Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper (5 page)

Well. Well. Things were definitely looking up. One glance at her had managed to do what his heavy leather jacket had failed to accomplish all night. Joe turned the heater down a notch. Where was the pretty, reserved ice princess from the newspaper? He smiled to himself. This lousy job came with a couple of perks. Who knew? Whether it led to Reno or not, maybe he
could
bear this side trip away from his usual routine. At least the scenery was nice. And a whole lot wilder than he'd expected.

A subtle scent of perfume drifted up to him; he heard each fast, erratic breath she drew. Joe thought over what she'd said about Harry Landau liking things “dirty.” Now that was a loaded statement. He wondered if he could coax Miss Magnolia Blossom to talk, to narrow down the options for him. It wouldn't be easy. He doubted she'd willingly open up to a cab driver.

“Where to?” he asked, and she recited an address,
her
address. The one Milford Macy had given him over the phone. Joe had driven by a few times today.

“No, wait.” She bolted upright in the seat. “Don't go there. Not yet. Just drive around.”

He peeked at her again. She was staring out the window, worried eyes blinking, pretty brows puckered. Wincing, she shifted and looked down at the scratch on her breast then licked a fingertip and wiped away a smear of blood. Joe's pulse jumped, and when her eyes met his and narrowed, he jumped, too.

Glaring at him, she jerked the coat across her chest. “Do you mind?”

Not at all
, Joe thought and looked back at the road just in time to slam on the brake and miss ramming the car ahead of them. His knee hit the underside of the steering column and he cursed, then muttered, “Sorry.”

Turning the heater down another notch, he shifted lanes to pass the slow-moving car ahead of him. Boy, did this one have her daddy fooled. Milford Macy had painted a picture of his daughter as a naïve innocent.

Yeah right
. And Joe was Pope Benedict.

He reminded himself he worked for Milford Macy, which meant
hands off. Don't even think about it.
But as long as he looked at Annabelle Macy, there was little chance he could think of anything else. She looked like sex, and he hadn't had any in so long he wasn't sure he'd remember how. He readjusted the mirror so he couldn't see her reflection without straining his neck.

“There's a police station around the next corner,” he said.

“Police? I don't need the police.”

“After that little incident with Santa I thought you might be in some kind of trouble.” He tried to resist his impulses, failed, craned his neck to see into the mirror.

“I'm not in trouble.” She tugged the briefcase closer to her body, looked down at it, met his gaze in the mirror.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked, wondering what was in that case.

“It's really none of your business, is it? I'm paying you to drive, not ask me twenty questions or give me advice.”

The sneer returned. His head pounded harder. So did his knee. She might look good, but the woman was a spoiled witch with a capital
B
. “It's my
business
if you've made me an accomplice to something illegal. Like
theft,
maybe?”

“You're the one who pulled up and told me to get in.”

“You want to tell me what's in that briefcase?”

“No, I don't. Do you always butt into the personal affairs of your passengers?”

Snooty-ass brat. Joe pressed down on the accelerator and picked up speed. If she wouldn't wise up and go to the police about whatever monkey business she was up to, maybe he'd just bring the cops to her. “Lady, I'm pretty sure I saved your prissy butt back there.”

“You have a lot of nerve speaking to me like that.”

“Your boss looked to me like he was ready to strangle you. If I were you—”

“Well, you
aren't
me.” She reached up and braced her hands against the headrest in front of her. “Slow down. You're going to get us killed. In fact, pull over at that coffee shop. I want out.”

Joe whipped to the curb alongside a meter and screeched to a stop.
Good riddance
, he thought, then
damn.
Nothing would please him more than to say so long to Miss Sweet Tea. Nothing except the big fat wad of money her daddy owed him if he stuck this out for the next few days. And then there was the chance of finding out something about Reno he could use, though he'd pretty much written off that possibility.

Joe drew a breath, another, then asked, “Do you want me to wait?”

“No, thanks. I've had all the fun I can stand. How much do I owe you?”

She didn't owe him a dime since Daddy was footing the bill. Still, Joe looked at the meter and quoted her a price.

