“Of course.” Patrick stepped back. “If you have a first aid kit, we can bandage him up.”
“Where is Carlo?” Justine asked. “Do you know?”
“He and his mother are waiting outside. I’ll get them now.”
He returned to the kitchen and opened the back door. “Stacy?” he called.
She stepped out of the shadows, Carlo in her arms. Relief filled him; though he’d only left her a short time, there’d been a chance Nordley or Stevie would find her. Knowing she was safe eased some of his tension. “Come inside.” He held the door wider. “Everyone is in the living room. Any sign of Nordley and Stevie?”
“No. They must still be at the hay barn.”
He glanced toward the barn. The flames had climbed higher and illuminated the night. They must be visible for miles.
He did a quick check around the outside of house and saw nothing to alarm him, though shouts came from the direction of the hay barn. When he returned to the living room he found Abel sitting up, propped against the sofa. Justine and Willa sat on either side of him. Stacy sat in the chair opposite, Carlo in her lap. The boy stared at his uncle, eyes wide, thumb in his mouth.
“Give me a gun,” Abel said when he saw Patrick. “I want to shoot Nordley myself when he comes back.”
“I thought you and the senator were friends.”
“Sure. A friend who shot me.” His mouth twisted in disgust. “We were never friends.”
“How did you get involved with him in the first place?” Patrick asked.
“Don’t badger him,” Willa said. “He’s hurt.”
“He needs to know what he’s dealing with,” Abel said. He shifted, as if trying to get comfortable when that was impossible. After a second, he spoke again. “Sam sent him to me. When the economy was good I took out a second mortgage on the ranch to expand the operation. Then things went south. The land wasn’t worth what it was, people weren’t buying expensive horses, but the stock still had to eat. The bank still wanted to be paid. I asked Sam to help me. I figured criminals were the one bunch that were still doing well no matter what the stock market was up to.”
He coughed, and Willa patted his shoulder. “You shouldn’t talk so much,” she said, and glared at Patrick.
Abel waved her away. “Sam said he couldn’t help me, but he said he knew someone who could. Nordley came to see me and said if I’d do him a few favors, he’d pay off the mortgage. All that debt, gone.”
“What did he ask you to do?” Stacy asked.
“That was the thing. It was nothing. He sent a couple men to stay here a few days. They rode around, walked the property, didn’t bother anybody. He said he wanted to use the place as a retreat. They stayed in the bunkhouse, didn’t bother anybody. He bought the mortgage from the bank and said as long as I cooperated, I didn’t have anything to worry about. I know now he was just setting me up. Playing me for a fool.”
“He couldn’t have known Sam would die,” Stacy said.
“I think he planned a hit on Sam before the feds got involved and did the dirty work for him,” Abel said. “Nordley has that kind of nerve. He thinks he’s a genius and everyone else are fools.”
“After Sam died, he asked if we would look after Carlo.” Willa took up the story. “He told us the mother didn’t want the boy and he needed to be with family.”
“He lied.” Stacy hugged Carlo closer.
Willa ignored her. “Of course we would look after my great-grandson. Two of the senator’s men brought him here one night.”
“That’s when Nordley told me the rest of the plan,” Abel said. “That we were supposed to use the boy to get control of the money. I knew about the will. One of the last times I talked to Sam, he bragged about how smart he was, giving the money to the boy and tying it up in a trust. I guess Sam told his buddy Nordley about the will, too, but not about the boy’s mother having control of the trust. That’s why he ordered his men to just bring the boy here. When I told Nordley the boy’s mother had control, he was angry. He said we’d have to get Stacy here and force her to sign over everything.” His shoulders sagged. “By then I was in too deep. I couldn’t see a way out.”
“You’d have let him kill me for money,” Stacy said.
“He would have killed me. He would have killed all of us.” Abel shook his head. “I never wanted anything to do with the family business. All I wanted was to ranch. Sam said I’d betrayed the family. I figured involving me with Nordley was his way of getting back at me.”
