The Valentine Hostage Read online

  Ben rubbed his jaw, wondering if it possibly could. “They probably followed the trials,” he said at last “They might recognize you and—”

  “I’ve still got my wig and glasses. And even you didn’t recognize me when I was wearing them.”

  She leaned closer and rested her hand on his thigh. It sent a hot surge of desire straight to his groin.

  “I…I just don’t know, Monique.”

  “Look, when we get to the apartment, why don’t I call my office—tell them I’ll have to be away a little longer. Then we’ll simply see how things go and play it by ear, okay?

  “Okay?” she repeated when he didn’t answer.

  He merely nodded, afraid of how ragged his voice would be if he spoke.

  THEY GRABBED a surprisingly good lunch at a nondescript place on the outskirts of New Orleans—big sandwiches of salami and chopped olives that Ben called muffaletas. Then he phoned Dezi to say he was back, and asked him to pick up the Bronco from the apartment in an hour or two. After that, they made their way into the heart of the city.

  It seemed to be overflowing with people, and when Monique mentioned the crowds, he nodded.

  “This is the last weekend before Mardi Gras, remember? I’ll bet there are 300,000 tourists in town.”

  While Monique was thinking that the bigger the crowds the less likelihood of anyone spotting him, Ben pulled to a stop in front of a drugstore, saying he wanted to pick up some hair dye so he could ditch the wig.

  The way he was looking at her made her certain he intended to buy something else, as well. And that started her thoughts racing. In less than a week, she’d gone from hating Ben DeCarlo with all her heart to…

  Loving him with all her heart, she silently admitted—even though the fact she’d fallen in love with a convicted murderer was awfully hard to accept

  But he’d been wrongly convicted. Whether the rest of the world believed that or not, she knew it was true.

  Still, she couldn’t quite hush the voice of reason that was telling her she shouldn’t be staying with him. That what she should do was get on the next plane to Hartford. Or to Seattle, so she could see her parents.

  Yes, the only sane course of action was to get out before she got in even deeper. But her grandmother had always said that when love came in the door, common sense went out the window. And after all these years, Monique was finally realizing how very true that was. She simply couldn’t leave. The mere idea of it made her hurt inside.

  When she glanced over at the drugstore again, Ben was just coming out.

  “We’re almost there” he said, getting back into the Bronco. “Only a few more blocks.”

  Their destination proved to be an old apartment building on Royal, in the French Quarter. The building wasn’t far from busy Canal Street—which marked the southwest edge of the Quarter—and its architecture was typically New Orleans. Built flush with the sidewalk, it was a three-story brick-and-stucco structure with ornamental cast-iron adorning the balconies.

  Her hand tightly in Ben’s, Monique followed him up the narrow stairway to the top floor. He unlocked the door of 304, and once they were safely inside he put down her suitcase and turned to her.

  For a moment she merely gazed at him, her heart beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. Then she was in his arms, kissing him.

  “Monique?” he murmured after a moment. “I didn’t pick up any horrible diseases in prison, but if you think it would be a mistake for us to…”

  She hesitated for a second, aware this was the final chance to change her mind. Then her heart silenced that thought and she whispered, “No, I think it would be a mistake not to.”

  He gave her a slow smile, drew her close once more and kissed her again—turning her to jelly.

  “There’s a real bed in here,” he said at last. “Not just a mattress on the floor.” Taking her hand once more, he led her down the hall to the bedroom.

  While she watched, he removed his wig and fake mustache. Then he closed the drapes against the sunlight, turned back to her and gently cradled the sides of her face with his hands.

  “I want to tell you something,” he said. “I want to be sure you know this isn’t just about sex. That I’ve fallen in love with you.”

  “Oh, Ben, I’ve fallen in love with you, too.” She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the threat of tears in her eyes. What if one of those unsavory people he’d be going to see turned him in? What if some trigger-happy cop spotted him and…

  Pressing her cheek harder against his chest, she tried to force those thoughts away. Then his hands slipped to her breasts and his touch dissolved her thoughts into sensations.

  Quickly, he undid the buttons on her shirt and slid it off.

  “You are so beautiful,” he murmured, undoing her bra and freeing her breasts from the lace.

  When he stepped back and stripped off his sweatshirt and jeans, pausing only to take a condom from his pocket and toss it onto the bedside table, she gazed hungrily at his hard body.

  She’d seen him wearing nothing but briefs before, of course. That was what he’d been sleeping in. But this was different, and his arousal was so apparent she could feel desire pooling between her legs.

  She unsnapped her jeans and he eased them down, kissing her stomach as he did. His growth of beard was still new enough to be rough against her skin, but she barely noticed. Not when his kisses were making her feel as if she was about to melt away.

  Finally, he skimmed down her panties, then his briefs. Drawing her onto the bed, he buried his hands in her hair and kissed her. His body, hot and strong against hers, made her ache with desire.

  “God, Monique,” he finally whispered, “I want to go slow and easy, but I don’t think I can.”

  “Who said I cared about slow and easy?” she murmured, sliding her hand down to his erection.

