Mountain Midwife Page 12

  Her heart took a happy little leap. He wants to spend more time with me. Immediately, she pushed the thought aside, not wanting to get her hopes up. “You’re just trying to convince me that we should make this drive tonight.”

  “We’ll exit through the back. Then we’ll head down the street to the garage behind Pearl’s house.” He kissed the top of her head. “If everything goes well, this could be over in a matter of hours.”

  With a sigh, she gave in and followed him through the door at the front of the ice cream parlor into the darkness of the kitchen area.

  Cole came to a sudden halt. She couldn’t see what he was doing, but she sensed his movement as he raised his gun.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “The green light on the alarm box is off.”

  “It must be a malfunction.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  They hadn’t heard the alarm go off. Though she couldn’t see far into the darkness, she surely would have sensed the presence of another person. “There’s nobody else in here.”

  “It’s too dark back here,” he muttered. “We’ll go out the front entrance.”

  She turned and retraced her steps. He stayed with her, close enough that she felt his arm brush against hers. As she reached the open doorway, the light through the front windows gave her more visibility. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Cole facing backward, toward the kitchen.

  When she passed the doorway, she looked toward the front counter to her right. And she froze. The dark silhouette of a huge, broad-shouldered figure stood out against the pale pastel of the wall.

  His arms flung wide. “He-e-e-re’s Frankie.”

  He charged toward her, more stumbling than deliberate. His hands slid under her arms and he lifted her off her feet. His forward momentum carried her beyond the counter toward the far wall.

  She kicked hard. Her foot tangled with his legs, and she could feel him losing his balance. If he fell, he’d land on top of her with his full weight. He’d crush her.

  The instant her boots touched the floor, she threw her weight toward his left. His left shoulder was the one that was injured—the weaker shoulder. The bullet was still in there, probably turning septic.

  Frank crashed to the floor, pinning her legs. She struggled to free herself. Frank sat straight up, grabbed her arm and yanked her around so she was sitting in front on him on the floor. Light reflected off the barrel of his gun.

  “Don’t move,” he said. “Neither one of you.”

  Cole stood only a few feet from them, looking down. His gun aimed at Frank’s forehead. “Let her go.”

  “Yeah? Then you’ll drill a hole in my head?”

  “If I wanted to kill you,” Cole said, “I would have done it back at the cabin.”

  “You left me there.” He coughed. Phlegm rattled in his throat. “Left me to die.”

  His stench—stale sweat, blood and grit—turned her stomach. A feverish heat emanated from him, and he was shaking. It was clear to her that he was feeling the effects of the gunshot wounds, loss of blood, shock and exposure. He was weakened and losing control. That made him even more dangerous.

  Keeping the fear from her voice, she said, “You need a doctor, Frank.”

  “I need for you to shut the hell up.” He pressed the nose of his gun against her temple. “I can’t see a damn thing in here. Turn on the lights, Cole.”

  “Will the light be a signal for your friends? The murderers you hooked up with at the cabin?”

  “I ditched those guys as soon as I got into town.”

  A spasm shook Frank’s body. His gun hand twitched. She was afraid he might kill her by accident. Rachel said, “Do as he says.”

  “That’s right,” Frank growled. “I’m in charge.”

  Cole backed up a few paces, heading toward the light switch by the door. “How did you find us?”

  “I met Penny’s mom in Black Hawk at the casino. Pearl Richards. She said she was living in Grand Lake. I asked around. Found her house. Went inside. And then…I don’t remember. It was warm. Must have gone to sleep.”

  His grip on consciousness was fading. She wanted to keep him calm and placated. “Finding Pearl was smart, Frank. Why don’t you put the gun down and—”

  “I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you know,” he said. “Ask Cole. I’m good with electronics. Disconnected the alarm to this place. No problem.”

  “Why did you come here? To the ice cream parlor?”