With a sigh, she opened her purse, her head down. “Thank you,” she muttered in a grudging tone. “You did save my butt, as you so crudely pointed out. But it's
not
prissy.”

Prove it
, Joe thought, wishing she would ditch that huge piece of animal hide she wore so he could decide for himself. He reined in that thought before it could turn into a full-fledged fantasy.

“I know you probably think I'm rude,” she continued, digging through the purse now. “I'm not. Not usually, anyway. It's just that I'm sick and tired of people telling me what I should do.” She paused, then said, “Oh, no. My billfold…it must've fallen out when I—” She sighed. “My cell phone's not here, either.” Her gaze shot up to the mirror, then down at her lap. “I can't pay you.”

“Don't worry about it. I should probably pay
you
for the entertainment.”

She gathered her purse, grabbed the briefcase. “Thanks, again.” The door opened. She climbed out, shut it.

Joe watched her hurry toward the brightly lit coffee shop, push through the door and go inside. He wondered how she thought she was going to get home without any money to pay another cab. Or how she planned to buy a cup of coffee, for that matter. Maybe she thought she would call her father and dollar bills would magically appear in her pocket like they had all her life.

Seconds later, the door to the coffee shop opened again and Miss Macy ran out waving at him, still clutching the briefcase with her other arm like she was afraid Harry Landau might jump out and grab it. Joe lowered his window and she bent down and thrust something at him.

“Oh, good. I caught you. I found this in my pocket.” She held two dollar bills.

Joe almost blurted a laugh. Maybe her daddy
was
magic; the man didn't even require a phone call.

“Or I guess I should say my boss's pocket.
Ex
boss,” she corrected. “This is his coat.”

“How nice of Santa to leave you a present.”

She surprised him with a laugh. “I know it doesn't cover the fare but at least it's something.”

He waved the bills away. “Buy yourself a cup of coffee. Or half a cup. These days I'm not sure a couple of bucks will buy you a full one.”

She gave him a look that was a little guilty, a little smug. “I found five dollars in the coat. I kept three for myself.”

He took the bills.

“Well…” She offered a half-assed smile, more out of manners than gratitude, Joe decided. Then, without another word, she turned and ran back inside.

Joe prepared himself for a wait. He hated to turn off the car and the heat along with it, but he couldn't afford to waste gas. He twisted the key and the hot air coming from the vents ceased to blow. He yawned. Shivered. Studied the plate glass window across the coffee shop's front. The place looked bright and warm and inviting. Miss Macy came into view. She placed a mug on a table and sat down. What the hell. He might as well join her. Since it was long past ten o'clock, he wouldn't need to feed the meter.

When he pushed through the door, she looked up and annoyance flickered in her eyes. She cradled the steaming mug between her hands, the briefcase and her purse lay in her lap.

Joe nodded at her before heading to the counter. They were the only customers in the place. He ordered a cup, black, then gave the kid working the register the two bucks Annie had paid him.

Seconds later, Joe carried his mug to a table across the small room from his client's daughter and sat facing her. Blowing on his coffee, he breathed in the aroma, feigned interest in the television mounted at one corner of the ceiling where Jessica Simpson jerked and swayed. All the while, he felt Miss Macy watching him, and whenever he looked, her gaze skittered away. Joe stared at her a full minute just to ruffle her feathers.

She squirmed, then said, “Are you following me?”

“Nope. Just taking a break.” He smiled.

She bumped her mug and coffee sloshed over the rim. Pulling a napkin from the metal holder on the table, she sopped up the spill. “Leave me alone or I'll call the police.”

“I thought you were avoiding the cops?”

“I didn't say that,” she snapped.

Okay, Joe decided. He'd toyed with her enough. He even managed to feel a little guilty. She wasn't the one who'd signed him up for this gig. She didn't want to be watched any more than he wanted to watch her. “Look,” he said. “Believe it or not, I'm a nice guy. I happen to know you don't have any money for a cab. No phone. And it's the middle of the night.” He nodded toward the door. “Come on. I'll give you a ride home for free. Or wherever you want to go.”

She seemed to weigh her options, though he couldn't imagine what they were since as far as he could see she didn't have any. Finally she said, “Thanks, but I live close by. I think I'll walk.”

