Devil's Deception (30 page)

“Philip,” she cried, “are you all right?”

He shook himself. “Yeah, I guess so. How about you?”

“I’m okay. I’ve just been sitting here for so long I’ve lost track of time. Do you know what time it is?”

“No, I can’t tell. Have they been questioning you?”

She nodded.

“They think we know something about those drugs.”

Angela nodded again wearily.

“It’s going to dawn on them sooner or later that neither one of us knows a damn thing,” Philip said dismally.

“I’ve been seriously considering making up a story to stall for time, but once they discover it’s a red herring I know I’ll be finished.”

Philip sighed heavily, winding his arms around his knees. His shirt was filthy, stained with grass and dirt, and the left sleeve was ripped from the elbow to the wrist. His hair hung in his eyes, one of which was bruised. Angela imagined that she looked about the same.

“What a mess, huh, Angela?” he said.

She didn’t have to answer.

“And I thought I was so smart,” Philip said with a voice full of mocking self reproach. “The brilliant young businessman, setting himself up for the future. Look what I got myself into.”
 

“I didn’t know any more than you,” Angela comforted him.

“Does that mean we’re both fools?” Philip asked.

“Maybe. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Philip tilted his head back, closing his eyes. “Why do you think they threw us together?”

“So that we could talk, just as we’re doing. Maybe they think one of us will talk the other into coughing up the information.”

“As if there were any information to cough up,” Philip added ironically.

“Do you think anyone is looking for you?” Angela asked him.

He shrugged. “That’s anybody’s guess.” He moved to look at her more closely. “Are you thinking that Devlin might come after you?”

“Only if he realizes I’m missing. If he doesn’t go back to the house he won’t even know. And after the way we parted last time, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t show up for quite a while. Or ever again.”

“You and he didn’t manage to work it out?”

Angela made a disgusted sound. “No, because I was being my usual pigheaded, self righteous self. You tried to tell me, Josie tried to tell me, Holly tried to tell me. But I knew it all. And here I sit, realizing what an idiot I’ve been.”

“Speak for yourself,” Philip said, smiling weakly.

“Where do you think we are?”

“I think we drove north from the city, about three hours. My guess would be rural New York state but that leaves a wide margin for error.”

“Even if they’re looking, they’ll never find us,” Angela said despairingly. “I think it must be hopeless.”

“There’s no chance of escape,” Philip said. “We’re too well guarded and the house is tiny. We’d never get away, and even if we got outside I’m sure we’re in the middle of a wilderness. We could starve or die of thirst before we got anywhere.”

“So we have no choice but to sit here and wonder whether they’re going to kill us.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Philip agreed.

The door opened abruptly and one of their captors, a burly blond man in his twenties, lifted Angela from the cot by her arms. Standing her on the floor, he dragged her by the hand to the doorway.

Philip watched apprehensively as Angela was taken from the room.

* * * *
 

The abandoned farmhouse in Peekskill turned out to be just that, an abandoned farmhouse. There was nobody there.

Devlin cursed and called Marchetti on the walkie- talkie. He and Hendley had gone in the other direction, for Saugerties.

“Nobody here,” he said into the machine. “I’m on my way. Wait for me when you get there.”

He gunned the motor of his government issue car and turned back to the main road.

* * * *
 

Marchetti and Hendley were waiting for him at the beginning of a dirt road outside Saugerties. They gave him the thumbs up signal as he pulled to a stop.

“They’re here?” Devlin asked as he emerged, breathless.

“There’s a hunting cabin about two miles down the road, just as Patria said. There are cars and a van outside. Somebody is definitely occupying that building. We couldn’t get close enough to see much more than that but my guess is she’s in there,” Hendley said.

“How many of them?” Devlin asked.

“I saw two outside, no telling how many inside. What do we do?” Marchetti said.

Devlin considered the situation, frowning. “It may be time for a bluff,” he finally said. “I have the bullhorn in the trunk. We can go into the trees where we can’t be seen and announce who we are and that we have them surrounded. They may just believe it and give up.”

“What if they decide to shoot it out?” Hendley asked.

“Then we’re in trouble,” Devlin conceded.

“Let’s go up the road and get a closer look,” Marchetti said.

Devlin nodded and they got back in his car.

* * * *
 

Twenty minutes later they had taken up a position in the trees about one hundred yards from the cabin. All three had their arms at the ready, and Devlin had the bullhorn in his hand.

He looked at his two companions. They both nodded.

Devlin took a deep breath. Then he spoke into the horn.

“This is Section Chief Brett Devlin of the Federal Bureau of Narcotics,” he called, the sound of his amplified voice reverberating from the walls of the cabin and booming through the trees. “We have you surrounded. Repeat, you are surrounded. I advise you to throw down your weapons and come out of the cabin with your arms raised above your heads. Do not harm your hostages and I promise leniency. Repeat, come out with your arms raised above your heads.”

Everybody inside the cabin froze at the sound of Devlin’s voice. Angela was by herself in the bedroom again, and her eyes closed in inexpressible thanksgiving. He had come after all. Somewhere in her soul she had known that he would.

There was a flurry of activity among her captors. She could hear them running through the house, talking in hurried, abbreviated whispers. They were trying to decide what to do.

