. “Luke,” she murmured, “I want you to swear to me that this is all true. Word for word true.”

“It’s true, Donna. I swear it.”

“So…” She took a deep breath and stared at Andrew. “What do I do?”

“Go home, Donna. Trust me, and trust the N.Y.P.D.”

“How can I just go home?” Donna asked miserably. “I’ll be worried day and night.”

“I’m working as hard as I can to come up with enough evidence to arrest Simson,” Andrew assured her. “I swear to you that Lorna is well and safe. Please, trust us. If something leaked to the papers now, the whole case could be blown before it really gets started. And if anything at all were to give away Lorna’s whereabouts…well, it could be fatal.”

“Oh, God!” Donna groaned.

“Donna,” Luke said softly. “Andrew just assured you that Lorna is well and fine.” He glanced at his brother. “And actually,” he added more lightly, “it’s not as grim as you think. Lorna is determined to see this man arrested, and she actually considers it all to be an extremely important adventure.”

“Yeah, she considers it an adventure,” Andrew said dryly.

There were undercurrents there, Donna decided, that she didn’t quite understand. She instinctively trusted Andrew, just as she was compelled to trust Luke.

Was there something going on between Lorna and Andrew McKennon? Not McKennon, she reminded herself. Trudeau.

A touch of sparks? She lowered her head. If so, it would be good for Lorna. But the situation itself was still frightening. Very frightening.

“I doubt that it can really be an adventure,” she murmured skeptically.

Andrew hesitated. “The state needs Lorna. And Lorna needs the state.”

“I understand that.”

“Witnesses often become victims in one way or another.”

“I…know.”

“Donna,” Luke said, “as soon as it is at all feasible, you’ll be able to see her.”

Donna drew in an only slightly shaky breath. “Okay. I’m not going to ask any more questions. I won’t do any more snooping around. I won’t do anything to risk Lorna’s life or your case. But I’m not going to be able to stop worrying, and I do want to know the second that anything happens.”

“You’ve got it,” Andrew assured her.

“Thank you,” Donna said. Andrew was reassuring. There was something about him despite his shaggy appearance—an air of complete authority coupled with a strange tension that very much resembled his brother’s.