Tessa’s elation took a grounding nosedive. Jack Chaney was no hero come to rescue her. He was a tool for her to use in her own rescue.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Chaney, I know exactly what I can expect from you.”
He nodded once. “Good. Pack a bag. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at three. You’re going to camp.”
Chapter 2
Stan Kovacs looked worried.
As he watched Tessa pull the zippers up on her suitcase, his expression had all the forlorn characteristics of a droopy-faced basset hound.
“Stan, it was your idea,” she reminded him as she set the case by the door of her apartment. She tried not to notice the significance of the chains and new dead bolt locks. “If you didn’t trust him, why did you insist I call him?”
“Oh, I do trust him. With my ex-wife, my money, my life. But not necessarily with my best friend’s daughter. Chaney can be…”
“Difficult,” she supplied. “Yes, I know. But we’re not dating, Stan. I don’t care if he’s difficult. Just as long as he’s as good as you say he is.”
Stan’s features didn’t alter at his mournful reply. “Oh, he is. No doubt about that.”
She fussed with the tags on her luggage, trying to think of how best to broach the subject. “I know in your business you’ve met all sorts of rather unsavory people.”
“The dregs in the cup, so to speak,” Stan agreed.
“How did you meet Jack Chaney?”
He smiled thinly. “Long story.”
“The Cliff’s Notes version. How did you get tight with a mercenary?”
That did manage to rearrange Kovacs’s dour look. “What? Where did you get the idea that Chaney was a merc?”
“You.”
“Oh.” He glanced away sheepishly. “Guess I was trying to impress you or maybe scare you off from taking this particular path. Jack’s a lot of things but he’s not an indiscriminate killer.”
“So he’s the discriminating kind.”
“He’s the military kind. The Black Ops covert, no-record-of-his-name, disavow-all-knowledge-if-caught-or-killed kind. He’s worked in a lot of places I’d never want to visit. His call sign was Lone Wolf. That’ll tell you all you need to know about Jack Chaney.”
“CIA?”
“I’m sure there are some initials involved but I don’t want to know what they are. He’s no angel but he’s not the devil I obviously let you think he was, either. Sorry.”
“For letting me think that or because he isn’t?”
They shared smiles and a long silence. Realizing Stan had never exactly answered her question, which meant he had no intention of doing so, Tessa sighed.
“No matter his initials, I need him. And, Stan, I need you to keep on top of things while I’m gone. I can’t let the trail to the real killers grow even colder.”
“I plan to. I’m not giving up on your dad. He didn’t give up on me when he had every reason to.”
She touched his arm, eager to defuse his umbrage. “I never thought you would, Stan. Not for a second. I just want you to be extra, extra careful.”
His face relaxed into a grin. “Yeah, like a fat, ex-alcoholic is going to put the fear of God into Martinez’s men.”
“I’m just a girl and I worried them plenty.”
They both sobered. Stan nodded.
“I’ll be quiet as a mouse. They won’t even hear me scratching around.”
She squeezed his beefy forearm through the truly ugly sport coat. “Good. Keep me posted. See if you can find out what Martinez had on Johnnie O’ that was so bad he took jail time just to set up my father.” That was the part of the case that had convinced the police to look hard at Robert D’Angelo. Johnnie O’Casey, three-time loser and small-time drug pusher, hadn’t tried very hard to barter his way out of prison. He’d accepted the sentence and still named the district attorney as his accomplice. If saving his own worthless hide hadn’t been the motive, something else had triggered his sudden desire to name names.
The wrong names.
But for what price and who had paid the bill?
“I’ll look in on your mom, too.”
“Oh. Thanks, Stan. I’m sure Dad would want you to.” Her lack of enthusiasm implied that it wasn’t her priority. Stan simply nodded. He never intruded on their family dynamics even though Tessa could tell by the pursing of his lips that he wanted to.
A knock at the door had Tessa taking a quick, involuntary breath as Stan reached for the knob. A silly reaction. Did she really expect one of Martinez’s hired hit men to knock?
“Hey, Jack,” Stan greeted jovially. “How’s your dad?”
“Wondering when you’re going to stop over for a little five-card.” Jack Chaney stood in the hall looking dark and sleek and dangerous. Just the man she needed to see. Tessa released her breath in a relieved gust. She hadn’t been sure he’d go through with it. Take nothing for granted, her father had always told her.
Stan laughed. “I haven’t recovered from the last fleecing he gave me.”
“It’s your face, Stan. Your secrets are written all over it.”
Pleasantries exchanged, Chaney looked down at Tessa’s three-piece set of matched Gucci luggage without a blink. But he frowned at the sight of the cat carrier and the pair of glittering yellow eyes glaring out at him through the mesh door. Noting his disapproval, Tessa hoisted up the carrier, giving a defiant lift of one brow.
“Tinker goes with me. Love me, love my cat.”
A dark brow arched. “An interesting but unlikely suggestion.”
Wondering which part he found the most distasteful, Tessa stated, “I’m ready, Mr. Chaney.” She picked up the medium-size suitcase. “Can you get the other two?”
“Yes, ma’am. Your chariot is out front. It’s the Dodge Ram. Just toss your stuff in the back.”
Frowning to think he meant Tinker, as well, she was distracted by Stan’s quick hug and peck on her cheek.
“Behave,” he warned in a whisper.
“I will if he will.”
After Tessa started toward the stairwell, Stan confronted the younger man candidly.
“She’s tougher than she looks.”
“I
