Warrior Without A Cause. Nancy Gideon
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knotting through her, she held her coat together and readied to bolt for safety.
And just then, safety in the person of Jack Chaney separated itself from the shadow of her car ahead. A true professional, he’d checked her background to learn what she drove. He’d been leaning there, waiting for her. She didn’t have to listen to know there were no longer footsteps behind her. Intimidation was a solitary business, not one meant for an audience.
“This is a dangerous neighborhood for a lady alone at night.”
She smiled crookedly at his generic observation. “You have no idea.” She came to a stop in front of him and was momentarily surprised. She thought he’d be taller. He’d seemed like a veritable giant seconds ago. Nervously she risked a look over her shoulder.
“He’s gone.”
Her gaze jumped back to him. “Who?”
“We didn’t exchange names. I noticed him outside Jo’s and wondered who he was waiting for while trying so hard not to be seen. Shall I try to catch up to him?”
“No.” Her hand flashed out to fasten upon his coat sleeve just in case he might be serious about leaving her alone on the barren sidewalk. “It doesn’t matter who he was. I know what he was.”
Jack took the keys from her cold, cramped fingers and unlatched her door. He opened it for her and stepped aside as she slid in behind the wheel.
“Would you like me to follow you home?”
Yes!
She bit back that frantic cry and forced a competent smile. “I don’t think I’ll have any more problems tonight.” At least not until she closed her eyes. But what could she do? Ask him to sleep at the foot of her bed like a faithful watchdog? He’d already said in so many words that her problems were her own. “Thank you, Mr. Chaney, but I’ve taken up enough of your time.”
He didn’t shut the door on their conversation. He draped his forearms over it and gave her a long, assessing look before asking, “And how much of your time are you willing to spend to see this thing through?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A day, a week, until the thrill rubs off and the work gets too hard?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t think you have what it takes to take what I dish out.”
She stared up at him, hope crowding into her throat. She forced a steady stare so he wouldn’t know how close she was to believing what he said. Her words were heroic even though she quivered in frail doubt inside.
“I can take it.”
“Really? Day in, day out, until I think you’re ready? Not until you think you are? Do you have that kind of commitment, Miss D’Angelo? I run a boot camp, not a Club Med. What I do isn’t a trendy gym class in pseudo-self-defense for bored housewives. I’ll work you until you drop and push you until you beg for mercy.”
“I won’t beg, Mr. Chaney.”
Begging hadn’t helped her before.
Her fierce statement gave him pause. “Maybe, maybe not. But I guarantee it’ll be on your mind every minute. You’ll either cry uncle or I’ll shape you into something that will make them think twice before sneaking up on you in the night.”
“I want them to think twice, Mr. Chaney.”
“Then you think twice, right now, while you can. If you come with me, I’ll show you no mercy.”
“I’m in your hands, Mr. Chaney.”
His features tightened into a sudden impenetrable mask. “I don’t want you in my hands. I’ve got enough on my hands to last a lifetime. I’ll train you to survive, but no more than that. Don’t expect me to get involved in your cause.”
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