That was a lie; she lived miles away from here. “Your choice,” Joe said.
Case closed. I'm done. This was a waste of time
. He stood and crossed to the door, pausing for one last look at her over his shoulder before he exited into the falling snow. He'd call her old man now and break the deal. He was starting to feel like a stalker, he was beat, his head and knee throbbed, and pissing her off had lost all amusement. Besides, she wasn't willing to talk; he'd been a fool to think he might get some information on Reno.

Climbing behind the wheel of the cab, Joe started the engine and turned on the headlights. He fished his phone from his pocket, his focus on the coffee shop door. Before he could punch in Mr. M's number, Annie stepped out onto the sidewalk. She pretended not to see him as she turned and started down the sidewalk.

“Damn it,” Joe muttered, and scrubbed a hand across his face. It was dark as pitch out, snot-freezing cold. The neighborhood was one even
he
wouldn't feel safe striking out across on foot at night. The woman was stubborn and willful and just plain out of her mind. He cursed again as he pressed down on the horn, assuring himself he was only giving her one last chance because he needed the money. Then he rolled down the window, and when she paused and turned, stuck out his hand to wave her over.

Annie
squinted into the glow of the cab's headlights. The snow was mixed with sleet now. It blew into her face, pricking her cheeks like a million tiny needles. Her toes were numb and her hair was getting damp.

But she wasn't trembling because of the cold. She didn't know what to do, where to go, or how to safely get there. Harry had her address; her apartment was the first place he'd look. She had no money for a hotel, no credit cards. And as much as she dreaded walking anywhere in this neighborhood after midnight, she wasn't sure that the cab—or the man in it—would be any safer.

Annie blinked. She knew the rude, exasperating cabbie could see her plain as day, while the lights in her face kept her from seeing him at all. She imagined the cocky expression on his face. Who did he think he was? Since picking her up outside of Landau's, he'd treated her as if he didn't have any patience for her, like she was a silly, despicable little girl he wished he'd left behind.

Annie shielded her eyes from the glaring headlight beams as images raced through her mind. Tearing out of Landau's…the cab appearing out of nowhere like a galloping white stallion just before Harry caught up to her…the driver yelling for her to “get in” like a gallant rescuing knight from an action B movie, ready to sweep her to safety.

Convenient
. Too convenient, maybe?

The knight had shed the gallant attitude by the first stoplight. Since then, he had only acted annoyed. Annie darted a glance at his vehicle's bent bumper. Some white stallion. Why was the cabbie so eager to know her business? So willing to watch after her when he didn't seem to like her very much?

And then it came to her. Just like that. A possibility that chilled her more than the snow.
Could the guy work for Harry and Reno?

Heart thundering, she turned her back on the cab and started walking again.

A thin bent man approached from down the sidewalk, shoulders slouched and head down to ward off the blowing sleet. He wore a lightweight jacket, a bandanna tied around his head and pulled down past his eyebrows. He carried a small brown paper sack. Annie sympathized with the old guy for half a second. Then the headlights illuminated his face, and she saw that he wasn't an old guy, at all. He was a young
dude
. A young dude who slowed his pace and eyed her up and down. A young dude who smelled like rotting veggies and regurgitated whiskey and had a dagger tattooed on his cheek.

“Nice coat,” he grunted.

“Thanks,” Annie mumbled and stepped closer to the curb.

The cab's horn blasted a second time.

She shot a quick look over her shoulder. The vehicle inched along behind her. Confused and frantic, she returned her attention to dagger-cheek.

His upper lip curled back, and maybe her imagination was only playing tricks on her, but she would've sworn the guy only had two upper teeth. They looked like fangs. “You share your coat with me, I'll share my hooch with you,” he said, then jerking his head toward a nearby alley, he drew a bottle from the sack.

Oh, gawd
. Her heart tripped. She turned to escape inside the diner and the lights went off inside. A Closed sign hung on the door.

Annie didn't wait for a third horn blare. She swung around and darted for the cab. She'd take her chance with the irritating cab driver. He made her uneasy, too, but at least he smelled better than the tattooed vampire. Jostling the briefcase and her purse, she opened the front passenger door, climbed in and slammed it.

