Gray, Ginna (4 page)

"Go on," Agent Rawlins ordered, and Lauren drew a deep
breath and tried to steady her nerves.

"Last night I'd been playing for a half hour or so when Mr.
Giovessi stopped me. He didn't even let me finish the piece, which was odd.
Usually he can't get enough of Chopin. But he said he was tired, so I told him
good-night. Carlo went into his office and I left the building. But as I was
about to get in my car I decided to go back inside and use the ladies' room
before driving home. I was washing my hands when I heard the shots."

In detail, Lauren related the horrifying events that had followed.
Several times Agent Rawlins or one of the others interrupted her to ask
questions, and they made her repeat certain details over and over before they
were satisfied, but finally she reached the end of her story.

"When I got to the street at the end of the alley I just kept
running. I didn't know what else to do. After a few blocks I saw a police car
and flagged it down. The two officers brought me here."

Agent Berringer put his hand on her arm. "That must have been
terrifying for you, but don't worry, Ms. Brownley, you're safe now. We'll see
that nothing happens to you."

"Thank you."

He looked up at Agent Rawlins. "Well? What do you think,
Sam?"

The man's craggy face revealed nothing. His black eyes studied
Lauren so long she once again had to fight the urge to squirm. Finally he
looked at the other agent and nodded. "Go."

"We're on our way. C'mon, Roy, let's go have some fun. It's
gonna be a real pleasure to slap the cuffs on old Carlo."

The door had barely closed behind Agents Berringer and O'Connor
when Sam Rawlins tossed a pad and pen down on the table in front of Lauren,
making her jump. "I have a few calls to make. While I'm gone, I want you
to write down your sizes. Shoes, socks, slacks, shirts, skivvies,
bras—everything from the skin out. And whatever toiletries you need beyond a
toothbrush and toothpaste."

"Whatever for?"

"Because where we're going you wouldn't last five minutes in
that getup."

"What do you mean, 'where we're going'? I'm not going
anywhere with you. As soon as you arrest Carlo I'm going home."

Sam shot her a scornful look that made her feel like a backward
child. "C'mon, lady. Do you really think after what you saw and heard that
you can just waltz out of here and no harm will come to you? Hell, no one's
that naive."

"But...if he's locked up—"

"Look, Carlo may be behind bars soon, but not all of his
goons will be. Some of them are probably waiting in your apartment right now.
Carlo knows that without your testimony we won't have much of a case, even if
he's in possession of the drugs when we pick him up. Killing you is going to be
his number one priority."

Lauren felt the blood drain from her face. "But...if that's
true, won't...won't they still be after me, even after he's sent to
prison?"

"Yes."

Agent Owens grimaced at his associate's bluntness, but when Lauren
looked to him to refute the statement he nodded. "I'm afraid Sam's right.
If convicted, Carlo will appeal. You can bet on it. If he's granted a new trial
and you're not around to testify a second time, his chances of walking go way
up."

"After the trial you'll have to disappear. Somewhere Carlo's
men can't find you," Sam Rawlins said.

Lauren glared at him. "And just how am I supposed to do
that?"

He shrugged. "You'll go into the witness protection
program."

"Whaaat!"
Lauren stared at him. He
said it so matter-of-factly, as though it were no big deal. It was to her.
She'd had her whole world taken away from her once already. She was only just
beginning to adjust to the new life she'd made for herself. Now they were going
to take that from her, too. "Oh my Lord." She dropped her head into
her hands. "How can this be happening?"

Her head snapped up. "What...what if I refuse to
testify?"

"He'll kill you anyway."

"Oh God. What am I going to do?" Trembling, she put her
hand over her mouth and stared at Sam.

"It's simple. You can walk out of here, but if you do you're
on your own. Trust me, you won't last an hour. Or you can testify and we'll do
all we can to protect you, before and after the trial."

Lauren stared at him. Oh, that was wonderful. Just wonderful. All
her life she'd been cosseted and looked after. She'd spent the last two years
trying to overcome that and learn to fend for herself. It hadn't been easy, but
she had finally begun to feel that she was making progress. She had sworn that
she would never again allow herself to be dependent on someone else. Now,
through no fault of her own, she had to put herself totally in someone else's
hands. Again.

"So what's it going to be?"

Lauren's shoulders slumped. "Put that way, what choice do I
have? I don't want to die."

"I thought you'd see it that way."

Agent Owens gave her a sympathetic look. "If you'll write
down the names of family members, we'll notify them for you. Later, after Carlo
is in prison and things have cooled down, we might even be able to arrange for
you to visit with them in a safe place."

Lauren shook her head and stared at her hands. "There's no
one. My father was the only family I had, and he passed away three years
ago."

