Nobody's Angel (37 page)

“My God!” Faith dropped her cup to the table. “That's it! No one keeps their stocks in safes anymore. They're always kept through a brokerage house. But if they wanted the brokerage account closed without losing their gains …”

“They asked for the stock certificates,” Adrian finished for her, excitement lacing his voice as he thought out loud. “The certificates would have been in the name of the trust fund, of which Tony was executor. Only he could sign them.”

“They might even have split them, Junior tucking half away somewhere safe, Tony tucking the other half—”

“In his deposit boxes!” Adrian leaped up and paced rapidly. “We could still recover some of that money! If the stocks have gone up in value over the last four years, I could get my license back. Those boxes could have the evidence on Junior, the books we need to prove Tony's involvement.…”

“And you're right, Junior would kill us before he let us have them,” Faith said flatly.

“I can't let the band down. I have to be there tomorrow. It's a perfect setup!” Faith protested.

Grimly, Adrian strangled the steering wheel. “I will not let you set yourself up as a target for desperate men. That's
insane.
I'll simply corner Junior in his office, tell him I have Tony's share of the stock, that I'm turning it over to the bar association, and that I'll happily turn his over as well, no questions asked.” He knew perfectly well there were enough holes in that solution to drive a semi through, but he hadn't come up with anything more solid yet. He was working on it.

“That doesn't give you any
evidence.
I'm not letting that bastard go free. Pigs belong in sties, and that's where he's going. He could be sitting on millions in stock!”

“Or he could have forged Tony's signature and sold them all.” Adrian swung the van into a used car lot. Despite Faith's death wish, she had to have a car to go back to Knoxville once he solved this mess.

“He would have a lovely time taking a check made out to Tony and cashing it,” she said dryly. “I can see the scenario now—a check for a few million, made out to a dead man, and Piggy Junior walking up to a teller and asking for cash with a forged signature on back. Or depositing it in his own account with a forged signature. Even Senior would have a problem with that many millions suddenly bloating his son's pockets.”

“He wouldn't be that dumb. As soon as Tony went south, Piggy probably dumped the certificates into a new brokerage account, putting their joint names on it. Once Tony popped off, he probably had a coke-snorting celebration.”

Adrian parked the car in front of the sales office, but Faith slammed out of it before he could come around and get her. She was striding in the direction of a cherry-red Mazda before he caught up with her. It wasn't precisely the Miata she craved, but it was a sporty piece of junk.

“A joint account with Tony would implicate Piggy,” Faith insisted. “Once Tony conveniently turned up dead, McCowan might have regretted not taking the risk, but it would have been too late. Tony's death was splattered all over the papers. He was stuck with stock certificates in the name of a trust that didn't exist, and which could only be signed by a dead man. Poor baby.” She peered in the driver's window at the odometer, wrinkled her nose, then checked the price tag. With a shrug, she scanned the rest of the lot.

Adrian read the specifications on a dull green older model Tercel. Faith walked right past him, heading for a sporty black Celica. Rolling his eyes, he followed her. She was smart. She'd figure out the price differential sooner or later. “This is all pie in the sky,” he told her. “We know McCowan's involved, we don't know how, and we can't act until we have concrete evidence. Going out on stage and inviting trouble is not an option.”

“I'm not spending the rest of my life waiting for something to happen.” She ran a loving hand over the shiny hood and sighed at the price sticker.

Adrian could see a salesman loping in their direction. He debated donning his most ferocious stare and driving the dork, quivering, back to the office, or letting Faith lead the man around the lot by his nose. He could see this was one of those relationship things couples had to work out. Except he and Faith weren't a couple. If he didn't get his license back, he didn't have a chance of even considering anything remotely permanent like coupledom. He didn't like the way his hopes—along with other body parts—shriveled at that thought.

“I'm just looking,” Faith said vaguely as the salesman introduced himself. “I don't know what I want yet.”

The salesman turned his full-speed monologue on Adrian.

“I can see the lady likes the sporty models. Give me a price range. We've got—”

Adrian crossed his arms and leaned against a hulking SUV. “The lady's the one with the money. I'm just her driver.”

The salesman faltered, and Adrian thought he heard Faith snicker, but she stayed at her appointed task without regard to either of them.

Given Faith's determinedly dismissive attitude and Adrian's passive one, the salesman gamely tried a different approach. “Perhaps you prefer high performance? We have a—”

“The lady prefers small, red, and cheap. Far be it from me to advise her otherwise.”

Faith swung around and said with a perfect deadpan expression, “I like them pretty, but reliable.”

The heat of her gaze rolled over Adrian like a tide of lust. Pretty! He ought to slap the woman silly. He aimed for dangerous, and she thought him pretty. And reliable. She wasn't talking about a damned car. She wasn't even looking at cars right now. The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable.

“You like them cheap and used,” he countered, “not to mention useless. Heaven forbid that you should fall for something fast and powerful.”

Her eyes lit dangerously as she sauntered toward them. The nervous salesman backed away. Maybe the man wasn't a total dork.

“Um, we have a small BMW.…”

Okay, he was a total dork. Lifting himself from the SUV, Adrian caught Faith's elbow and stalked toward a Volvo wagon. “Practical,” he asserted.

The salesman hurried to catch up. “Might I suggest—”

Spotting a flash of color, Faith crossed the parallel line of cars to the next row. Adrian didn't let her loose. They left the salesman behind, stuttering and shrugging.

She admired a candy-red Mustang convertible. “I like the color.”

“Yeah, it looks good on blondes. Cut it out, Faith. You can buy a cheap piece of junk to spite me if it makes you happy, but I won't let you go out on stage tomorrow with Sandra and
Sammy and company in the audience. Not without half the police force present.”