“We love the boy.” Willa addressed Stacy directly. “We never would have hurt him.”
Stacy nodded. “He loves you, too. He said you were good to him.” She stood as if to go to the old woman, just as the window next to Patrick’s head exploded and a bullet thudded into the wall behind the sofa.
“Everyone down!” Patrick shouted. He crouched beside the window, trying to glimpse the shooter in the darkness. Willa and Justine sobbed and Abel muttered curses and pleaded again for someone to give him a gun. More shots hit the outside of the house around the window. Patrick decided there was just a single shooter, but he was determined to keep them pinned down. Where was the other man—probably Nordley—and what was he up to?
Stacy’s scream rose above the other background noise, accompanied by the sounds of a struggle. “He’s got Carlo!”
Patrick whirled and found the senator, his face streaked with soot, hair in wild disarray, clutching the boy to his chest. He pressed the muzzle of a pistol against the child’s temple. “Unless you want me to kill the boy now, you’ll put down that rifle and let me leave,” Nordley rasped.
The shooter outside had silenced his weapon, also. Now came the rev of an engine, very near the house. “I believe that’s my ride,” Nordley said.
Patrick carefully lowered the rifle to the floor, every muscle protesting as the senator dragged a terrified Carlo toward the door. He looked for a way—any way—to stop the abduction, but the risk was too great. He believed Nordley wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.
Nordley made it out the door and down the front steps. Patrick, Stacy and Willa followed, keeping their distance, but unable to look away as the senator walked backward toward the car. He was even with the back bumper when Carlo, who had hung limp in his arms, suddenly came to life. The boy bit down hard on Nordley’s arm and flailed his legs, landing a hard kick in Nordley’s crotch. Nordley cried out and the gun went off.
Stacy screamed and covered her eyes with her hands. “It’s all right,” Patrick told her. “Carlo’s free.” The boy raced toward them. Nordley, doubled over, tried to fire after him, but his aim was wild.
Patrick grabbed up the boy and swept him into the house, herding the women before him. He retrieved the rifle and raced to the door once more, but Nordley was already in the car, driving away. A siren screamed in the distance, approaching fast.
Stacy, Carlo in her arms, came to stand behind him. “Are you all right, buddy?” Patrick asked.
“I didn’t want to go with that bad man.”
“You did good, darling.” Stacy kissed him. “So very good. You were so brave.” She watched Nordley’s car careen down the driveway. “He’s going to get away.”
“Maybe not.” The sound of screeching tires, crushed metal and breaking glass punctuated this statement. Patrick raced down the drive, running hard, but by the time he reached the crash site at the entrance to the ranch, men swarmed over the wreckage of a government-issue SUV and Nordley’s Jeep.
Two men dragged Stevie out of the driver’s side. The guard was able to stand on his own, though blood ran from a cut on his head. The passenger side of the vehicle was crushed.
“We think the passenger is Nordley.” Special Agent Sullivan, looking sharp in a black ballistics vest over his black suit, came to stand beside Patrick. “We’ll know more once we’ve cut him out and loaded him into the ambulance.”
“It’s him,” Patrick said. “Is he alive?”
“From the sound of it, he is,” Sullivan said. “And cussing a blue streak.” He glanced down the drive. “What’s the situation at the house?”
“An older man, the ranch owner, Abel Giardino, is shot. He needs an ambulance. Three women and the boy are frightened, but okay.”
“I’m not going to ask you right now why you’re here after I told you to stay away.”
Patrick met the other man’s eyes, refusing to back down. “I had a job to do, just like you. I had to keep Stacy Giardino and her child safe.”
“In doing so, you forced Nordley’s hand.” He looked back at the car, where emergency personnel were prying apart the passenger door to get to the senator. “He might not have been so careless if not for you.”
“You were right—he’s behind all of this. He intended to use the boy to gain control of the Giardino money. He blackmailed Abel and Willa into helping him.”
“I’ll need your full report as soon as possible. And we’ll want to interview the Giardinos and anyone else who lives here.”
