Protecting His Witness Read online

  Maybe it was a good thing they'd been interrupted. He was letting himself get carried away when he knew he shouldn't. He needed a clear head, to be on his toes, in order to carry off his ruse. One false move and he was done for. The wound in his side was a reminder of that.

  Backing away, he said, "I'll leave you to your customer." And then added just before he slipped out, "But I'll be back."

  As she smiled warmly at the woman who'd entered the shop, Kasey glanced over toward the door. She watched Zack go, not knowing if she should be thinking of leaving the area again, or if she'd just been given a reason to put down roots.

  Not able to deal with the internal debate, Kasey turned back toward the woman in the shop and said in her friendliest voice, "May I help you?"

  * * *

  Only when he was several blocks away did Zack remove the book from his jacket and place it carefully into his pocket. The book had fallen off the cart onto the floor. One of the books that he knew Kasey had handled. At the very first opportunity, he would take it down to the APD lab. The tech there, Jeremy, owed him a favor and he was about to call it in. He wanted to lift a set of her prints from either the front or back cover.

  The inherent uneasiness he detected from her had him wondering. Was Kasey some kind of fugitive? Either from the law, or from something else? Was she in trouble?

  The first step toward unraveling the mystery was finding out if her prints were on file, either in the crime database or one of the armed services. Maybe she was an enlistee who'd had enough and had gone AWOL.

  Or, even more possibly, she was running away from an abusive husband or lover.

  He hadn't seen any bruises on her, but there were many ways to bruise a woman without leaving behind telltale physical marks.

  His father had been an expert at that, he couldn't help thinking. He clenched his hands into fists as he walked. Ben McIntyre had slashed away at his wife with a brutal tongue that was as hurtful, as damaging in its own way as a cat-o'-nine-tails.

  There was no point to this, to remembering a past he couldn't change. With determination, Zack shook off the specter of his father. He didn't like to think about him, or dwell on the fact that they were related.

  Besides, he could be jumping the gun. There could be some other, totally unrelated reason why Kasey seemed to be giving off an aura of suspicion.

  For now, though, he needed to get to a loft over on the other side of town. So far, Randall didn't give the impression that he suspected anything was amiss. Randall had believed his story. He seemed almost relieved to be rid of Seales, referring to the hacker as a punk, a wiseass and a liability. Randall was more than willing to believe him when he said that he had offed Seales when he'd discovered that the underling was trying to branch out on his own and, ironically, steal some of the identities that the group had already taken. He'd gotten rid of the loose cannon, Zack had said. And Randall had believed him.

  Megalomaniacs tended to believe that the world centered around them and that everyone else knew it. That was often what ultimately tripped them up.

  Zack was counting on it.

  Scanned by Coral

  * * *

  Chapter 6

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  As she approached her development three nights later, Kasey noticed how tightly she held the steering wheel. Taking a deep breath, she slowly released her grip.

  She was getting carried away, letting her mind go to places where it didn't belong right now. Letting herself yearn for things she wasn't supposed to think about, not for a long, long time.

  But that was because of the couple.

  Just before she'd locked up, she'd discovered a couple in the back of the shop. They'd been there earlier and had made two separate purchases, each buying a book of poetry that could have easily made someone's list of classics. Checking to make sure that the shop was empty, she'd found them reading to one another in soft, modulated voices. She didn't think things like that happened anymore, not in a world that was so fast-paced, so electronically oriented. Reading out loud to one another seemed so beautifully old-fashioned. One human being reaching out to another.

  Oh God, she missed that more than she could say. She missed being part of something larger than herself.

  She'd been doing this for eighteen months now and in many ways, she still wasn't used to being relegated to the sidelines, to the life of someone standing on the outside, looking in, like a starving guest barred from the banquet.

  She still wasn't used to always being alert, always being on her guard, ready to pick up and go at a moment's notice because of something she perceived to be a threat—even when it might not be.

  She didn't even know, hadn't known the other two times she'd taken her belongings and vanished in the night, if it was actually necessary to go. Maybe she hadn't needed to go after she'd settled down the first time. Maybe the florist where she'd gotten a job was only taking an interest in her because he was attracted to her, or liked to talk, or was being nosy. Or any one of a number of reasons that had nothing to do with who she was. Or had been.

  Maybe it was just her paranoia that made her flee and not any actual threat to her person. More than anything, she wanted to believe that the man who had ordered Jim's murder was no longer looking for her. Was satisfied that she'd died in that fire.

  Because in a way she had.

  Kasey pulled her car up outside the garage as had gotten to be her habit. There were times when she felt as if her old life, the life of a surgeon, the life as Jim's fiancee, had all been just a dream. Or something that had happened to someone else she'd only read about.

  Lately it felt as if she'd always been running. As if she'd always been suspicious of a lingering glance, of people who turned in her direction for a second look. Because she was ready to run at a moment's notice, nothing was permanent in her life and she'd been someone who'd always longed for permanence with every fiber of her being. Longed for it ever since her parents had been killed.

  Now, she rented spaces in which to perch until the next getaway.

  God, but she was tired of it.