The cab driver slanted a bland look her direction as he pulled away from the curb. “What? You don't like Mad Dog 20/20?”

“Hey,” Annie said, panting, “I'm not in the mood, do you mind? And before you accuse me of being rude again, I'd like to thank you for waiting for me.”

“I never said you were rude.
You
did.”

“I said you were
thinking
it.”

“I wasn't. Ungrateful, yes. Foolish and impetuous and—”

“Okay. I get it.” Her heart pounded harder when she looked across at him, harder still when she thought of all the risks she had taken tonight, starting with breaking into Harry's office, all the way up to climbing back in this cab thirty seconds ago with a man who might be one of her ex-boss's goons.

Annie studied his profile a moment. She hadn't really seen his face up close until now, but the low, smooth rumble of his voice had shot a tingle straight through her the first time he spoke. Or maybe she'd overdosed on adrenaline while escaping Harry, and that had been the true source of the tingle.

She tried to be quick and discreet in her examination. He didn't look like any cab driver she'd ever seen. His features were as attractive as his voice, though not as smooth. Not even close. She guessed him to be around her age, though the years had left lines and crevices on his skin that she had been spared—which was good, as she doubted they would look as appealing on her. There was a rawness about the sharp-edged angles that made up his face. A thin white scar slashed his left eyebrow. His chin and jawline were strong and both in need of a shave. Thick dark hair curled around the edge of his coat collar.

She shifted to the steering wheel.

He flexed his fingers.

Large hands. A little rough.

And then he faced her and she saw his eyes. Dark and direct and penetrating. She swore they looked straight through her, as if he knew just what she was thinking, just what she had done.

Blinking, she lowered her gaze to his lips. Their fullness surprised her; they were the only thing soft about him. And they looked warm while she was freezing all over.

A flush of heat spread over her face. The man didn't look like a goon. He looked like every woman's rough-and-tumble fantasy.

He lifted a brow, a smug smile tugging at his mouth.

She looked away, embarrassed he'd caught her summing him up.

Wiggling her toes, she stared out the front window. She wasn't accustomed to New York winters and even wool socks didn't keep her feet warm. But she had a feeling her toes would burn holes in the soles of her Gucci boots if this guy so much as glanced at them. She couldn't wait to get home and put an end to this crazy night. The small stash of emergency cash she kept in her underwear drawer wasn't much, but it would pay for her ride with enough left over for a modest hotel room. She couldn't stay at her apartment and risk Harry showing up.

Annie suddenly realized she didn't have any idea where they were. Nothing outside the cab windows looked familiar. She tensed. Was he headed out of the city? It occurred to her that she didn't have a clue what goons looked like. Maybe they all had toe-melting stares and lips that made a woman want to pass out cold just for the chance of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Where are you taking me?”

“Who knows? I haven't been given my orders yet.”

“Your orders?” Her heart jumped up to strangle her.

“Yeah. From you. Where to?”

When her heart let go of her throat and slid slowly back to where it belonged, Annie told him her address. “You know where that is?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he said, then chuckled.

“Is something funny?”

“I was thinking about your boss…. Judging by the way he was guarding a certain part of his anatomy, I have a feeling he'll be singing soprano for a while. You do that to him?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” His laughter melted away another slice of her tension, and she told herself he couldn't possibly be Harry's or Reno's employee. But then, she'd proven repeatedly that she wasn't the best judge of character when it came to the opposite sex. “I hope you're right about the soprano,” she said. “It would serve him right.”

She also hoped what she found in Harry's briefcase would justify her taking it. Maybe she'd acted rashly, but she refused to entertain regrets. What she'd witnessed in the past few weeks regarding Harry's business dealings had convinced her more than ever that getting mixed up with Reno twenty-four years ago had ended her mother's life.

Though everything she'd recently learned about her mom seemed to indicate Lydia Macy was not the completely selfless, devoted wife and mother that Annie, with the aid of her father, had built her up to be, she could not accept that her mother hadn't loved them with all her heart. There had to be an explanation for her mother's behavior that last year of her life, one that would make sense and exonerate her. Some demon, real or imagined, must have preyed on her weaknesses, confused her, pushed her to choose the company of scum over her own husband and daughter.

