Dangerous Testimony Page 2

  “Gonna be all right,” he murmured, holding her tight.

  “Jay Rico wants me dead.” Panic shot through her words. “Marco, what about Tracy? What if he sends people after us both?”

  He squeezed her closer, every protective nerve in his body firing on all cylinders. It was a struggle to keep his voice level, calm, when there was a flood of anger roaring through him like a storm-tossed surf.

  “No one is going to hurt you or Tracy,” he said through gritted teeth. “No one.”

  TWO

  Candace sighed. Resistance was futile. Marco was not about to let her drive back to Coronado by herself.

  “We’ll get your car home another way,” he’d proclaimed.

  The best she could do was climb into the passenger seat of his truck and cram next to Bear. The dog was chewing a white shoelace as if it was a savory strand of fettuccini.

  “Don’t the police want it for evidence?”

  Marco shrugged. “They agreed the shoe was enough. No one wanted to persuade him to relinquish the lace.”

  “You could command him to.”

  “Yeah, but he did good work today and I pay him in kibble, so he deserves a prize. They’ve got the switchblade and the shoe, anyway.”

  She gazed out the window as they drove over the Coronado Bridge, back to the gorgeous island that seemed extra welcoming now. The fall sunlight bathed the palm trees in rich hues and she rolled down the window to let in the cool ocean air. It all seemed so much more vibrant, so precious.

  Nearly having your throat cut made you appreciate things more, she thought ruefully. Thank You, God, that I’m still here to savor this.

  When they drove past the street that led to her bungalow, she shot Marco a look. “Why aren’t you taking me home?”

  He had the decency to appear slightly chagrined. “Your mom’s orders. She doesn’t want you staying alone tonight. Tracy’s already camped out in her guest room. She’s right, you know.”

  “I want to go home,” Candace said, trying not to sound like a petulant child. “To my house. I’m thirty-three years old and I don’t have to do what my mother says anymore.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’m thirty-six and I do, so here you are.”

  She huffed out a breath. “Did you always do what your mother wanted?”

  “Of course.” He was the picture of innocence.

  “Uh-huh. I’m sure all moms want their sons to become navy SEALs. She probably wished you’d become an orthodontist.”

  He chuckled. “Can you picture me as an orthodontist?”

  Marco’s strapping shoulders and massive hands painted him as more of a linebacker type. “Not really. Are you coming in?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve got something to take care of.”

  His eyes were the color of toffee with shimmers of copper in them. They had always fascinated Candace, because she couldn’t understand what went on behind them. She knew he was keeping his plans from her, and further, she knew it would do no good to try and pry them out of him. He would or would not share at the proper time. Now he was also plotting ways to ensure her safety from Jay Rico and his Pack, no doubt.

  She reached over Bear and touched Marco’s biceps, rock hard under the tight material of his T-shirt. So warm. Even on the coldest days. The electric buzz it awakened in her nerves confused her. She wanted to both prolong the touch and back away at the same time. She laced her fingers in her lap. “Marco, thank you.” She sucked in a breath. “You were right.”

  His mouth quirked. “Hold on. Let me get my phone. Can you say that again so I can record it?”

  “I mean it. I should have listened to you. The Pack really is determined to scare me away from testifying against Kevin Tooley next month.”

  He waited a beat. “Have they succeeded?”

  A long moment passed while she considered her scraped knees, the glitter of the switchblade in her attacker’s hand, the hot flush of panic, the moment when she’d thought she might not live to see her daughter again. What followed was an explosion of anger in her soul, a solidification of her resolve, like cement hardening. Rick had always said she was a pussycat with tiger stripes.

  “No one is going to frighten me into backing down.”

  Marco smiled, a wide boyish grin that turned the copper in his eyes into molten streaks.

  “Spoken like a true Gallagher.”

  “Who is still bossed around by her mother.”

  He laughed. “Even a fleet admiral follows his mother’s orders. No one outranks her.”

  Candace squeezed his wrist. “Really though. I probably wouldn’t be sitting here if you hadn’t been there.”

  He nodded, staring out the front window, his face quickly shuttered.

  “Will you be in the office tomorrow?”

  “Meeting in the conference room at 0600 to nail down our strategy. Gonna do a little research tonight.”

  “Research?” Her heart thudded. “Marco, you’re not going to go track down any gang members, are you?”

  “Just some initial recon.”

  She realized suddenly that her decision to testify had put them all in danger. Under her fingertips his pulse was sure and steady. He was not letting fear take hold and neither would she. “Please be careful.”

  “I am always careful. You, however, are not. Don’t go anywhere by yourself. Brent will take you and JeanBeth to the office tomorrow. Bring Tracy.”

  She gave him a sassy salute. “Yes, sir.”

  “Sorry. I meant to put a ‘please’ in there somewhere.”

  “I know, but that doesn’t come easy because you’re naturally bossy.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, so you’ve told me.”

  “Still...don’t put yourself in danger, okay?”

  He answered with a silent nod, waiting until she went inside before he drove away. Watching from the window, she whispered a prayer for Marco and went to find her daughter.