  “Found a business card. I got inside. Easy does it. Then I got dizzy. Shhhhh.” He slurred, “Had to s-s-s-sleep.”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the gun drooping in his hand. He was on the verge of passing out.

  “Let me bring you something to drink,” she said gently. “Something nice and cool. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  His body stiffened as he forced himself awake. “Turn on the damn lights.”

  When Cole flicked the switch, light flooded the room. The cheerful, pastel décor mocked the hopelessness of her situation. Two men with guns faced each other, and she was in the middle.

  Frank shook her arm and ordered her to stand up. “Slow. Move real slow.”

  She was tempted to bolt. Frank was suffering; his reactions would be slowed. She remembered what Cole had told her earlier. If attacked, hide behind the counter.

  “Move,” Frank barked.

  She did as he said, and he maneuvered into position behind her, using her as a shield. He held her left arm to keep her from running. His gun jabbed her ribs.

  When she flinched, Cole reacted. His movements were slight, not enough to spook Frank. But she saw the tension in his jaw and noticed that he had moved a few inches closer.

  Like her, he kept his tone level and calm. “You don’t want to hurt Rachel. She’s the one who’s going to lead you to all that money.”

  “Penny sent the cash here to her mom,” Frank said. “It’s close. I can smell it.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said. “But I’m sure you already know that. You must have searched in the house before you came here.”

  “Where is it?”

  She looked toward Cole, who gave her a nod. Then she said, “Penny sent the money to a friend in Granby. We have to drive to get there.”

  “If you’re lying, I’ll kill you.” He poked her again. “Cole, put your gun on the floor and step back.”

  She could guess what would happen if Cole disarmed himself. Frank was desperate, half-crazed. He thought he needed her to lead him to the money, but he had no further use for anyone else. He’d shoot Cole in a minute.

  She couldn’t stop herself from crying out. “No, Cole. Don’t do it.”

  Frank dragged her by the arm. He edged toward the windows as though he was planning to walk out the front door. Was it unlocked? Had he entered through that door?

  “Listen to me, Frank. We’ll take you with us,” Cole said. “We’ll drive together and take you to the money.”

  “Drop your weapon. Or I’ll shoot her in the gut.”

  “You need her. She’s the only one who—”

  “Drop it.”

  Cole placed his gun on the floor.

  “That’s real good,” Frank said. “Kick it over here.”

  She watched in horror as the automatic weapon slid across the white tile floor into the corner under the painting of the dancing lavender bear in a tutu. This shouldn’t be happening. Not here. Lily Belle’s Ice Cream Parlor wasn’t the place for a showdown.

  With a satisfied grunt, Frank pulled the gun away from her side and aimed at Cole. Though his hand wobbled, he couldn’t miss from this distance.

  She didn’t plan her move. All Rachel knew was that she had to do something. She bent forward from the waist. Before Frank could yank her back into an upright position, she flung her head back as hard as she could. Her skull banged against Frank’s wounded left shoulder.

  He screamed in pain. His grip on her arm released.

  She made a f
rantic dash.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The gutsy move by Rachel gave Cole the chance he needed.

  There wasn’t time to reach his gun. Every second counted. He took two quick steps and launched himself in a diving tackle. His shoulder hit the solid mass of Frank’s chest, and the big man went down with a thud. Still, he managed to fire two shots. He didn’t lose his grip on the weapon.

  On the floor, Cole struggled for the gun. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rachel dive across the counter-top. She was out of sight. Out of range. Good.

  With a yell and a ferocious surge, Frank threw Cole off him and staggered to his feet. He braced his legs, wide apart. His shoulders hunched as he groped the empty air. He squinted. His eyes seemed unable to focus. Like a wounded beast, he swung his long arms, waving the gun back and forth.

  Cole squared off with him. A one-two combination to the gut drove Frank backward. Cole flicked a stinging blow to the center of Frank’s face, snapping his head back.

  His arms flew wide. His fingers loosened. The gun clattered to the floor. This fight was all but over.