"How about a husband? Or fiancé?"

Briefly she thought of Collin, and her mouth twisted. "No.
There's no one."

"Then it won't be a hardship for you to start over somewhere
new, will it?" Sam stated with callous disregard for her feelings.
"So get busy and write down those sizes. I'll go make some calls. When I'm
done, I'll gather everything we need and be back for you."

Leaning down, he braced his palms flat on the scarred surface of
the table and pierced her with a stare. "And let's get something straight
right now. If you want to stay alive, you're going to do exactly what I tell
you, when I tell you. No arguments, no discussion. If I say jump, you jump. Got
that?"

Lauren nodded.

"Good."

"Wh-where are you taking me?"

His gaze slid to the detective, then the lieutenant and Agent
Owen, and finally back to her. "It's better that you don't know."

A feeling of unreality enveloped Lauren as she watched Agent
Rawlins stride out of the interrogation room. This couldn't really be
happening. It had to be a bad dream. She would wake up soon.

"Uh...Ms. Brownley, you probably ought to get some rest while
you can."

Distracted, Lauren looked up into Agent Owen's earnest face. He
was young and clean-cut, no more than twenty-two or three. Probably fresh out
of college and whatever training school the FBI had for new recruits, she
realized. He had sandy-red hair, guileless blue eyes and the florid complexion
typical of a redhead—and he looked about as much like a federal agent as Elmer
Fudd. This... this
child
and that unpleasant man were going to protect
her from Carlo and his henchmen?

Lauren thought about the sinister-looking thug named Tony, and the
others like him ready to do Carlo's bidding, and a shudder rippled through her.

"Ma'am?"

Lauren shook her head. "What? I'm sorry, did you say
something?"

"I said you ought to rest while you can. When Sam gets back
we'll be taking off. The lieutenant here says if you want to grab a little
shut-eye you could use the couch in his office."

Lauren stared at him. She wanted to scream and rant and rave that
none of this was fair. She didn't want to start over again. She didn't want to
be a witness in a federal case. Most of all, she didn't want to leave the
safety of the police station.

But that wouldn't change a thing. Like it or not, she was a
witness and her life was about to change yet again. And there wasn't a thing
she could do about it.

Left with no choice, Lauren fell back on the good manners and
proper behavior that had been ingrained into her since childhood and replied
dully, "That would be nice. Thank you."

"Wake
up."

Lauren bolted from a fitful sleep and found herself staring into
the chiseled face of a man who was bending over her. Crying out, she scrambled
to her hands and knees and tried to scoot away.

"Easy. Take it easy," Agent Rawlins ordered. "It's
just me. Nothing to be afraid of."

The sound of his voice brought recognition. With an effort, Lauren
subdued the rush of terror, but her breathing remained as rapid as a marathon
runner's and her heart felt as though it were trying to club its way out of her
chest. She put her hand on her breast and stared at him. Nothing to be afraid
of? After all she'd been through, how did he think she would react, sneaking up
on her like that? Besides, the man unnerved her.

She would choke, however, before she let him know that.

Gathering her composure, Lauren swung her legs over the side of
the leather sofa and raked her hand through her hair, pushing the tangled mass
away from her face. "You startled me. I guess I'm still a bit edgy."

"Looks like it." He shoved two huge department store
sacks at her. "Here's a change of clothes and some other stuff. Put them
on. The rest of what you'll need I've already put in a duffle. So get a move
on. We need to get going."

Lauren glanced around. Lieutenant Dumphries had kindly let her nap
on the couch in his office, but two walls of the room were glass and overlooked
the squad room where the detectives worked. "Where? I can't get undressed
in here."

He looked around and scowled, then nodded toward the door.
"C'mon." Lauren grabbed her purse and evening jacket and scrambled
after him. Feeling ridiculous and self-conscious, she padded barefoot through
the squad room in her torn evening dress.

She noticed that he had changed out of his jeans and cowboy boots.
He now wore wool pants and knee-high moccasins that looked handmade. The lower
portions of the footwear was constructed of leather and from the ankles up a
heavy canvas. They made no sound on the linoleum floor of the squad room as he
wound through the maze of desks, moving with the supple grace of an Indian
warrior.

Lauren shook her head and grimaced. She must really be exhausted
to be having fanciful thoughts about this unpleasant man.

Agent Rawlins lead her down a dingy hallway and stopped in front
of a door marked Women.

Instantly her face brightened. "Oh, good. I need to freshen
up."

"How you look isn't important. You're not going to breakfast
at the Ritz, you know."

