Desperado Lawman

He looked away. “Virgil,” he muttered. “But I go by Connor.”

His comment a moment ago had stung. She arched an eyebrow. “You think I deliberately lied to Joey, don’t you, Virgil? You think I encouraged his hero-worship for my own ends. Is that how you figure it, Virge?”

The eyes she’d thought so beautiful took on a hard glitter. Restlessly Connor—no, Virgil, she told herself defiantly—shifted position on the hard wooden chair.

“I still figure you that way, lady. What your day job is doesn’t really change anything.” He exhaled, his gaze on hers.

“Did Rick Leroy tell you why Joey Begand was being held in an Agency safe house?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “It was because he witnessed a murder in an Albuquerque alleyway—the murder of a retired FBI agent, Dean Quayle. Quayle’s killer, a homeless man by the name of John MacLeish, was wounded during the encounter, but not badly enough to prevent him from escaping later that night from the hospital where he’d been taken after the police had arrived on the scene. The police found Joey hiding in a Dumpster, his memory of exactly what happened temporarily erased. The doctors say Joey’s amnesia won’t last.”

His tone hardened. “I don’t care what your relationship with Leroy is, except for the fact that you have to be working with him, since he handed Joey over to you. What I do want to know is, what was Leroy’s deal with Quayle’s killer, MacLeish?”

He’d already judged her and found her guilty, Tess thought. She’d gone into this realizing that no explanation she could give would be believed by the authorities. That was why she hadn’t bothered to present her side of the story to him during the drive here, and why even now she suspected it was going to be futile to try to make Agent Virgil Connor, a man who obviously lived and breathed his job, understand.

But for a split second she’d thought she’d glimpsed a very different man from the single-minded enforcer of the law he appeared to be. Wasn’t it possible that those crystal-gray eyes might see she’d had no other choice but to keep faith with Joey Begand, even if keeping faith meant breaking the law?

It was worth a try. Even before Connor had found them she’d had serious doubts that she could pull this off all by herself.

“Maybe it’s time we got a few things straight.” She paused, wondering how best to present her story. “First, I don’t know what the connection is between Leroy and MacLeish, for the simple reason that I’m not working with Leroy. I’ve never even met the man, so—”

“For God’s sake, woman, save yourself!” Abruptly the big man stood, the chair he’d been sitting on sliding backward across the linoleum floor. He started to take a step toward her, only to be jerked to a halt by the cuff on his left wrist. “I don’t want to fire the shot that takes you down or stand by and watch another agent have to kill you. But that’s the way it’s going to happen if you don’t call a stop to this.”

Unsteadily Tess got to her feet, the fear she’d been trying to suppress for the past two days spilling over. “I’m telling you the truth, dammit! I’m not working with a killer and I’m not working with a dirty agent. My only loyalty is to a little boy who came to me believing I could keep him safe. That’s why I can’t bring myself to tell Joey the stories I write are all lies—because he needs them to be true. I’m his only hope, and I don’t intend to let him down.”

“He came to you?” There was hostile disbelief in his tone. “There’s no way Joey could have escaped from Leroy after he’d snatched him from that safe house. Try again.”

“Leroy didn’t get the chance to snatch him,” she snapped. “Joey knew the Agency wouldn’t be able to protect him, and the day he arrived at the safe house he started planning how he was going to escape when the time came. He got out through an air duct.”

She took a deep breath. “Ask him yourself when he wakes up. It’s a more hair-raising story than any of my so-called exploits, believe me. Apparently he climbed onto a wardrobe and slid aside a duct panel he’d loosened days before. He hoisted himself up, replaced the panel, and when he found himself over a nearby vacant apartment he simply dropped down again, courtesy of a knotted length of bedsheet he had ready in his knapsack. Then he took the service stairs to a back exit and trekked across town on foot to my place.”

“Supposing I believe any of that, why did he come to you?” His gaze was unreadable. “Did he know you?”

“He knew of me.” She smiled crookedly. “He knew I kicked ugly monster butt, as he put it. Apparently before his mom died last year she was an Eye-Opener fan, and Joey told me I was her favorite writer on the paper. I’m sure she wasn’t gullible enough to swallow the Hangar 61 and Bigfoot stories, but her son did. He figured since he had a monster to slay, he needed a monster slayer. So he looked me up in the phone book and showed up on my doorstep.”

“A monster to slay?” He frowned. “Forget that for the moment. Maybe I can understand why a nine-year-old boy might think a tabloid reporter could protect him better than the FBI, but how the hell did you convince yourself that going on the run with him was a good idea? And where did you intend to take him, anyway?”

“To the Dinetah, of course. I didn’t want to go there directly, in case we were being followed.” At his blank look, she elaborated. “The Navajo Nation. Joey’s mother always made sure he knew his heritage through her was Dineh, as we Navajo call ourselves.” She saw his assessing glance at her. “That’s right. I’m Dineh, too, Agent.”

“Your background isn’t what concerns me.” With his free hand the big man rubbed his jaw. “But there was nothing in Joey’s file to indicate he had any tribe affiliation. If the state authorities had known, when his mother died he would have been put into a facility where his culture would have been emphasized while he was waiting for adoption or fostering.”

“I’m not surprised he didn’t tell them. He’s a pretty close-mouthed little guy until he gives his trust.”

