Slow Hands (2 page)

"I can tell you right now Keira Morgan won't buy into that one."

Phelps guffawed, then tried to cover with a cough. Ostman shot him a quelling look.

Alec didn't miss the exchange. "You've already talked to her, haven't you? And she turned you down. Probably told you where to stick it."

Ostman sighed. "We figure she'll come around when we mention your name."

Now Alec did laugh. Ostman had no idea who he was up against. Keira would not
come around.
Not where Alec was concerned. And with good reason.

Though they didn't realize it, he was off the hook. "I'll tell you what. You get Keira Morgan to agree up front to hire me on
those
terms, I'll do it." Alec opened the door, confident he'd heard the last of the subject. "Good-bye, gentlemen."

As soon as Alec left, Ostman turned to the other man and started swearing. "You almost blew it!"

"Sorry." Phelps didn't look apologetic.

"Have you talked with the Morgan woman again?"

Phelps shook his head. "She won't return my calls. And her secretary's a real snot. Want me to fly over and see her in person?"

"No. It'll raise more flags. I'll try her at her home tonight myself," Ostman said.

"So what's this big fucking secret you promised to let me in on?"

For a moment Ostman remained quiet, debating the wisdom of showing his hand.

Thus far, Phelps had followed his lead blindly. But Ostman knew his partner was growing nervous. Uncertain. Ostman needed to throw him a bone if he wanted continued loyalty.

And Ostman definitely needed help to pull this off quietly, help from someone who'd follow orders with a minimum of questions.

He picked up his cigarette, inhaled, blew out a stream of smoke. "You know all that crap about angels looking out for fools? It's true. Besides the cash, that armored truck was transporting a cache of stolen, rare gold coins, scheduled to be fenced in Miami."

"Where the hell did you hear that one? Two million plus a bonus in gold. Right! Bullshit stories always pop up after sensational crimes." Phelps hee-hawed. "This sounds even better than that hokey story the Freedom Chamber of Commerce prints in their tourist brochures about the Lost Confederate Gold. Supposed to be a cache of it hidden in the Ozarks."

"That's an unproved legend. This isn't."

Phelps quieted at the other man's tone. "What makes you so sure?"

"I recently busted a guy in New Orleans for running crooked slot machines on the riverboats. He started talking in hopes of cutting a deal. This guy gave the gold to Ciccone to have it fenced in lieu of protection money. But get this: He didn't trust Ciccone to give him credit for the gold's full value, so he had the coins privately appraised and photographed. Gave me a copy of the report."

Phelps nearly fell out of his chair. "Jesus H. Christ! We recover those coins, we can tie Ciccone to money laundering, racketeering. It will be the bust of the century."

Ostman nodded. Possession of stolen property was an easy rap to beat. RICO violations were a different ball game.

"No wonder Ciccone's playing nice to Griggs." Phelps lowered his voice. "So what did the boys upstairs say?"

"They don't know the full story.
Yet.
I figure we'll hand them Ciccone's head on a platter." That way no one else in the Bureau could claim the credit.

Nailing Ciccone meant a guaranteed promotion. And tremendous stature. Ostman had been beaten out of both before. It wouldn't happen again.

"One thing: We have to make certain Ciccone gets his hands on the gold first."

"I don't follow," Phelps said.

"We have to let Griggs recover the loot and actually turn it over to Ciccone. When it's in Ciccone's possession, we move in." Ostman stubbed out his cigarette. 'This is so big, I figure Ciccone will keep a finger on it personally. So while Alec Dempsey does the grunt work on the inside and follows Griggs, you and I will keep an eye on Ciccone."

"What if Dempsey makes the bust too soon and blows it?"

"Won't happen." Ostman shook his head. "I plan to pull him off the case at the last moment. It should be a cakewalk."

"Cakewalk my ass." Phelps winced. "You haven't talked to the Morgan woman yet."

*
       
*
       
*

The inside of Ian Griggs's prison cell was dank. Dark.
Lights out
was an hour ago, but sweet dreams eluded him.

He heard the inmate in the next cell urinating. Muffled voices drifted as the guard stopped to talk to another inmate, a planned distraction. Behind the guard's back drugs were passed from cell to cell.

Griggs paced the short distance to the calendar he had scratched in the wall. Lighting a single contraband match, he marked an X through another day, then closed two fingers over the flame, relishing the slight burn.

The line from an old Janis Joplin tune rolled through his mind.
Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose.

Griggs had nothing left to lose in Freedom. And everything to gain.

He contemplated his plan, reviewed the steps. One, two, three.

Money.

Revenge.

Whiskey.

Not necessarily in that order.

Five years behind bars had taught him the virtue of patience. Of restraint. Of moderation. And of keeping a few cards up his sleeve.

"Soon, Keira," he rasped to his empty cell. "Soon your nightmare will begin."

Chapter One

Keira
Morgan ignored the posted speed limit, her gaze flicking between the clear road and the speedometer. Sixty in a forty-mile zone and still running late. She punched it. Sheriff Cowart's men knew her
truck.
They wouldn't stop her unless she exceeded eighty.