  * * *

  The next morning at 6:00 a.m., Marco carried a sleeping Tracy from Brent’s truck and laid her gently on the couch in the reception area, where Candace tucked her in. It got to him, looking at Tracy’s delicate freckled profile, watching Candace stroke her fine blond hair. So small and innocent. The idea that someone, anyone, could possibly attempt to rob Tracy of her mother nearly sent him over the edge.

  “Morning.” Baxter, the sixtysomething custodian with the graying fringe circling his bald pate, tiptoed out with a bag of trash. The bag was so full that Marco stepped up to help him with the load.

  “I got it,” Baxter whispered, to avoid disturbing Tracy. “Have to earn my keep.”

  “You do, Baxter, every day,” Candace said.

  Marco agreed. Though he’d been there only a few months, Baxter was the best custodian the building had ever had. Score one for the mature guy, Marco thought. Plus he had been known to bring in detective books for Tracy that he’d read to his nephew a decade before, and that got him extra points in Marco’s estimation.

  “Early meeting usually means trouble,” Baxter said, raising a grizzled eyebrow.

  “Nothing we can’t handle,” Marco said.

  Baxter gave him a cocky salute as he headed for the door. “I believe that.”

  Marco and Candace crept out of the reception area and joined the others.

  Marco looked at the group seated around the Pacific Coast Investigations conference table—dark-haired Brent, with his arm around Donna, Angela without the company of her fiancé, Dr. Dan, and the sisters’ mother, JeanBeth. The only sister missing was Sarah, who was currently honeymooning in Hawaii with her new husband, Jett. All of them had resisted filling the newly married couple in on the situation. They were entitled to some uninterrupted joy, having recently survived being abducted and held on an
island for nearly a week. Sarah would throw a monster fit at being left out of the loop when she returned, but that wasn’t a problem for today.

  Marco cleared his throat. “Met with a couple of guys. They told me where I might be able to find Jay Rico. He’s the big boss of the Pack. We have to get to him to stop the threats against Candace.”

  Candace gasped. “Oh, no. That’s a bad idea, a very, very bad idea.”

  “Gonna take me a while to confirm,” Marco went on. “In the meantime...”

  “We do a complete investigation into anything and everything having to do with Jay Rico and his Pack,” Donna finished.

  “Right,” Marco said. “Their members, their arrest records, their funding sources, everything.”

  Brent nodded. “I have a buddy in Homeland Security. He owes me a favor.”

  “Call it in,” Marco said.

  “Yes, sir.” Brent pressed a kiss on Donna’s temple before he rose.

  “Isn’t anyone hearing this?” Candace said. “Marco, you are not going to search out Jay Rico. Let us investigate and do our jobs. It won’t accomplish anything to go after him.”

  “He’s the lead hostile. Need to go serve him notice.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said, eyes flashing. “I’m not going to have you getting killed.”

  The fire in her tone made his heart thud harder. She didn’t get it. He would risk anything, take on anyone, to keep her and Tracy from harm. These people—these women around his table and the child sleeping in the next room—gave him a purpose. They were his life and nothing mattered more to him than they did.

  “Not going to get killed. Not by a two-bit gangster like Rico.”

  All of a sudden, her expression changed, and he thought he saw her lips tremble. He wanted to pull her close. The urge was not in keeping with his resolve. It’s a mission, like any other. But Candace was not a woman like any other. Even though he loved all the Gallagher family, Candace occupied a different part of his soul, though he didn’t like to think about it. He drank a gulp of water to cover his confusion and stowed the feelings away in that deep-down place where he put all the other uncomfortable things in his life.

  There was a soft knock at the door.

  Marco opened it to a skinny man with long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, an affable smile on his face. He bobbed his chin by way of a greeting.

  “This is Lon,” Marco said. “He’s going to keep watch on JeanBeth’s place.” Marco quickly introduced the group, ignoring the surprised looks.

  JeanBeth, the consummate military wife, rose without batting an eye and offered Lon a seat, which he politely declined, and a glass of water, which he also refused.

  Candace was not as serene. She wasn’t a fan of surprises, Marco had come to learn, and this one would be hard for her to swallow. “It’s nice to meet you, Lon, but Marco, would you mind explaining?”

  “Lon and I served together.”

  Marco felt it was an adequate explanation. Candace did not, from the crimp in her full lips. Her mahogany eyes flashed in that way that made his stomach muscles tighten.

  “So now you’ve gone ahead and arranged for soldiers to guard my mom’s house?”

  “Lon’s on medical leave for a torn ligament. He gets bored. Needs something to do besides play video games.”

  Lon smiled.

  “You’ve brought in help.” Candace’s eyes narrowed. “Without bothering to consult us? Is there anything else we should know? Did you enlist any more of your buddies to guard my house, too?”

  Marco tidied the already neat stack of papers in front of him. “Possibly.”

  Candace groaned. “This is ridiculous, way out of proportion. I’m going to be careful and keep a close eye on Tracy. We’ll be extra cautious until the trial is over. We don’t need a platoon of people.”

  “A platoon is sixteen. We’re closer to a squad,” he said, to clarify.

  She groaned. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “Yes, I am, but this is serious.”