"Agent Rawlins, for your information, I wasn't referring to
cosmetics," Lauren replied in the coolest tone she could summon. "I
need to wash up. It was filthy beneath that sink, and when I jumped out of the
window I landed in some kind of awful muck. Unless you have some objection, I
would like to get clean before we start out."

"All right, but make it quick. We have to get out of here.
And be sure to put on those long johns."

Well. At least that told her one thing: they weren't heading south.

He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in that age-old
male gesture that shouted, "I'm waiting." Without a word, Lauren
stepped past him into the rest room and locked the door with a satisfying snap.

Expecting the usual ladies rest room, she was surprised to find
herself in what was apparently the changing room for the female officers. It
contained not only the usual rest room fixtures but lockers and benches and, to
Lauren's delight, a shower.

Quickly reaching behind her, she lowered the zipper on her evening
gown and stepped out of the ruined dress. Holding it up by two fingers she
gazed at the garment with regret. The elegant gown was the last of her concert
clothes. Most of the others she had sold to a resale shop shortly after leaving
the hospital.

With a sigh, Lauren dropped the dress into the trash can, peeled
off her shredded panty hose and tossed them in as well, then stripped off her
undies and stepped into the shower. Helping herself to the shampoo and shower
gel she found on the shower ledge, she lathered herself from head to toe. The
scrapes on her palms and knee stung like fire, but it felt so good to be clean
again she didn't care.

When she stepped out of the shower and dried off she pawed through
the sack and located a pair of panties and a bra. In addition the sacks also
contained two pair of thermal long johns, one made of soft silk and the other
of thick, scratchy wool, a heavy parka, fleece-lined gloves and snow boots, a
sweat suit, two pair of thick socks, toothpaste and a toothbrush, the
moisturizer and hand lotion that she had requested and a lady's deodorant
stick.

Lauren hoped Agent Rawlins had sent one of the secretaries or a
female agent to do the shopping. The thought of that harsh man purchasing
panties and bras for her, even if they were the plain, serviceable kind,
brought a blush to her cheeks.

Lauren held up a shapeless gray wool sweat suit and made a face.
Charming.

At once she realized how foolish she was being. What was the
matter with her? She was letting her dislike of Agent Rawlins addle her senses.
There were men out there trying to murder her. She was so terrified she was
sick to her stomach. What did it matter what the clothes he had chosen looked
like? The sweat suit was clean and warm.

And she was still alive to wear it.

She dressed in the clothing, as instructed, but she was not quick
about it. She felt safe in the police station, and wasn't in any hurry to
leave. In the shower she had washed away the last of her makeup, but she didn't
bother to apply more. Instead she rubbed her face with moisturizer and applied
lotion to her hands.

She combed her damp hair away from her face and had started
winding it into a French braid when a loud thump on the door made her jump and
give a little shriek.

"Hurry it up in there," Agent Rawlins ordered.
"You've got one minute. If you're not out by then I'm coming in after
you."

"All right, I'm coming! I'm coming!" Lauren glared at
the door. She knew the man was just doing his job, but did he have to be so
abrupt? As quickly as possible, she finished braiding her hair, then snatched
up her purse and the parka and gloves and headed for the door.

Outside, Sam checked his watch. With a curse, he straightened away
from the wall and reached for the doorknob just as Lauren Brownley jerked the
door open from the inside. The sight of her, scrubbed and shiny, her damp
auburn hair pulled away from that perfect face in a simple braid, hit him like
a fist to the gut, and he sucked in his breath. Instantly the sweet, erotic
scent of a clean woman invaded his senses.

Desire slammed through him. Hot on its heels came anger.

Dammit, he had no business lusting after this particular female.
She was a witness in a high-profile federal case, for God's sake. Worse, she
was Carlo Giovessi's plaything.

"It's about time." He glared at her. "You showered
and washed your
hair?
I thought you were just going to clean up a
little? Dammit, woman, I told you to hurry."

"A shower seemed like the quickest way to get clean,"
she replied with the cool dignity of a princess, which irritated him all the
more. Why the hell couldn't Carlo have stuck to his usual brassy women?

"Fine," he snapped. "If you're ready, could we go
now?" Without waiting for a reply, he grasped her elbow and hustled her
down the hallway toward a rear stair exit.

Practically trotting to keep up with his long strides, Lauren
looked back over her shoulder in the direction of the squad room. "Where
are you taking me? Aren't you going to tell Lieutenant Dumphries we're leaving?
He said he would provide a police escort."

"We're going out the back way. Through the parking garage
where the staff keep their personal vehicles. The fewer people who see us
leave, the better."