  Frigid air rushed into the ice cream parlor as the front door opened. A man with a gun entered. Frank had brought backup, and Cole couldn’t handle two of them.

  Following Rachel’s example, he pivoted and leaped across the soda fountain counter, where he found her crouched on the floor in a tight, little ball. “Are you all right?”

  She nodded. “You?”

  “Been better.”

  Three gun shots erupted.

  Cole peered over the edge of the counter. Frank sprawled on the floor. His blood splattered the white tile floor.

  The gunman flipped back the hood of his parka and said, “It’s over. You can come out.”

  Agent Wayne Prescott.

  Slowly, Cole stood. When he’d been looking down the barrel of Frank’s gun, he felt less threatened than when Prescott came toward him and extended his hand. There was every reason to believe that this man had betrayed him and put him in lethal danger. Should he shake that hand? Why not just stick his arm down a wood chipper?

  “Agent McClure,” Prescott said, “you’re a hard man to find.”

  “You’ve got me now.” There was no choice but to play nice. He reached across the soda fountain counter and gripped the traitor’s hand. In spite of his years as an undercover operative, he couldn’t force himself to return Prescott’s smile. “Rachel, this is Agent Wayne Prescott.”

  His supposedly disarming smile extended to her. “I apologize, Ms. Devon. It’s unfortunate that you were caught up in this situation. I assure you that this isn’t the way the FBI does business.”

  Her lips pressed tightly together. With wide, unblinking eyes, she stared at Frank’s body. “Is he dead?”

  “He’s not going to hurt anybody.”

  Cole knew that her EMT training and instincts wouldn’t allow her to ignore a victim. He wasn’t surprised when she straightened her shoulders, walked around the counter and knelt beside Frank.

  Watching her check for a pulse gave Cole a renewed respect for her. She valued human life—even the miserable existence of someone like Frank Loeb, a man who had tried to kill her. Rachel was a good woman. The best.

  She looked up and shook her head. “No need to call for an ambulance.”

  When Prescott moved closer to her, Cole vaulted over the counter and inserted himself between them. Even though Prescott had holstered his gun, he couldn’t be trusted. He looked like one of the good guys with his barbered black hair and clean-shaven jaw. His manner was calm. His expression showed no emotion, typical of a trained agent. Pulling information from him wasn’t going to be easy.

  Cole helped Rachel to her feet and guided her to one of the padded turquoise stools in front of the counter. When she was seated, he turned toward Prescott, waiting for him to speak first.

  Unfortunately, Prescott employed the same negotiating tactic. He stood beside Frank’s body as though he was a hunter with a fresh kill waiting to have his photograph taken. The corner of his mouth twitched. Cole could tell that there was something Prescott wanted to know, a burning question that would break his silent facade.

  “The baby,” Prescott said. “Is the baby all right?”

  Cole hadn’t expected him to ask about Goldie. If he was right about Prescott working with Baron, the first question should have been about the money.

  Rachel answered, “Goldie is doing very well. She’s with Penny’s mother.”

  “Where?” Prescott demanded.

  Before Rachel could answer, Cole said, “In a safe place.”

  “I need to see the baby before I can call off the search.”

  “That doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense,” Cole said. “You know we’re not armed and dangerous fugitives. You shook my hand. Apologized to Rachel. You put your gun away.”

  “I’m not the one who made the call for a manhunt,” Prescott said. “Somebody higher up said you’d lost it. You know how often that happens with undercover ops.”

  “Not with me.”

  “There were three dead bodies. One of them, a woman who had just given birth.”

  “Who called for the manhunt?”

  “The director gave the order. I don’t know who talked to him.”

  A lie? Prescott had jammed his hands into the pockets of his parka so he wouldn’t betray any nervousness with his gestures. His forehead pulled into a frown that might indicate concern or confusion. Or else he was hiding something. His dark eyes were steady, but his lips thinned. Was he lying?

  “You called me in on this investigation,” Cole said. “You suspected someone in your office of working with Baron.”