  “Overkill.”

  “Your father would have done the same.”

  She flinched and he wished he hadn’t said it. Bruce Gallagher’s death was still a raw and painful wound for all of them. But I can’t let anything happen to you, don’t you see?

  She closed her mouth. “Fine. Do whatever you want. You will, anyway. I’m going to check on Tracy.”

  It bothered him to upset her, and he didn’t want to bark orders as if he was her commanding officer, but he couldn’t give voice to that softer, disconcerting thought. Seeing you hurt would be unbearable.

  He couldn’t take it, not after Gwen. She’d never in the four years they’d been married come close to staying clean, even after he’d wiped out his savings on rehab programs. Married when they were both just eighteen, she’d endured his navy boot camp days and the moving around, fighting battles he’d not fully comprehended until the addiction took hold. Then they’d fought together, but no amount of muscle, determination or grit could free her from the enemy of heroin. Or maybe he could have fought harder on his home turf instead of giving himself to the navy. He’d served his country, choosing to believe that he’d changed things, helped her, saved her. He’d been dead wrong.

  There had been moments of pure joy, when he’d been sure they would make it, and deep down, part of him believed it right up until the moment she’d sent him a letter two months into his deployment, telling him she’d pawned her wedding ring and filed for divorce.

  The thing that scared Marco the most was that he would have still tried to save their marriage, because despite the torture, he loved her and he always would. Even after the papers were signed, after her belongings were stripped out of the base housing they shared, even as a twenty-three-year-old divorcee whose ex-wife had cleaned out their bank account—even then, the love inside him was greater than the hurt. The divorce was a defeat, the worst he’d ever experienced, a public exposure of his failure. But still, he’d had the navy to bury himself in, and what had Gwen had? When he’d learned of her recent death from an overdose, he’d been anguished to his core, a feeling that still stabbed him in the gut when he let it.

  He blinked, realizing he’d missed the last few comments.

  Pay attention, Marco. What’s the matter with you?

  With the briefing over, JeanBeth returned to the house with Lon, reminding them she would expect the entire group for lunch. They scattered to their respective corners, fingers tapping on keyboards and dialing phones. Determined to keep his mind on the critical business at hand, Marco marched off toward his own cubicle, itching to shut down Jay Rico before he could cause any more grief.

  THREE

  Candace watched Marco settle himself in the office chair behind his cubby walls and poke the computer to life, staring at the screen. He detested computers, and it was only after painful hours of her tutelage that he had become proficient on the new office email and messaging system. Still, he faced the screen as if it was a wily adversary bent on destroying him. As she considered his strong profile, muscled body dwarfing the small cubicle, she wanted to stay angry at him, to resent his cavalier treatment of her life, his tendency to order instead of ask. She wanted to keep her ire burning, but she found as she looked at him that she couldn’t.

  “Marco,” she said, after a deep breath. “I know you want to protect me and Tracy, and I appreciate that, but don’t you think you’re taking this to an extreme? Recruiting your navy buddies?”

  He didn’t turn around, quickly replacing a photo he’d been looking at in its usual place. After a moment he said, “No.”

  She sighed. “But it’s crazy.”

  “Not crazy to protect people you care about.”

  Something in the words spoke of profound regret, drawing her closer. She saw the little black-an
d-white photo on his desk that he’d just replaced. The picture showed a proudly smiling young sailor, his arms around a willowy blonde woman who would later ruin her life and his with drugs. Gwen.

  “Marco, what happened to Gwen wasn’t because you didn’t protect her.”

  He stiffened, eyes still locked on the screen, and she knew she’d struck at a wound by mentioning Gwen’s name.

  “Yes, it is. I wasn’t there enough,” he said after a moment.

  The way he’d loved the broken Gwen, the way he still loved her memory even after the punishment she’d inflicted, made Candace’s heart break just a little. She moved closer and wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind. She could barely grasp him across the solid torso as she breathed in the scent of soap and pressed her cheek to his neck. “You couldn’t have saved her, not from that.”

  “Yes, I could.” It came out as a whisper.

  He still believed he’d failed his wife, the shame trapping him in a past from which he could not escape. Wishing she could somehow siphon the pain away, Candace savored the hard planes of his jaw. “You are a good man, Marco Quidel.”

  She thought she felt him relax a fraction, lean his head ever so slightly into the softness of her embrace. But he did not turn, and he didn’t answer, so she pressed a kiss to his hair and left.

  * * *

  Marco allowed himself a couple hours of research and phone calls before he decided to run with Bear in tow to JeanBeth’s home, which was only two miles from the office. The others had already departed. He hoped the exercise would clear his head. First off, he couldn’t seem to rid his stomach of the tilt Candace’s embrace had caused. It was an unwelcome feeling. Candace was like family, a woman to be protected, not...well...attracted to.

  Attraction? That was absolutely not what caused the stomach tilt, he told himself. Probably it was due to some residual tension set into motion by the parking lot attack. He was more comfortable with the subject of attacks than attraction. Whether Candace accepted it or not, she was in danger and so was Tracy. He would convince her of it if it was the last thing he did. His pace accelerated, and Bear kept up easily.