In Plain Sight (Stolen Hearts) (24 page)

Chapter Fifteen

To combat her tears, Bridget imagined the chain that went around her waist and dropped from her handcuffed hands to her cuffed feet to be a charm bracelet. What kind of charms would be appropriate for jail? Her own personal bracelet would definitely include a gun.

She heaved a sigh and shuffled down the corridor with the assistance of two FBI agents. When Special Agent Vince had arrived at the roadside scene earlier today, he’d immediately chewed out the young policeman who’d locked her inside the closed-up police car. All she’d said to him when he yanked open the door was
Help Rafe
.

She’d lost consciousness at one point. When she’d come to, an EMT had been taking her pulse and talking quietly to Gage.

“Rafe?” Her voice sounded as rough as she felt.

Gage put his hand on her shoulder. “On his way to the hospital.”

He had left her with the response team and about a hundred cops, and they had taken her to the hospital and then to jail. Not one person other than Gage would tell her a thing about Rafe. For what felt like an eternity, she’d crouched in a jail cell making all kinds of deals with any god who would listen if only Rafe would live.

Hopefully, they were taking her now to someone who knew his status. The agents led her into a small beige room with a table and three chairs and a window that fooled no one. How many people were standing on the other side, watching her?

An incredibly handsome man sat at the table, a yellow legal notepad on the table in front of him alongside a digital voice recorder. “Are you a lawyer?”

“No.” He stood and offered his hand as if his manners were so ingrained he couldn’t help himself. “FBI Special Agent Nick DeMarco.”

Her chains rattled when she moved to shake his hand. She looked down at them, blinking back her damned tears.
Show no weakness
. “Another time, maybe.”

When she sat, a movement from the far corner of the room drew her attention, and she shot to her feet again. Gage stood in the shadows, his face obscured, his arms tightly folded over his chest. “Rafe?” She didn’t care if she sounded like she was begging. She had to know.

Gage moved forward. Her legs gave out, and she sank into the chair when she saw his bloodshot eyes. “He’s in surgery. That’s all any of us know.” His voice was husky with emotion.

Her chains rattled again as she laid her head on the table and started crying. She’d already accepted the idea that Rafe would never want to see her again. She’d done nothing but lie to him and cause him trouble. And now, because of her, he might die.

“Take those damned chains off her,” the other agent, DeMarco, growled at the two guards who stood behind her.

She had to stand for them to unlock the chains. When she could move her hands, she raised them to wipe away her tears.

“And her cuffs, too,” Gage added.

When she was free, she stood like a dumb animal. She realized she was still in shock. God, they were going to pump her for anything they could get out of her, then lock her up and throw away the key.

“How’s that bump on your head?” DeMarco asked.

Tentatively, she raised her hand to her head and found the lump the size of a baseball. She sucked in a breath when she touched it and pain bolted through her.

“Get her some painkillers and water, and we can all use a coffee,” Gage tossed the instructions to the two guards behind her. After they left, he moved up to the table and sat. “Are you hungry?”

She didn’t bother to answer as she looked at him in disbelief.

“Right. Special Agent DeMarco is going to conduct most of the interview because of my personal involvement. Right now, all we’re looking for is the sequence of events.”

She could almost hear Armand yell in her ear—
Get a lawyer
.

“Is Armand dead?”

A silent signal passed between DeMarco and Gage as they looked at each other. “Yes,” DeMarco said. “Do you know who shot him?”

“Yes.” Armand dead. Tears flooded her eyes, and a fist-sized lump lodged in her throat. How pathetic her life had become. Armand had used her, corrupted her, she supposed, and yet, she’d loved him. Not in an I-can’t-live-without-you kind of way. But he’d always been there for her, even when he’d shoved her out of the nest. He’d understood her and loved her in his own way.

“Do you want to tell us who shot him?” DeMarco had asked the question as if he was walking through a minefield.

She used both hands to wipe away her tears. The time had come to stand up for herself. “I’m in shock. I’ve sustained a blow to my head. A good friend has just been killed, and the man I love is in surgery.” And she’d killed two people, but she wasn’t about to tack that onto her list just yet. “And you want to interrogate me. Without a lawyer or reading me my rights.” She looked straight at Gage. “Shame on you.”

The fragile silence that hung over the room was broken when one of the former guards knocked and entered with a tray that held three cups of coffee, a small bottle of painkillers and three bottles of water.

“Thank you,” DeMarco murmured, and indicated the guard should leave. He pushed the painkillers and a bottle of water across the table.

Bridget ignored the pills, but drank half the bottle of water before sitting back and folding her arms. Gage leaned forward and stabbed at the off button on the recorder. “You want a lawyer?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t you if you were in my position?”

“Point taken.” He blew out a long breath. “Let me tell you a story. There was a man, say a man from France.”

Armand
.

“And this man always skirted around the edge of the law. Maybe even broke the law when it suited him, but he was never caught.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. “But there was a second man, a very powerful, bad man, who discovered what the first man was doing, and he realized that he could use his knowledge to make the first man do something for him. Hypothetically, let’s say he wanted him to steal a very valuable necklace.”

Bridget twisted her hands together. Did Gage know who the second man was?