It was the middle of June, and the Ozarks baked in an early-summer heat wave. The surface of the asphalt roadbed melted beneath the sun. Even the trees looked wilted.

She eased off the gas as she crossed the railroad tracks near the new Chevy dealership they were building, yet another sign of Freedom's growth.

And another reminder of things gone awry. Like the fact the Barry brothers undercut her bid for that job.
Jerks.
And the fact her truck's air conditioner had picked a ninety-six-degree day to conk out.
Damn thing.

All she needed was a flat tire or two, and the day would be perfect.

"Just perfect," she grumbled.

Sweat trickled down her neck. She thought longingly of her apartment. It had been a grueling week, and the only thing she wanted was to go home. The AC there would put frost on these windows. And the long-neck bottles of beer in her 'fridge would be exactly two degrees above freezing.

Unfortunately, she had an appointment at Franny's Style Salon.

She glanced at the dashboard clock. Luckily, Franny was her best friend. She was also the only reason Keira broke her neck to get back from Hot Springs.

Tonight was the big kickoff dance for their ten-year high school reunion. Personally, Keira wanted to skip the entire weekend. A trip down Memory Lane to her senior year held as much appeal as elective brain surgery.

Especially now. It had been a week of rotten news followed by even worse news.

On Monday, she'd received a call from the FBI, informing her that Ian Griggs, the man who'd put her in a hospital five years ago, had had his sentence for armed robbery commuted—
-for good behavior!
—and was expected to make parole in a few weeks.

His post-parole destination: A halfway house in Freedom.

With that little bombshell, she'd learned the real reason the FBI was calling. They wanted to plant an undercover agent in Freedom, to keep tabs on Griggs.

The agent's sympathetic noises and reassurances fell on deaf ears. Keira was livid. She had been told— promised—Ian Griggs would serve his full sentence of life in prison without chance of parole. Now some stupid judge commuted his sentence? Just like that?

"Can't you stop it?" she had asked. "Or can I protest it?"

"We understand your concern. But it's not that simple." The agent launched into a laundry list of excuses. Prison overcrowding. Rehabilitation.

The pieces fell into place as soon as Keira remembered that
the money from the robbery had never been recovered.

The FBI was after the two million. Their regard for Keira was window dressing.

She'd told Agent Phelps exactly what he could do with his little request. Wanting to scream, she'd hung up and tried to digest the news. It felt like she'd been kicked. Betrayed.

After the shock wore off, Keira started formulating her own plan. While the news of Griggs's pending release still infuriated her, she was determined not to let it frighten her.

Agent Phelps said they expected Griggs to retrieve his money and run. Maybe within days of being released. Well, forewarned was forearmed. If Griggs came near her, she would use whatever means necessary to protect herself.

Then two days ago a different agent called. Miles Ostman.

He'd explained new information had been received indicating Griggs plotted revenge against her grandfather for the part Keira had unwittingly played in his arrest. An eye for an eye.
A family member for a family member.

Ian Griggs blamed her for the deaths of his brothers.

If Griggs had wanted to go for her weakest spot, he'd found it. Willis was the only family Keira had.

Her first instinct was to ship Willis off, get him out of town. Except her grandfather would never leave Freedom. Willis had never set foot outside of Arkansas and was proud of it.

And while news of Griggs's release would be made public after his parole hearing, she didn't dare tell her grandfather the truth about Griggs's threat of revenge. Willis was old school and stubborn as bedrock. He'd force a showdown.
Mano a mano.

Even though she'd place even money on her grandfather, it was a lose-lose situation. If Willis harmed Griggs, he'd go to jail. Worse was the thought on the other hand.

As much as she hated to, Keira had been forced to reconsider the FBI's request—to protect her grandfather. Which might actually mean shielding Ian Griggs, the bastard. Once Willis learned Griggs was returning to Freedom, he might pick a fight anyway, to balance the scales.

She had swallowed her pride and relented. And nearly choked when she learned
who
they wanted to send in.

Alec Dempsey.

Satan himself would have been more welcome. Or so she told Miles Ostman.

If Ostman knew what Alec had done to her, he didn't let on. Instead the agent rambled on about how Alec was a rational choice. He'd been born and raised in Freedom. He knew the area—or had once upon a time.

"It would be easy to concoct a plausible story to explain Alec's return," Ostman said. "Has anyone in town even heard from him since he left?"

"No," Keira admitted. Last she'd heard, he'd joined the army. That was ten years ago. It was strange to think he was with the FBI now.

"Then anything we choose to say about his homecoming can't be disproved," Ostman said.

As much as she didn't want to see Alec again, she had to admit, grudgingly, that Agent Ostman had a point.

Once Griggs returned, the town would be inundated with press and treasure hunters. Just like before. Freedom would close ranks, and all strangers, newcomers, would be looked at with suspicion. As a native son, Alec had a better chance at blending in.