As far as Annie was concerned, that demon was Frank Reno.

As her aunt Tess had guessed, Annie had come to New York to try and better understand her mom, hoping by doing so she'd better understand herself. But now she wanted more; she wanted both Reno and Harry to pay. She wanted revenge for the people they manipulated. Justice for her mother. For Lacy. For her father and herself and all they'd lost twenty-four years ago.

Leaning back against the seat, she skimmed her palm across the briefcase in her lap. If she found the evidence she expected inside it, tomorrow would be a very interesting day. If she didn't…

Annie released an unsteady breath as she contemplated what Harry might do if she found nothing…and he found her.

 

T
HE SNOW FELL FASTER
. Fat, wet flakes hit the windshield. Joe switched the wipers to warp speed.

His opinion of his passenger had shifted some after watching her outside the diner trying to decide whether or not to accept his offer of a ride. If that bum hadn't showed up, he thought she actually would've struck out walking rather than climbing back in his cab. She didn't trust him.

Joe had to respect that. One thing his years on the force had taught him was that few people
should
be trusted completely. A sad way of thinking, maybe, but if he'd come to it sooner, he'd probably be a lot better off right now. Miss Macy had guts. And she might actually have a brain in that pretty head, too. He wondered if she had used it wisely with Landau tonight? Whatever she'd pulled on him must've been a doozy for her to be so on edge. If it wasn't just some irritating but harmless stunt on her part, she really might be in some serious shit.

“Here we are.” He pulled to a stop alongside her apartment building.

“I'll be back in a minute with the money I owe you.” She gathered her things and reached for the door, then hesitated and cast a glance out the back windshield.

Sensing her apprehension, Joe said, “Why don't I walk you up and save you the trip back down here?” When he realized she was going to protest he added, “Besides, this little escapade of yours spooked me.” He feigned a shudder as he said with mock terror, “I don't want to stay out here alone.”

Her smile surprised him. So did the fact that he liked it so much. Unlike her newspaper smile, this one touched her eyes. It also revived those torrid fantasies he couldn't afford to entertain as long as he worked for her father. Fantasies that took place while spending the night inside her apartment with her, rather than outside in the hallway alone. Which is what Milford Macy would expect of him after what went down tonight.

“Come on up,” she said. “I wouldn't want you to sit down here trembling with fear.” She slipped the long strap of her purse over her head, across one shoulder and beneath her arm, then climbed out of the cab holding tight to the briefcase.

Joe met her at the curb and walked beside her across the snow-covered walk to the building's entrance. While she pulled out her key, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stood far enough back so as not to increase her anxiety. She was still unsure of him, he could see that. The image of Harry Landau holding his crotch came to mind again and Joe wondered if
he
shouldn't be wary of
her.

The keys slipped from her fingers and landed on the cement with a jingle. When she stooped and picked them up, Joe saw that her hands shook. As she tried the lock again, he stepped up behind her. “Here. Let me.” He placed his hand over hers, and she turned her head slightly and looked up, her face so near to his the warmth of her breath brushed his cheek. Her blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty as he guided her hand to the lock and, together, they inserted the key.

The door opened and Joe stepped back. He shook snow off his hair, brushed it off his shoulders before following Annie into a brightly lit hallway and up two short flights of stairs.

At her door, she said, “I'll just be a second. Wait here.” Then her eyes widened and she quickly covered her mouth and let loose a sneeze that would have easily rattled the windows if there had been any in the hallway. She lowered her hand and winced. “Excuse me. It's this perfume. I'm allergic.”

“Too bad. I like it.”

Joe watched her self-deprecating expression shift again to one of wariness, watched her eyes darken with the same unwanted awareness he felt in himself. He imagined lifting a hand, tracing the curve of her jaw, her smooth pale neck, the hollow beneath her throat. He pictured himself lifting the purse strap over her head, easing the coat from her shoulders as he backed her against the closed door. And as the moment stretched and energy crackled in the air between them, it was easy to pretend she wouldn't resist, that she would welcome his hands on her body, his mouth on her breast, soothing that angry red scratch.