“We can talk about all that later. I have to take care of Stacy and her son now.” He turned to walk back to the house.
“You could lose your job over this,” Sullivan said. “Or at least get a ding on your record.”
Maybe so. But he’d done what he knew was right, and he could live with that. “I guess we’ll see.”
“Do you think she’s worth all this trouble?”
He smiled, though his back was to Sullivan. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, she is.” He walked faster, back to the house and back to Stacy. The sooner this was over and they were together, the better.
* * *
S
TACY
REMAINED
IN
the house with Carlo while Willa and Justine followed the emergency personnel who carried the stretcher on which Abel lay. The old man was responsive and the EMTs pronounced him stable. “Will Uncle Abel be okay?” Carlo asked.
“He will.” She forced a smile for her son’s sake. “Tomorrow or the next day, we’ll see if we can visit him in the hospital. I know he’d like that.”
“Okay.” Carlo buried his head against her chest and closed his eyes. He must be exhausted; she was. But too many things remained unsettled for her to rest easily.
As the EMTs and the two older women exited the house, Patrick squeezed past them. He still carried the weapon, though it was slung at his side. Dark blood smeared his shoulder and dark half-moons ringed his eyes. Yet she’d never seen a better sight. “You doing okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “Just tired. And I need to get Carlo to bed.”
“I’ll find someone to give us a ride to my Jeep and take you back to the hotel.”
“I don’t have to go to some police station and answer a bunch of questions about what happened?”
“There’ll be time enough for that later. Right now you two need your rest.”
“What will you do?”
“I’m still in charge of keeping you safe.”
“Then you won’t leave us.” Relief surged through her. She’d been afraid that now that she and Carlo were out of danger, he’d be anxious to be rid of them. Sure, he’d said and done a lot of things over the past few days to make her think he cared for her, but maybe that had all been part of him gaining her confidence. Maybe now that he didn’t have to be with her, he’d feel differently. “What will happen now?” she asked—the question she had repeatedly asked him throughout this ordeal. He always had an answer that reassured her and kept her going.
“Senator Nordley will face charges—kidnapping, attempted murder, aiding a felon.... I’m sure there are others. Abel could be charged, too, but I’m betting he can work a plea deal if he agrees to testify against Nordley. Especially if you don’t press the issue.”
She shook her head. “I believe his story about being caught up in Nordley’s schemes. I meant, what will happen to me? Do I have to remain in custody?”
“No. But I’ll help you get settled.”
“I still don’t want to be in WITSEC. There’s no reason for that now.”
“I wasn’t talking about WITSEC.”
“You mean I’m on my own?”
“Only if you want to be.”
The warmth was gone from his voice, replaced by an anxious tone. He shifted nervously and studied her face, as if trying to decipher her thoughts. The man who was always so confident and sure of himself looked lost. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Why are you acting so weird?”
“Because I don’t know how else to act.” He touched her shoulder, a tentative brush of two fingers against her collarbone. “Would you think I was crazy if I told you I loved you?”
“That is crazy talk,” she said, even as her heart raced.
He ran a hand through his hair so that the blond strands stood on end. “I know we’ve only known each other a few days. But in that time I feel I’ve gotten to know you and...I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you. I think you’re amazing—smart and brave and strong, and a great mother, a beautiful, sexy lover.... I just... I can’t deal with the idea of losing you.”
“You don’t have to lose me.”
His eyes searched hers again. “What are you saying?”
She shifted Carlo, who had fallen asleep, to her other side. “You live in Denver, right?”
He nodded.
“I could move to Denver,” she said. “I can find a job, maybe even go back to school. We could see each other—see how we do together in the real world.”
“I’d like that.”
She almost laughed. “That’s all you can say?”
In answer, he pulled her close and kissed her. Lips locked to hers, he lifted both her and Carlo off the ground. When their lips parted, they were both breathless. “I’d love that, Stacy Giardino,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Patrick Thompson. As crazy as we both are—I love you.”