  Wasn't it time to stop? To settle down and start again? She'd changed her hair color, her name, her vocation, couldn't she just go on pretending to be Kasey Madigan and forge a life that would suit her? That wasn't asking very much, was it? To have a little stability? To stop feeling as if she was living out of a suitcase? She wanted to buy, not just rent. She wanted a bed of her own, not one that came with a furnished house or room. It offended her sense of order and interfered with who and what she'd once longed to be.

  Kasey closed her eyes, drawing her hand through her hair, as if to untangle her thoughts, her feelings. This restlessness wasn't helping her cause any.

  Damn it, she knew what was wrong with her, she thought, opening her eyes again. It was that kiss, that man who'd scrambled her very brain, upheaving everything she'd struggled to set in place. Safeguards she needed in order to continue this bland life that she had to lead right now. The longings existed, all right, but she'd managed to keep them under wraps.

  Until Zack had come along.

  Why was she even thinking about him? She hadn't seen him since he walked out of the shop three days ago. Most likely, she'd never see him again.

  It was that couple that had started her thinking. Started her dreaming...

  So why wasn't it Jim she was dreaming of, instead of some stranger.

  She was just tired, that's all, Kasey told herself. Tired and weary of all the pretending. But it was all for her own good. It had kept her alive all these months.

  To what end? she challenged herself. She couldn't enjoy herself, couldn't do anything like a normal woman. Because she couldn't put her guard down in case they were still looking for her.

  Kasey blew out a breath, frustrated. If she lived like this any longer, he'd win, that man who wanted her dead. Carmine Pasquale would win because he'd have made her afraid to live her life and afraid to be herself. So what was the point of living at al
l?

  Okay, Kasey decided suddenly, making up her mind, she refused to be cowed any longer. If Zack ever showed up again, she wasn't going to try to push him away. Instead, she'd act on her instincts—if she hadn't buried them completely or lost them for lack of use, she amended with a silent laugh.

  Feeling ever so slightly better, Kasey got out of the car.

  And nearly swallowed her tongue in an effort not to scream.

  A figure stepped out of the shadows directly by the little house she was renting.

  Zack.

  Stifling a scream, Kasey took in a deep breath to steady her suddenly frayed nerves. That was twice in one week the man had surprised her. Three times if she counted their first encounter.

  Pushing her heart out of her throat, angry at being rattled, Kasey demanded, "What are you doing here?"

  "Waiting for you."

  Zack had put in his time in his other identity, and found a way to report in with the information to Valdez that something big was going down in the next couple of days. For now, there was downtime and he'd decided to use his to drop in on Kasey. Except that she wasn't home yet. Ordinarily, he would have shrugged his shoulders and left.

  Except that he didn't. Not finding her home yet just made him want to see her even more. So he'd decided to pick up a couple of containers of coffee and wait for her. He'd all but given up, thinking that she'd gone somewhere overnight, when he saw her car turning down the street.

  "I brought my own coffee this time," he volunteered, indicating the containers in his hands, "and yours. It's kind of cool, though, because I've been here a while. If you have a microwave, you could warm it up and have it the way you like."

  It sounded so incredibly sweet—and normal. Except normal and sweet weren't part of her world anymore.

  "Why are you doing all this?" She wanted him to give her an answer she could cling to, an answer that made sense. Like maybe he was here for no other reason than because he wanted to see her. But even so, suspicions began eating away at her, telling her to be on her guard.

  No matter how much she wanted to turn a deaf ear to the warning voice in her head, she couldn't do it, couldn't just ignore it. Couldn't just turn over a whole new leaf, walk down a different road.

  Why not? You did the night Jim was killed. The night you decided to go on the run and faked your own death.

  She had no answer.

  "I just wanted to talk to you," he told her. "Can we go to your house?" he asked and nodded at the back of the small white brick building facing the alley.

  These last eighteen months, she'd made it a point not to stay outside a second longer than she absolutely had to. She felt like a target that way.

  But what if she was bringing the enemy into her house?

  Idiot, you've already brought him there once and he didn't kill you, did he ? So maybe he's harmless.

  And maybe Zack was biding his time for some reason.

  So she shrugged in response to his question. "It's a nice night. Why don't we just stay out and look at the stars?"

  He glanced up at the black sky. "You see stars?" he asked in moderate surprise. "You've got better vision than I do, Kasey. I don't see any."

  That was because there weren't any, she realized, looking up. She'd just assumed that there would be. So much for heavenly backup, she thought sarcastically. "I thought I saw..." Kasey's voice trailed off helplessly.

  He saw through the excuse, or thought he did. "You don't have to be afraid of me, Kasey. I'm harmless." He grinned. "You can ask my sisters."

  Leaning against the side of her car, she finally accepted the coffee container he'd offered her. The logo on the side boasted a large coffeehouse chain. That meant he'd picked them up at the strip mall on the outskirts of the development. She'd noticed it on her way home, but never stopped to get any. All she'd ever wanted to do was just get home in one piece and lock the door behind her.

  After removing the lid, she took a sip. It was still relatively warm. She tried to tell herself that it was the coffee, not his grin that wove its way through her system, warming everything in its path.

  "You have sisters?" She realized there was a hint of longing in her voice.