And if Alec kept Griggs under surveillance, then Gramps would be safe.

Feeling stuck between a rock and a hard place, Keira agreed.

Ostman said Alec would contact her a few days before Griggs showed up to discuss the particulars of his cover. Which gave her at least two weeks to get used to the idea. She sighed, already wishing she had more time.

She hadn't thought of Alec Dempsey in years. Well, maybe with all the talk of the high school reunion, he'd skittered in and out of her thoughts lately—like a cockroach avoiding light.

Keira had just turned twenty-eight, which meant Alec would turn thirty soon. He'd graduated two years ahead of her, so there hadn't been any danger of his being invited to the reunion. It was just the recollection of her senior year...

Her truck bounced as she hit a deep pothole, jolting her. Slowing, she forced her mind back to driving. There'd be time to think about Alec and Griggs later.

Within minutes, she pulled onto Main Street.

Grand old Victorian houses graced this end of Main. A few years ago, her friend Franny had bought one at auction, turning the ground floor into a glitzy, full-service salon, while converting the second floor into living quarters. After Franny's success, others followed suit and helped breathe new life into the historic downtown district.

These days, Freedom was known as a chic, antique Mecca.
One of the South's hidden jewels,
to quote the guidebooks. Many of the people returning for the reunion would be shocked by the town's metamorphosis. Freedom had changed.

Keira slid into the single empty parking spot on the street. One of the salon's doors opened, and a blond head popped out.
Franny.

From this far away, Keira couldn't hear her words, but judging by the way she waved her arms, she wasn't happy that Keira was running late.

Slamming the truck into
park
, Keira jumped out of the cab and headed up the sidewalk.

A man and a woman stood in the middle of the concrete walkway, blocking it. The woman made eye contact with Keira and sneered, dismissing her.

Great. Just who Keira wanted to see. Her nemesis, Scarlet Chambeau, class bitch and cochair of the reunion.

Scarlet was yammering excitedly about tonight's dance. It was obvious by her perfectly coifed brown pageboy that she had just left Franny's.

Keira raced by, eyes averted. Ignoring Scarlet wasn't a problem and the man had his back to her. Keira spared a glance for his denim-clad rear. Nice ass, but not one she recognized. Probably someone in town for the reunion.

As she sidestepped the pair, a hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm, wheeling her back around in a tight semicircle.

"Hello, babe."

Keira's pulse skittered.
"Alec?"

Time ground to a painful halt as she stared at the long, strong fingers. She looked up, past his broad shoulders, her breath catching as he peeled off a pair of Serengeti sunglasses.

Alec Dempsey.

The past decade had only improved his tall, dark perfection. His coal black hair, inherited from his Italian mother, was a little longer now, brushing his collar, but still thick and straight, without the first hint of gray.

His black-brown eyes glittered in some secret amusement as his mouth played into a raw, sexy smile, exposing a single killer dimple.

Her heart swelled, then constricted with an intimate memory of that mouth. Of being loved. Of being left.

What the hell is he doing here now?

Rattled, she tried to play dumb. "Ahhh, Darry, Darwin? I'm sorry, I forgot your last name."

The smile grew and included a wink. "Dempsey. You remember."

"Vaguely." It gave her hives to remember. She'd dreamed of sharing that name. And more ...

Long-buried hurt scratched at her lungs. What in the world had made her agree to the FBI's request? Had she honestly believed she could do this and feel nothing?

She blinked. "Well, it was nice seeing you again. You, too, Scarlet."

She yanked her arm, to break his hold, felt it yanked in return, only harder. The move caught her off guard, pitching her almost flat against his chest.

His little show of strength pissed her off. The hurt disappeared, reminding her
she
had been the injured party. Technically, this man had no right to breathe the same air she did. How dare he touch her?

She met his gaze, willing him to back down. His eyes held, the challenge plain.
Make me.

"In a hurry?" he taunted.

For a moment, she debated giving him a knee in the groin. Lord, he deserved it. Instead, she shot him a dirty look and stepped on his foot, hard, twisting free. "I'm late."

"Better let her go. She looks like she'll need extra time as it is." Scarlet wrinkled her nose and gave Keira a toothy, badger like smile before placing her hand on Alec's arm and moving closer, shoving Keira off the narrow sidewalk and into the neat flower bed.

Keira's arms windrilled as she tried to avoid crushing the newly planted pansies with her heavy work boots.

"Oops." Uncontrite, Scarlet batted her eyes at Alec. 'The dance starts at eight, and I won't take no for an answer."

Alec reached for Keira's elbow as she struggled for footing in the soft dirt. "Scarlet invited me to the reunion dance tonight. See you there?"

Keira dodged his hand, stepping into the grass. "Maybe. Gotta go."

It was all she could do not to run the remaining distance to the salon.

Franny held open the door, her voice a whisper as she squeezed Keira's hand. "He stopped by earlier. I tried to reach you on your cell phone to warn you. I was hoping he'd be gone before you got here, but ole' Scarlet-the-Harlot sank her claws into him."