Epilogue
One year later
Stacy looked out the window of the courthouse at the crowd of reporters waiting at the bottom of the steps. News vans lined the street and the microphones and cameras were three deep. “I can’t believe they all want to talk to me,” she said.
Patrick, looking more handsome than ever in a suit and tie, put a reassuring hand to her back. “Your testimony was crucial in convicting Senator Nordley, not to mention the human-interest angle of an ordinary woman being caught up in a mob family, then having to fight to save her child—the public loves you.”
“I’ll be happy when things settle down and I’m no longer in the spotlight.” She straightened the jacket of her chic suit. The bold purple-and-black colors made her stand out in the sea of lawyerly gray. “Guess we’d better get this over with.”
The door to the anteroom where she and Patrick had retreated opened and Carlo raced in. “Mama, we’re going to be on TV!” he said.
“Looks like it.” She knelt to smooth his tie. “You remember what I told you? Mind your manners and don’t speak unless someone asks you a question.”
He nodded. “Aunt Deborah already told me all that.”
Stacy looked up at the woman who had followed Carlo into the room. Deborah Thompson had the same blond hair and blue eyes as her brother, but she was petite and delicate. She smiled at Stacy. “Are you ready?”
Stacy stood and took a deep breath. “I think so.”
Deborah came and slipped her arm around Stacy’s shoulder. “You’re going to do great. Just remember all we talked about.”
Stacy nodded. For almost a year now she’d been seeing Deborah once a week for counseling sessions. It turned out Patrick’s sister was a psychologist. A former battered wife herself, she specialized in helping other women who’d been in abusive situations.
With brother and sister on either side of her and Carlo running ahead, Stacy made her way out to the reporters. Camera flashes flared and voices shouted questions. She read the statement she’d prepared, thanking federal agents and prosecutors for bringing a serious predator and criminal to justice.
“What are your plans now that the trial is over?” a reporter asked.
“I’ve been accepted into University of Denver law school,” she said. “I’ll start classes there in a few weeks.”
“Are the rumors about you and Marshal Thompson true?” another voice shouted.
“Is that an engagement ring you’re wearing?” asked someone else.
Stacy smiled down at the diamond solitaire on the third finger of her left hand. Patrick had given it to her at dinner last night, when they’d known for sure the trial would end today. His proposal hadn’t been a surprise; they’d been inseparable for the past year. So her answer hadn’t been unexpected, either.
“Stacy has done me the honor of agreeing to be my wife.” Patrick had stepped up to the mic beside her.
“What do you think of that, Carlo?” someone asked.
Patrick lifted the little boy to the microphone so he could answer. “I think he’ll be a good dad,” Carlo said. When some in the crowd laughed, he buried his face in Patrick’s shoulder, suddenly shy.
“That’s all the time we have for questions.” The chief prosecutor stepped in to guide them away from the microphones. They retreated back into the courthouse. Patrick’s car was parked in the underground garage, making a discreet getaway easier.
“You did great.” Deborah patted her shoulder. “I’ll see you two later.” She kissed Stacy’s cheek, then repeated the gesture with Patrick and Carlo.
“How do you feel?” Patrick asked Stacy, after he’d set Carlo down. The little boy ran ahead to the elevator. “Are you relieved it’s all over?”
“I’m relieved the trial is behind us. As for the rest...” She smiled and took his arm. “I feel like my life is finally beginning. I have school to look forward to, and the wedding, and us being together as a family. A real family, full of love and support. That’s a first for me.”
“Me, too.” He stopped walking and turned toward her. “Have I told you lately how much I love you?”
“Not in the past half hour.”
He kissed her lightly. “It’s true.” Then he deepened the kiss, pulling her close.
“You’re embarrassing me!” Carlo’s voice rang through the lobby.
“Better get used to it,” Patrick called. “Your mother and I plan to spend the rest of our lives embarrassing you.”
Stacy rested her forehead against Patrick’s shoulder, laughing. A year ago, she wouldn’t have believed she could be so happy. One man—and love—had made all the difference.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE PROSECUTOR by Adrienne Giordano.