  “I still do.”

  Cole continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “Then you show up here with Frank.”

  “Hold it right there. Frank Loeb and I weren’t working together. I was following him.” He paused. “I didn’t know Frank was so skilled at electronics. It didn’t take him ten minutes to bypass that burglar alarm.”

  There was something cruel about discussing Frank’s skills while the man lay dead at their feet. Though Rachel was no stranger to violent death, he wanted to get her away from this horror.

  Less than an hour ago, they’d been lying in each other’s arms. The world had been sweet. He had been happy. No more.

  His life didn’t have room for a normal relationship. He lived on the razor’s edge.

  “Call Waxman,” Cole said. His handler needed to be apprised of the situation.

  Prescott’s scowl deepened. “Waxman might be the one who betrayed you. When he assigned you, he warned me that you were a loose cannon. He said that when you go undercover, you cut all ties.”

  That policy had served Cole well. If Prescott had been able to track him with GPS, he and Rachel would have been caught. “You’re saying that Agent Waxman is the traitor.”

  “I’m not accusing anybody.”

  But he was pushing suspicion away from himself, which seemed like a blatant ruse. Cole needed to be careful in dealing with this guy. If Prescott had been working with Baron, he had a lot to lose. Not only would his payoff money stop coming, but he’d also lose his job, his reputation and his freedom. The feds dealt harshly with those who conspired against them.

  “Think about it, Cole.” Prescott’s hands came out of his pockets. He held them open, showing that he had nothing to hide. “I’m not the bad guy. If I wanted you dead, I could have killed you when I walked through this door.”

  A threat? “Don’t underestimate me.”

  It had been a while since he’d killed a man with his bare hands. The years had taught him patience. He was smarter now than when he first started.

  “Here’s the deal.” Prescott’s hands went back into his pockets. “If I call off the manhunt, I have to take you and Rachel into custody.”

  He looked toward her. She hadn’t made a peep. Until now, she hadn’t been shy about making her needs and desires known. What was going on
behind those liquid blue eyes?

  He glanced at Prescott. “Excuse us for a moment.”

  Taking her arm, he led her toward the door into the rear of the shop. He stood just inside, where he could keep an eye on Prescott while they held a whispered conversation. “Why so quiet?”

  “I was watching you,” she said. “When you’re negotiating, you become a different person.”

  “How so?”

  She lifted her hand as though she wanted to touch him. But she held back. “You know how much I like a bad boy. That element of danger is… Well, it’s a turn-on. But you’re not the same man who made love to me all day.”

  “I’m not?”

  “You’re more like the guy in the ski mask who kidnapped me in my van and stuck a gun in my face.”

  Though he wanted to give his full attention to Rachel, his gaze focused on Prescott, who stood at the window, staring out at the snow. “That was my undercover identity. You know, like an actor playing a role.”

  “Actors don’t carry real guns.”

  “True,” he conceded.

  He wasn’t an actor following a safe little script that led to the inevitable happy ending. When he went undercover, he took on another identity. From the way he combed his hair to the way he handled his weapons, he was different.

  He couldn’t risk showing a single glimpse of himself, and he never knew how it would all end.

  “You’re scaring me, Cole. You’re so closed off, so tough, so cold. Your eyes don’t even reflect the light. You’re dangerous. And it’s a real danger, the kind that got Penny killed.”

  He could feel her pulling away as though she was walking backward into a mist, fading into a memory. “I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m not blaming you. It’s your job. It’s what you do.”

  He’d work this out with her later. “We have to make a decision. Do we turn ourselves in?”

  “Is it safe?”

  “I’d feel better if I knew Baron’s identity. I’d have a bargaining chip.”

  Thus far, his undercover assignment was shaping up to be an unmitigated failure. Four people, including Penny and Frank, were dead. And he was only a few inches closer to finding the mastermind who caused those deaths and engineered a chain of robberies throughout the west.