“And you say he gave his trust to you,” Connor said shortly. “I’d like to believe you. Hell, I halfway do, at that. But even if Joey thinks he’s safe with you, you know that protecting him is our job, not yours. He isn’t being chased by a monster, he’s being hunted by a killer, probably two, if MacLeish and Leroy are working together.”

He still didn’t get it, Tess told herself wearily. He never would, and she’d been a fool to hope otherwise. Virgil Connor was defined by his badge and his gun. He played by the rules. He didn’t think outside the box, and he’d probably get to be area director with those qualities.

Worst of all, he didn’t believe in monsters. And that meant he was no protection at all for Joey Begand.

She pushed a stray strand of hair back from her forehead. She intended to be on the road again before sunup, and she desperately needed some sleep before the several hours of driving still ahead of her.

Agent Connor was going to get some shut-eye, too, she thought, which was why she’d had no qualms about informing him about her plans. By the time he awoke tomorrow and found himself alone here, Joey would be on Navajo Nation land where the FBI would need warrants and special permission from tribal leaders to retrieve him—permission she was almost certain wouldn’t be forthcoming.

Letting his witness and the woman who’d abducted him slip through his fingers wasn’t going to look good on his file, but a blot on Agent Connor’s copybook wasn’t her biggest worry. Setting the gun down on the dresser beside her, she retrieved her purse from the foot of the bed.

“If your main concerns are MacLeish and Leroy, I’m surprised you aren’t out hunting them,” she said evenly. “But there’s no point in discussing our differing viewpoints, Agent Connor. Whether either one of us likes it or not, we’re sharing a motel room for the next few hours, so let’s—”

“Connor.” His interjection was brusque. “Just Connor. Drop the agent part, lady, since the fact that I’m FBI doesn’t seem to mean too much to you. I’m the man you’re holding at gunpoint. You’re the woman I let pull a fast one on me. Yeah, we’re in a motel room, but not for any of the usual reasons a man and woman usually come to a place like this.”

Tess felt faint heat touch her cheeks. He was trying to get her off balance, she thought in chagrin. He was succeeding, and although she didn’t really understand why his dismissive reference to a sexual tryst should make her color up like an embarrassed schoolgirl, if he got the impression his captor wasn’t as tough as she was pretending to be, he might begin to wonder if she’d really use the gun she’d been holding on him.

She’d been wondering that, too.

“You sound disappointed.” She allowed a thin smile to curve her lips. “That we’re not here for the usual reasons, I mean. I should have guessed a man who dresses the way you do would have a social agenda that revolved around cheap motel rooms.”

His answering smile was just as controlled as hers. “And I should have guessed that a woman who dreams up stories about Bigfoot wouldn’t have any trouble fantasizing about my sex life. Good thing we’ll never actually do the dirty together for real, honey. I doubt I’d be able to measure up to what you’ve probably been imagining about me.”

Outrage flickered swiftly through her. “Believe me, my imagination wasn’t coming up with anything very exciting,” she retorted. “In fact, I was probably giving you too much credit. I seriously doubt you have a social life at all.”

She tipped her head to one side. “Let’s see how close I get, okay? The job’s your life. You live in a one-bedroom apartment, and you’ve never bothered buying more than a bed and maybe a couch. You don’t have any pictures up on the wall, and those walls are whatever color the previous tenant left them. Am I warm?”

He didn’t answer her. Turning her back to him, she rummaged around in her purse for the sleeping pills she was going to have to force him to take. She went on, trying to mask her sudden apprehension with abrasiveness.

“You’ve got six other white shirts just like the one you’re wearing now—short-sleeved and polyester, because they’re practical and you don’t care how you look as long as you’re presentable. You don’t know the names of your co-workers’ spouses. You volunteer to work Christmas. You get to the gym at least three times a week. Did I miss anything?”

“Just that I always carry a spare key for my handcuffs.”

His voice came from directly behind her. Spinning around in shock, she saw crystal-gray eyes looking coldly down on her, saw the automatic she’d taken from him at the diner firmly gripped in one big hand.

“Aside from that, I’d say you were dead-on, lady,” he said harshly. “So seeing as you know me so well, this part shouldn’t be a surprise, either.”

Even as Tess’s lips parted in a gasp, Virgil Connor’s mouth came down hard on hers.

Chapter Three

It wasn’t a kiss. It was a storm, a hurricane, a lightning strike that immediately shorted out every last electrical impulse in all her nerve endings at once, but it wasn’t a kiss. Virgil Connor didn’t know how to kiss, Tess thought disjointedly. He probably didn’t know how to make love. All the man knew was raw sex.

But he knew everything there was to know about that.

One big hand was spread wide against the back of her head. His other arm was hanging loosely at his side. He was making it clear that if she wanted to she could pull away from him easily enough.

She swayed toward him. Connor shifted his stance automatically, his hand spreading wider and his fingers beginning to slide through her hair as he moved in closer. Through her own half-closed lashes she saw his—dark and thick, drifting down to shut off that brilliant gray gaze.

Suddenly she felt him stiffen. He lifted his head and took a step back, his hand falling from her.

Tess blinked. The next moment appalled horror raced through her, and she took a stumbling step backward herself. Something flashed behind the mirrored gray of his eyes. A muscle moved tightly at the side of his jaw as he spoke.

“That’s one for the books.” His tone was flat and dead. “You’d better report me for this when they take you in. I won’t contest your statement.”

Her mouth felt so swollen and hot she had the impulse to bring her fingertips to her lips. “Why?” Her voice came out in a croak. She tried again, putting more force behind her words. “Why did you do that?”