  He groaned at her touch, then quickly slipped on the condom and turned back to her, smoothing his fingers up her inner thigh, making her tremble.

  When he reached the hot slickness and discovered how ready she was, he entered her—so big and hard it took her breath away.

  Moving inside her, he quickly transformed the trembles into shudders. In mere seconds they began to consume her.

  She held tightly to him, her breath ragged, as wave after wave of release washed through her. And when he came, she felt so happy she could almost pretend everything was right in their world.

  His solid weight on her felt reassuring, and after he shifted to his side and cuddled her to him, she wanted to stay right there forever.

  They lay in the silence of spent embrace until Ben nuzzled her neck and murmured, “I wanted to kiss you all over. I wanted it to last forever.”

  She kissed his shoulder and tangled his chest hair around her finger. “There’s no one to say we can’t do it again. We’ve got all the time on earth.”

  But even as she said the words, she realized how silly they were. The truth was, they might have almost no time.

  MONIQUE PROPPED HERSELF up in the bed and slowly trailed her fingers along Ben’s jaw, letting her index finger come to rest on the sexy cleft in his chin— made invisible now by his growth of beard.

  “What?” He gave her a lazy smile.

  “I’ve been wondering why you don’t look Italian. What self-respecting Italian has blue eyes? Or streaks of blond in his hair?” she added, brushing them smooth.

  “The kind whose mother came from English and Scandinavian stock.”

  “But your sister looks Italian.” Maria had been in the courtroom during the trials. And with her long black hair and dark good looks, she’d reminded Monique of Cher in Moonstruck.

  “I guess my sister got all her appearance genes from our father,” Ben said.

  “Aah.” She kissed his shoulder, wishing they could stay right where they were. But she could feel the pressure of time as if it were a physical presence.

  Disguised or not, Ben wasn’t going to be able to stay in New Orleans as
a free man for long. Sooner or later, the police would catch up with him—and odds were it would be sooner rather than later.

  “I should try phoning those detectives” she said.

  “You’re sure you want to do that?”

  When she nodded, the smile he gave her made her feel warm all over.

  “But if I get answering machines, is it safe to leave a number?”

  “Uh-huh. There’s a cellular sitting on the dresser. Even it the cops knew its number, they couldn’t trace its location.”

  She watched as he rolled out of bed and walked naked across the room, feeling absolutely certain she’d made the right decision by staying with him. And certain that wild horses wouldn’t be able to drag her away.

  The police, though, an imaginary voice whispered, would be a different story.

  Telling herself not to even think about that, she turned her attention back to Ben.

  “There’s only stuff for me in here,” he said, digging a terry-cloth robe from the closet and tossing it over. “So I guess you should pick up a few things. As soon as—”

  Monique froze. Somebody was opening the apartment door.

  “The landlord?” she whispered as Ben dove for his jeans.

  “Don’t know.”

  “Wait!” she told him, scrambling out of bed and tugging on the robe. “Stay right here. We don’t want anyone to see you without your disguise.”

  He grabbed his gun from the chair and handed it to her. “Be careful. The safety’s off.”

  Her heart began pounding even harder. Who did he think was out there?

  Hiding the gun behind her back, she forced herself to walk out of the bedroom and down the hall. When she reached the living room, and could see into the kitchen, relief swept her. A woman was in there, standing with her back to the doorway and putting groceries into the fridge.

  “Excuse me?”

  The woman jumped a foot, then wheeled around.

  Monique instantly recognized her as Ben’s sister. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’m here with Ben.”

  Maria slowly walked out of the kitchen, her gaze taking in the robe, the bare feet, the disheveled hair. Her expression, when her eyes finally locked with Monique’s, was one of pure hatred.

  Monique uneasily brushed her hair back, then called, “Ben? It’s okay. It’s your sister.”

  “What are you doing here?” Maria demanded. “Dezi told me what happened. That you were at the cabin. But what are you doing here?”

  Before Monique had time to explain, Ben strode into the room. He gave Maria a hug, then asked, “Was it safe for you to come here?”

  She nodded. “One of us had to come by to pick up the Bronco, and Dezi got tied up right after you called.”

  “But you were careful?”

  “Yes. They’ve stopped watching the house, though. They’ve decided you’re a million miles from New Orleans. But…?” Her gaze flickered to Monique.

  “We fell in love,” Ben said simply.

  “Are you crazy? The first chance she gets, she’ll rat you out!”

  “Ben?” Monique said. “Would you mind taking this? Holding it makes me nervous.”

  She produced the gun from behind her back and handed it to him—then looked at his sister. “I think having that gave me the chance to do whatever I wanted. And I know how hard this must be to believe, but I honestly have no intention of ratting Ben out. In fact, I’m going to try to help him.”

  “She’s decided I’m innocent,” he explained.

  “And she’s going to help you. First she testifies that you’re a murderer and now she’s going to help you? You both must be crazy.”

  “Hey,” Ben said, grinning at her, “is that any way to talk to your favorite brother?”

  “My only brother, you mean?”

  Monique exhaled slowly. They’d obviously exchanged those lines a thousand times, and she could feel the tension easing.