“So our guy from France needed an expert jeweler to help him, and he maneuvered someone he could trust to assist him. Maybe he even kidnapped her.” He stopped as if waiting for her to jump in.

Bridget held very still, barely allowing herself to breathe.

Gage continued after a minute of watching her. “Somehow, and this is where the story gets murky, the Frenchman, his assistant and two known killers end up at an isolated farm so the assistant can…I don’t know, reproduce a necklace, maybe. And they bring her boyfriend to her, probably to use as leverage to make her work faster.”

“When the police finally find them, there are two dead bodies on the farm, my brother-in-law bleeding out in a ditch five miles down the road, and another man, who has been on the FBI’s Most Wanted list for years, is dead. The only person still standing is the assistant.”

He stopped and sipped his coffee. DeMarco sat as still as Bridget, his face expressionless. “The assistant had on her what I’m guessing is most of the reproduced necklace.” He leaned forward again. “Here’s the catch. Bad guy number two, the one who forced the Frenchman into reproducing the necklace, is still out there, and probably still wants his necklace.”

“Who is he? Bad guy number two?”

Gage raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know?”

“No. I was hoping you did.”

Both agents slumped back in their chairs, disappointment etched on their faces.

“Do you?” she asked.

“We have our suspicions,” DeMarco said.

She rubbed her forehead, trying to arrange her thoughts. “So, that’s who you want. Bad guy number two.”

“You don’t know who he is?” DeMarco asked again.

“No, but it’s obvious how to find him.”

“Whadda you talking about?” DeMarco’s Boston accent came through in his excitement.

“The assistant finishes the necklace and puts the word out it’s finished and ready to be claimed for a tidy sum.”

Neither agent said a thing as they turned the idea over.

“The assistant wants a deal, is that it?” DeMarco asked.

“I don’t know about the assistant, but I think
I
need a lawyer.”

Gage got up and opened the door. “Would someone escort the lady back to her cell? I want two extra guards on her around the clock. Forget about that damned chain,” he barked at the agent who’d entered with the waist chain.

“See you when you see your lawyer,” he said and hurried from the room.

DeMarco stopped by her side on the way out. “You really don’t know who was behind the whole thing?”

She swayed on her feet as a bone-weary fatigue gripped her. He put a hand on her shoulder to steady her. “No, I’m sorry.”

“In that case, be careful of anyone who comes around you. Until we get word out you don’t know, your life isn’t worth much, I’m afraid.” He squeezed her shoulder and left.

Her life might not be worth much, but her child’s was. “I need to make a phone call,” she said as the two guards once again led her down the corridor.

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll see about setting that up.”

***

Rafe tried to open his eyes when someone entered his room, but they remained glued together. The smell of antiseptic and harsh laundry soap assaulted him, and he wrinkled his nose.

“So you
are
awake.” Sophie’s soft voice rippled over him like a hug.

He lifted his hand, and she took it in hers and kissed the back. “How are you feeling?”

He tilted his hand back and forth.
So-so
.

“Yeah. Stupid question. If you weren’t feeling so shitty, I’d slug you one. You scared me. Just so you know.” She squeezed his hand. “Michael needs his uncle to teach him about girls.”

Rafe cranked open one eye. “Michael?” he rasped out.

Sophie perched on the side of his bed, a smile splitting her face. “I knew that would get you.” She laughed. “We considered calling him Rafe but, really, one of you is enough for any family. Michael is an archangel as well, so he should be able to hold his own in the family.”

He looked at her belly. “You should pull up a bed. You look like you’re going to pop any minute.”

“You and Vince.” She shook her head. Her expression grew serious. “Really, how are you?”

“Doped up. They’re giving me something for the pain. Doc says I’ll live. Bullet went clear through, which is good, I guess. No major organs damaged.” He drew in a breath and closed his eyes, exhausted from talking.

“I’m relieved to hear that. Go back to sleep. I think I’ll just hang out here for a while.”

Rafe felt himself start to drift under the welcoming darkness. He could sleep for a year. He bet Bridget could, too. She must be so tired after—

“Bridget.” He tried to sit up, but wires and cables tethered him in place.

His heart came to a full stop when tears pooled in Sophie’s eyes. “She’s in jail,” she whispered. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you and agitate you. But I can’t lie.”

“Why?”

“I should call Vince. He needs to talk to you.”

Rafe beat back the darkness. He had to stay awake. “She saved my life. Twice.” Panting from the effort of speaking, he closed his eyes again. “Whatever they’re giving me for pain, I don’t want it. How long have I been here?”

“This is your second day. Vince.” Her voice lightened as she turned toward the door. A minute later, Rafe was dimly aware that Sophie had left to talk to her husband. He strained to hear what she was saying, but the machines around him hummed too loudly. He tried to push back his fatigue, but felt himself sinking under again. Dammit, he needed to know what had happened to Bridget.

He had no idea how long he’d been out when he felt someone come into the room. Whoever it was didn’t smell like Sophie. He forced both eyes open. A woman in her fifties, wearing a white coat and carrying a clipboard, smiled down at him. “You’re awake. That’s good. I’m Doctor Wright. How are you feeling, Mr. Pascotto?”

“Not so good.” He worked his mouth trying to dispel the dry, cottony feel.