“I'm tired of being practical!” she shouted, pulling her arm free. “I've spent my whole entire life being practical and where has it got me? Trapped in a hopeless situation with another damned egotistical lawyer! I'll ask Headley if he needs some company and go stay with him so you won't feel
responsible
.”

She headed back toward the van, apparently having exhausted all the pretty colors in the sprawling car lot.

He ought to get angry, but he couldn't. If she felt half as torn as he did, she had a right to her own share of anger and grief. He should never have pushed her into a relationship on top of everything else.

But he couldn't have done any less.

Sighing over the contradiction, Adrian caught up with her, grabbed her by the waist, and kissed her until both their heads should have spun off their shoulders and into outer space like incandescent balloons.

She gasped and leaned into him when he finally set her down. “You're a bastard, you know that?”

“Yeah, but Rick adopted me, so I'm legit now.” He stroked her silken hair and thanked God for sending this miraculous woman to prove he hadn't been forgotten. Maybe he ought to go to mass this Sunday. “Maybe we should be looking at Humvees,” he admitted wryly.

“Only if they have cannon barrels and laser guns and come in yellow.” She straightened, brushed nervously at her hair, and looked at the ground rather than see if anyone had noticed their public display.

Adrian chucked her chin as he recognized her ostrich tactic. “There isn't a customer on the lot but us. All the salesmen are watching through the plate-glass window, probably with cell phones in hand, hoping to be the first one to call 911 when I strangle you.”

She chuckled and wiped discreetly at the mascara beneath her eye. “At least then you'd be safely in jail and out of my way.”

He shuddered as he held her lightly. “I never want to be
that helpless again. Don't wish it on me in the name of safety.”

He realized what he'd said even before she lifted her chin and glared at him.

“Bingo,” she taunted.

“Shit.” He released her, jammed his hands in his pockets and scanned the car lot. So, they had an equal dislike of being helpless. That didn't mean she should be the one to risk her neck. “No safe, practical SUV either? It's gonna be full speed ahead, fire engine red alert?”

“What can anyone do to me in a bar?” she demanded. “And I'll have one of Jim's police buddies drive me home, if that makes you happy. I'm not totally foolhardy.”

“If you insist on doing this, I insist on being there. And I'll fill the place with Jim and Cesar's buddies and anyone else I can find.”

“It's just Sandra and Sammy,” she protested. “Sandra might get drunk and come after me with a knife, but you don't think she'll get far, do you? And Sam isn't likely to risk his neck in front of witnesses. I don't know what you're so worried about. I just want to shake things up and see what falls out.”

“You want Piggy to fall out.” Spotting a gleaming black Amigo, Adrian sauntered in that direction. He fisted his hands in his pockets and fought to hide his fear. He didn't want her hurt. He wanted his license back, and he didn't want to go to jail again, but more than either, he didn't want her hurt.

“It's an SUV!” Faith objected as she discovered the target of his interest.

“It's a four-wheel-drive truck,” he corrected. “It could get you over the mountains even in winter.”

“I don't drive—” She shut up and slanted him a curious look.

He couldn't say it, wouldn't even hope it. He left it hanging there. He very much wanted her to come over the mountains this winter, even if he was flipping damned hamburgers. He'd never ask it of her, though.

“It's cute,” she said reluctantly, peering into the cab. “It's not a great big
monster
SUV.”

He figured she was pacifying him now, but that was better than arguing. Maybe he'd get the hang of this relationship business one day.

“Maybe we should look at pickups?” he suggested. “They're cheap.”

“I like the idea of a backseat, even if it is a wee little one.” She tested the driver door, and finding it unlocked, climbed in.

The salesman hurried toward them again.

Adrian checked the sticker price, grimaced, and wondered if Rex would advance him a few thousand on his salary. Or maybe he could talk Juan into a percentage share of his profits. He knew damned well Faith couldn't afford this thing, and that he would do whatever it took to buy it for her.

“I don't know how you talked him down.” Faith fretted at a loose thread on her shirt cuff. “It's not a new car with hidden kickbacks and bonuses on it.”

Adrian steered her shiny black Isuzu Amigo through the evening streets toward downtown. They'd spent another night at his mother's house while Cesar and friends watched the Shaws. He'd almost reached a point where he could imagine pulling the damned car into a dark alley to discover what sex was like in bucket seats. He thought he'd left these sex fantasies behind in prison.

“I just gave him a price comparison of available alternatives at other dealers. It's near the end of the month and they're wanting to clear out inventory. When you're poor, you learn how to bargain.”

“I've been poor,” she said dryly, wiping a speck of dust from her new dashboard. “I never talked a car dealer down that much.”

“Yeah. That's why you drove a VW.” He added a note of scorn to sound convincing. Good thing she seemed to have forgotten that lawyers were often actors.

“Well, thank you—I think.” She glanced at him in the driver's seat. “But I really think you should have let me drive.”

“I want to be certain it handles right. After all, it has forty
thousand miles on it.” Besides, if anyone followed them, he wanted to know about it. He had occasional visions of he and Sammy and Cesar following each other around in perpetual circles like some Three Stooges comedy.

“It's not any taller than the van,” she said dubiously, still trying to convince herself she'd done the right thing.

“But it's much safer than the VW,” he reminded her.

“And it will hold more.” Lovingly, she patted the tall bucket seat while checking out the rear one.

Had his acquisition of the SUV been the only cause for debate, he would have breathed a sigh of relief at Faith's acceptance, but it wasn't. She wanted to make herself a target for desperate men. He was buying her a vehicle that would keep her safe in traffic, and she was planting herself smack in the middle of life's dangerous highway.

“You may as well have run an ad in the
Observer
as having Hank invite Sandra to the bar to see you tonight,” he grumbled. “There isn't any way she could resist, and chances are, she'll tell big brother, too. You're begging for trouble.”