  He nodded. "Two. And a brother," he added. "But Frank's testimony might not be too flattering. I used to order him around a lot when he was little."

  She could almost visualize him doing it. "When did that stop?"

  Zack lowered his coffee container and glanced at his watch. "Best guess, sometime next month. Maybe the month after that."

  Zack saw the corners of her mouth curve slightly. Definitely a sight worth waiting for, he thought.

  "I wish I had siblings."

  She looked more surprised than he did at the admission. He had a feeling she hadn't meant to say that. Hadn't meant to give him any kind of insight into her life. Why?

  "You're an only child?"

  It wasn't so much of a question as a subtle prod to get her to open up about herself. However little that might be, it was better than nothing. Jeremy had had the book he'd lifted from the bookstore for three days now. But the overworked lab tech hadn't gotten a chance to run the prints for him, or even determine if there was a viable set available. There'd been a ten-car pileup on the interstate around the time he'd given Jeremy the book. The need to determine which of the cars was initially at fault took precedence over a personal favor, even if he'd couched it in nebulous language which indicated that the person might have something to do with his ongoing case.

  There were almost too many pieces of evidence to count in the pileup case. That meant Jeremy wouldn't be at his disposal for at least several more days.

  So, in his downtime, Zack'd decided to fall back on old-fashioned methods: getting the person to talk about themselves.

  Except that in this case, the lady was a little more closemouthed than the average drop-dead gorgeous female. A lot more, actually, he amended.

  Still, the woman was very easy on the eyes and this wasn't exactly a hardship for him, especially since being around her contrasted so drastically with the dregs of society that he dealt with the rest of the day. Though he gave no indication, there were times it dragged him down. As did pretending to be one of the parasites who lived off the labor of others, which was the way he viewed any sort of thief, especially the ones who specialized in identity theft, messing with a person's life and undoing years of hard work and effort in the blink of an eye and the stroke of a key.

  He was really looking forward to getting the goods on these particular bastards and winding up the case. But right now, he wanted to spend a little quality time with a very beautiful lady.

  Kasey heard the curiosity in his voice. Her pulse rate instantly spiked, even though she told herself that his curiosity was just the garden-variety kind. She took a breath, willing herself to steady her erratic pulse. There was nothing amiss here, she was reading too much into it. What harm would it do to admit a small part of the truth to this man, to tell him about her family structure? After all, it wasn't as if she was dropping bread crumbs that would lead him to her actual identity. A great many people out there had no siblings. She was just one of a crowd.

  Which was exactly the way it needed to be for the time being.

  "Yes," she replied, "I am. When I was growing up, I always wondered what it would have been like to have a brother or sister."

  He allowed himself a smile as he thought of his own adolescent years. "Chaotic comes to mind," he admitted, leaning against the car beside her.

  Zack would have much rather gone inside her house, but for now, he didn't want to push it. He had a feeling that if he did, she'd make up some quick excuse and go inside—alone. He needed to earn her trust. Nothing he hadn't done many times before with other, far more lethal people.

  "When we were growing up, there was always fighting." At least, when his father wasn't around. When Ben McIntyre was in the house, they walked on eggshells, mainly because they didn't want their mother getting the brunt of the v
erbal abuse. "No bloodshed— except once," he amended, remembering.

  Her eyes widened just a touch. "Bloodshed? What happened?"

  He paused for a moment, getting the facts organized in his head. "Frank grabbed Riley's snow globe that some guy had given her a couple years back and took off, taunting her. Riley tackled him. He went down, breaking the globe and cutting his forehead. Mom rushed him to the hospital. Frank needed five stitches."

  "What did Riley need?"

  "A pillow to sit down on for the next couple of days." He frowned, remembering how helpless he'd felt. Corporal punishment was a great deal more common when he was growing up, but he'd still felt it was wrong, that there had to be another way to handle things other than hitting someone half your size. He'd tried to stop his father that night, tried to protect Riley. And had gotten beaten himself for his trouble. "My father was a firm believer in corporal punishment if he thought the situation warranted it."

  Her grandmother resorted to the silent treatment the one or two times the woman had wanted her to bear the consequences of her behavior. It was enough to make her rethink her actions. She'd grown up healthy and happy. She wouldn't have traded her childhood for Zack's even though he had siblings. "Your father sounds like a stern man." "He wasn't an easy man to get along with." "Wasn't," Kasey repeated, waiting for him to fill in the details for her.

  "He died," Zack told her matter-of-factly, not adding that as far as the family was concerned, Ben McIntyre had died not once, but twice. The first time was when his father had arranged circumstances to appear as if he'd been executed while on the job as, ironically, an undercover vice cop. The second and last time had been when his mother had shot him to keep his father from killing Brian Cavanaugh. The chief of detectives had tried to stop him from making off with the money he'd stolen. The money he'd hidden in the house five years earlier and was trying to dig up so that he could go live with his mistress.

  That was the kind of story he kept to himself. Enough people had read the news in the paper when it had all gone down. He had needed some time to get over the events and put them behind him. The specter of his father loomed large for more than one reason. He was currently trying to move on with his life. As were the other members of his family.