  Maria gazed at Ben with a look of grave concern, then slowly shook her head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, big brother.”

  5:23 p.m.

  MONIQUE WALKED OUT of Roger Tatavi’s office building, hailed a cab and gave the driver Lloyd Granger’s address. Then she sat praying she’d have more luck with Granger than she’d just had with Tatavi.

  The detective had flat out denied he’d been pressured into dropping Ben’s case, insisting he’d had personal reasons for bowing out.

  So now she was down to only one possibility, because they’d discovered that the third detective Ben’s lawyers had hired was dead.

  Apparently of natural causes, but that was neither here nor there. The point was, Granger was her sole remaining hope.

  But at least he was meeting with her right away. Even though she’d called late in the day, both detectives had agreed to see her. Telling them her newspaper was prepared to pay a good deal of money for very little information had worked wonders.

  She glanced out at the street, almost wishing she’d let Ben come with her. She could use a little moral support. But the less time he spent outside the apartment, especially in daylight, the better.

  As the taxi pulled up at the address Granger had given her, she smoothed the dark wig, adjusted her glasses, and reminded herself she was back to calling herself Anne Gault for the moment.

  When she got up to Lloyd Granger’s office, he proved to be a balding man in his late fifties. He had a stomach that hung over his belt, a firm handshake and a no-nonsense manner.

  “So, Ms. Gault,” he said, ushering her into a chair and sitting down behind his desk, “you said on the phone that you work for the National Ear.”

  She nodded. They’d decided that using a wellknown tabloid, one people assumed had a lot of money to spend, would convince the detectives it was worth their while to see her.

  “And just what do you want my help with?”

  “Well, before I explain that, I want to make clear that you won’t be identified as my source. I know the Ear doesn’t have the best of reputations, but…”

  Pausing, she took her checkbook from her purse and opened it to show him the checks were in the name of Anne Gault.

  Fortunately, she didn’t have her address printed on them, and she carefully kept her finger over the bank’s Hartford address. She’d figure out a way of explaining that if she actually had to write a check. And, if she did, Granger had no way of knowing there were only a few hundred dollars in her account. But if he went for this, Ben would have what they needed deposited.

  “Your name,” she continued, “will never be connected with either the Ear or my story. I’ll pay you with my personal check and make it out to cash.”

  “I see. And exactly what is your story?”

  “It’s about Ben DeCarlo. Between the retrial and his escape, there’s a lot of national interest in him. And interest sells papers, so we’re doing a story on him.”

  “Uh-huh? And where do I come in?”

  Leaning forward in her chair, she said, “Mr. Granger, before DeCarlo’s first trial, his attorneys retained you to look into some matters relating to the case.”

  The detective eyed her suspiciously for a moment, then said, “I did a little work for them, but not much.”

  “No…no, you had to drop the case, didn’t you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, all I need is the name of the person who convinced you to do that”.

  “I see.”

  She waited, her pulse racing. He was at least considering the proposition, which was more than Roger Tatavi had done.

  “And if such a person existed,” he said at last, “how much would the name be worth to you?”

  “Twenty thousand,” she told him, hoping it was enough to make him bite. They’d decided that offering anything more might sound too suspicious.

  “Do you have a card, Ms. Gault? I’ll have to give this some thought.”

  “I…of course.” She opened her purse, and started digging through it, swearing to herself. Now wh
at did she do? The only cards she had identified her as a Hartford, Connecticut, real estate agent.

  “Oh, Lord,” she finally said. “I just changed purses, and I must have left my card case in the other one. But let me give you my number.”

  She scribbled the cell phone’s number onto a piece of paper and passed that across the desk to him. “You’ll definitely call me? One way or the other?”

  “I’ll definitely call you.”

  Sticking the checkbook back into her purse, she rose to go.

  “One other thing,” he said, coming around his desk to see her out.

  “Yes?”

  “How flexible is your paper about that twenty thousand?”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “If we had to, I think we might be able to come up with a little more.”

  He opened the door. “I’ll be in touch, Ms. Gault.”

  Chapter Seven

  Friday, February 7

  7:04 p.m.

  Ben paced across the living room once more, restless as a caged tiger.

  If he’d gone along with Monique and waited out on the street while she’d talked to those two detectives, he’d already know how things had gone.

  She’d been right, though. Every time he left the apartment he’d be taking a risk, and one bit of bad luck could end him up back in Angola. Or dead.

  But he hated the idea that other people were doing more to help him than he was able to do himself. First Maria and Dezi, and now Monique.

  Stopping at the window, he gazed out into the darkness, aware that the fact Monique was helping him still hadn’t fully sunk in. Her falling in love with him was the most unlikely, improbable…

  Hell, it was every bit as unlikely and improbable as his falling in love with her.

  He smiled to himself, thinking how terrific she was and how great just being with her made him feel. If only there was a better chance that things would work out right, that he could be with her forever, he wouldn’t still be so worried that letting her stay with him had been a major mistake.

  On the street below, a taxi pulled to a stop. And when he saw it was her getting out, relief washed over him. He’d been telling himself she’d be perfectly safe, but seeing she actually was made him realize just how anxious he’d been.