Out of the corner of his eye Sam saw her shoot him a startled
look, and he realized that he had just added a new dimension to her fear. Good,
he thought. He didn't get a charge out of scaring women, but if that's what it
took to cut through that surprising naivete of hers, then so be it. Maybe now
she'd realize just how much danger she was facing.

"What does that mean? Surely you don't think someone with the
Denver police poses a threat to me?"

He opened the door and shoved her into the stairwell without
answering, but he felt her gaze on him and the increasing tension in the arm he
was holding.

"Well
do you?"

"Let's just say I don't believe in taking chances."

She whimpered, but he ignored the terrified sound and hustled her
down the stairs.

He wanted to tell her to get used to it. Over the next few weeks,
maybe even months, killing her was going to be the prime objective for a lot of
nasty characters. If she was going to survive she had to learn to be suspicious
of everyone and everything. If she was smart, even him.

Lauren stared at Sam Rawlins's hard profile. He frightened her
almost as much as this hideous situation. The man didn't seem to possess normal
human emotions. Certainly not fear. Or gentleness.

The nap and the warm shower had eased her nerves a bit, but now
the tight knot began to coil in her belly again, and when an icy sensation
trickled down her spine she shuddered. If Sam Rawlins noticed he gave no sign.

"Wh-where is Agent Owens? I thought he was going with
us." At least, she fervently hoped he was. The prospect of being alone
with this man for weeks on end was almost unbearable.

"He's waiting in the car."

They clattered down the last flight of metal stairs to the
basement parking garage, but when Lauren stepped toward the door Sam jerked her
back and shoved her up against the adjacent wall.

"Stay there until I tell you to move. And don't make a
sound." He looked her over critically. "Put on the parka and pull up
the hood so it covers as much of your face as possible. When I say ready, keep
your head down and go. And I mean move. You got that?"

Lauren nodded mutely, too terrified to make a sound. She could
barely breathe.

Sam waited until she fumbled into the parka, then flattened
himself against the wall on the other side of the door. Her eyes widened and
her heart almost jumped right into her throat when he pulled a gun from beneath
his coat and held it pointed toward the ceiling beside his right shoulder. With
his left hand, he eased the heavy metal door open a crack.

Apparently satisfied with what he saw, he eased the door a little
wider and peered around the edge in all directions. "All clear?"

"Yeah. The place is empty," she heard Agent Owens reply.

Sam looked at Lauren. "Okay, let's go."

In a lightning fast move, he grabbed her wrist, hauled her from
behind the door and out into the garage. Lauren had a brief impression of an
unmarked gray car sitting a few feet away with the engine running and the rear
passenger door standing open. Then she was being stuffed inside and shoved,
facedown, onto the back seat.

"Cover up with this," Sam ordered, and tossed a heavy
wool blanket over her. "And for God's sake, stay down." He slammed
the rear door, jerked open the front one and jumped inside. "Go! Go!
Go!" he yelled, and Agent Owens burned rubber peeling out of the parking
garage.

Beneath the blanket, Lauren huddled in a ball and closed her eyes,
shivering and praying. At any moment she expected some of Carlo's thugs to
ambush them, to feel bullets punching through the car's metal exterior and
ripping into her flesh, or that they would be overtaken and run off the road
and they would all die in a fiery crash.

Instead there was nothing—just the sounds of normal traffic all
around them and occasional terse comments between the two agents in the front
seat. After twenty uneventful minutes, Lauren finally mustered enough courage
to lift the edge of the blanket and peer out. All she could see was the backs
of the men's heads. Sam Rawlins sat in the passenger seat, his head moving
constantly as he kept a sharp lookout for trouble.

The sounds of traffic grew less and less until they all but
disappeared. After what seemed like forever, the car turned off the highway
onto what was apparently a country road and Agent Owens slowed their speed as
they bounced over bumps and potholes. Gravel popped beneath the tires and
banged against the car's undercarriage, and with every thud Lauren jumped as
though she'd been shot.

Finally they came to a stop.

"Leave the engine running while I go check things out. Any
sign of trouble and you haul ass outta here."

"Sure, Sam. Whatever you say."

"And you stay down back there, Ms. Brownley," he
ordered. "Don't move until I say so."

"How're you doing, miss?" Agent Owens asked when Sam had
gone.

"I'm...I'm okay." Out of habit she had started to say
fine, but she wasn't fine. She was so scared she was afraid she was going to be
sick.

"Don't pay any attention to Sam's gruffness, miss," Dave
Owens went on. "That's just his way. He's a bit of a lone wolf, but
there's no better agent within the Bureau. 'Course, I haven't been with the
Bureau all that long, but that's what all the other guys say. So don't you
worry, if anyone can keep you safe, it's Sam."