Give up, she silently instructed them. Give up, and let me have my man again. She waited in a state of unbearable tension, trying to determine from the sounds she heard what was happening.

Minutes passed and she heard nothing further. She listened, terrified, for the sudden burst of gunfire that might indicate the end of Devlin’s life, but she didn’t hear it. She concentrated on the echoing silence in the house. Then the door to her prison burst open and Devlin dashed through it.

He didn’t say a word, just ran to her cot and picked her up in his arms. Angela clung to him, burying her face against his chest, absorbing the miracle of his presence.

Devlin held her tightly, his face pressed against her hair. He breathed in her fragrance, touched her skin. She was really in his arms again and she was all right.

Angela finally pulled back enough to see his face. “You were right about everything,” she said. “I am so sorry.”

“Shh, shh,” he said, kissing her cheek. “It doesn’t matter now. As long as you’re okay nothing else matters.”

“What an awful lot of trouble I’ve been to you,” she said.

“Yes, you’ve been a great deal of trouble,” he agreed, a smile in his voice.

“Do you still love me?” she asked.

“Oh, I’ll have to think about that. Maybe I should advertise for a woman with no underworld relatives.”

“That isn’t funny,” she moaned, sitting up and looking at him.

“Sorry.”

“Philip!” she exclaimed, remembering him. “Philip is here.”

“We’ve got him. He was in one of the other rooms. He’s okay too.”

“And did you get those . . . people who were holding us here?”

“We got them. They’re in custody.”

Marchetti was framed in the doorway, looking in at them.

“She okay?” he asked, nodding at Angela.

Angela looked up. “I’m fine.”

He saluted her with the gun he still held in his hand. “How do, miss?” he said, grinning, and then disappeared.

“Who was that?” Angela murmured, too comfortable in the haven of Devlin’s arms to care too much.

“Dave Marchetti, he’s a good friend. He came here with me to find you and those of us who did may be unemployed when we get back.”

Matt Hendley next appeared in the doorway. “We’ve got them rounded up, Dev,” he said.

Angela peered into Devlin’s face. “What’s that about being unemployed?”

Hendley looked her over. “So this is the celebrated Angela Patria. Boy, is this guy crazy about you,” he said.

Devlin threw him a dirty look.

“Really,” Hendley went on. “He just about went nuts when the old man refused permission for us to go after you.”

Angela stared at him. “Then why are you here?” She turned to look at Devlin. “Oh, I get it. This trip was an unsponsored excursion.”

“That’s about the size of it,” Hendley said cheerfully.

“Shut up, Matt,” Devlin growled.

“Okay,” Hendley agreed. “We have to take this group in. Dave and I can do it with Philip’s help. Why don’t you and Angela follow in the other car?”
 

“Good idea,” Devlin said, and Hendley, with a final wave, disappeared into the hall.

“He seems very happy for someone who just shot his career down in flames,” Angela said dreamily.

“That’s because he thinks all will be forgiven when the old man sees what we bagged for our day’s work,” Devlin explained. “Three of Frank’s top honchos.”

“Is that true? Will you be forgiven?”

“Who knows? Who cares?” He lifted her into his lap and kissed her neck.

“Brett, I’m filthy,” Angela protested faintly.

“I like dirt,” he said, his mouth moving inside the collar of her blouse.

The sound of a car starting was followed by that of tires on packed clay.

“They’re gone,” he said, his fingers working at her buttons. “We’re all alone.”

“Brett, I don’t think this is the right place,” she began, and then forgot what she was going to say in the intoxication of his mouth on hers.

“What was that?” he said against her lips.

“Nothing important,” she murmured, and wound her arms around his neck.

“Sure?” he whispered, running his hand up her thigh.

“Positive,” she replied, and proved it.

– THE END –

I am Doreen Owens Malek, author of over forty books and lifelong fan of romantic fiction. I live in PA with my husband and college student daughter, a mini dachshund and a sun conyer parrot. I would like to tell you a little about myself.

I came to writing by a circuitous route, starting out as an avid reader of
Jane Eyre
and
Wuthering Heights
and
Gone With the Wind
and
Rebecca
, and any other similarly themed books I could find. I first worked as a teacher and then graduated from law school when I desired a more lucrative and independent career. I had always been discouraged from pursuing a writing career by the volatile nature of the business and the relatively poor chance for success. But the realization that I needed a focus for the future encouraged me to do what I had always wanted to do. I sold my fledgling novel to the first editor who read it, and I have been writing ever since. I have written all types of books for all types of people, but my favorite literary pursuit is and always has been romance. Nothing is as rewarding as hearing from my readers, so please use my website to communicate your thoughts and criticisms, as I am always eager to learn from you. 

A romance novel rarely disappoints me: in an uncertain world filled with tragedy and sadness, reading about an appealing woman finding a strong man to love her and share her life is the perfect escape. I like to read and write stories in which the main characters overcome obstacles to get together, and then stay together because their mutual devotion cannot be denied no matter what else is happening around them. They always HELP each other and reinforce the quaint but enduring notion that love conquers all—at least in the fictional universe of my imagination. So pull up a chair and take down a book—or pick up a Kindle—and join me in a world where the heroes are tough and headstrong but never boorish and the heroines are feminine and sympathetic but never helpless.