Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance Page 3

  “Lincoln McAllister, if I didn’t know better, I’d think it was you who got pounded in a fistfight at the terminal, not Conner.”

  “I suppose we’ll just have to let them all grow up and get married. They can have their own cake.”

  Now that he had her relaxed and talking, he voiced the question he had to have answered. “Who is he, Sterling?”

  “Who?” she asked. You sound incredibly stupid, Sterling. You’re feeling a man’s hand on your body and your mind is turning to mush.

  “The man who was searching the airport, looking for you.”

  “I don’t know his name,” she said, putting aside the fun and games. “I just know he’s a murderer. And unless you get away from me, he’ll come after you too.”

  “I’m sure he will. He didn’t look like the kind of man to take no for an answer. But you didn’t answer my question. Why is the man in the gray suit after you?”

  She took a deep breath.

  Mac squeezed her hand. “Tell me, Sterling.”

  She nodded. If Mac was anything like the powerful men in her past, he wouldn’t believe her, but she’d tell him anyway. It might be the only way he could save his own life. Hers? She wasn’t at all certain that was possible anymore.

  “The last time I saw him was a decade ago. I was an intern in an investment firm. The man I worked for had just landed a new client. Some kind of reclusive Howard Hughes type. He was very mysterious, insisting on setting up an appointment at lunchtime when the office was supposed to be empty.”

  “How’d you get involved?”

  “If I hadn’t been such a klutz, I’d have been gone. I was in the copy room, trying to run off and collate some brochures about a new stock offering. Mr. Eldon wanted it ready to show to his new client, in case he was interested in additional investments. But I couldn’t get the machine to work right and I was running late.”

  She paused, flashing back to that day in her mind. She had been so young then, so full of drive and ambition. Sterling Lindsey had successfully completed her classes at William and Mary. The big city of Philadelphia would, if the internship with the small but prestigious investment firm worked out, be her new home.

  Assisting the senior partner in the office was her assignment. She hadn’t known then that Mr. Eldon was easing his way to retirement, that his client list had shrunk to the point where he was merely a figurehead, and that her internship would be less challenging than working in the mailroom. Sterling thought he was a kind and caring man, willing to teach her about the business. To complete the future she’d planned, she was engaged to an up-and-coming financial planner who was working on his MBA. Once her internship was complete, the two of them would be ready to take on the world.

  Until that fateful day.

  Mr. Eldon had been extremely anxious and fidgety. He explained that the amount of money involved in this deal was staggering. The phone call from the well-known, reclusive millionaire came from out of the blue. He wanted to buy bearer bonds and had insisted the transaction be handled in the office rather than at the bank. His reputation for avoiding the public eye was common knowledge, so there was no reason to doubt his request for privacy and for the unmarked bonds.

  The partners were surprised. Though Mr. Eldon had once been very successful, years had passed since he’d brought a large amount of money into the firm. He’d been relegated to researching and preparing brochures. This sale would be considered a coup. Mr. Eldon would regain respect. His prestige would be restored.

  By the time Sterling ran off the pages for the prospectus and collated them, her lunch hour had already begun. Frantically, she got the last pages into the spiral binding and returned to Mr. Eldon’s office, glancing at the wall clock.

  “Oops!” She’d really let the time get away. She should have finished thirty minutes ago. It was time for Mr. Eldon’s appointment. She dashed down the inside connecting corridor. The office next door was empty. She and Mr. Eldon were the only ones left on their end of the hall. Sterling felt a knot in her stomach. She’d better hurry.

  She twisted the knob on the rear door to Mr. Eldon’s office and backed inside, turning as she entered. “I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought to …” It wasn’t Mr. Eldon kneeling in front of the safe. It was a tall man in jeans and a pullover shirt. Over his face he wore a loose-fitting ski mask with holes cut for his eyes and mouth. At Sterling’s entrance he sprang to his feet, turned, and pointed a revolver straight at her.

  “Don’t move!”

  With his cold gray-blue gaze riveted on her, she couldn’t have moved if she’d wanted to. Holding the gun at arm’s length away, he knelt and finished emptying the bonds out of the safe sliding them into a brief case.

  Beside the desk, Sterling could see Mr. Eldon on the floor, his blood pooling outward from his body. He wasn’t moving. He’d die if she didn’t get help. She made a move toward him.

  “I told you to stand still, unless you want to join the old man.”

  Voices down the hallway drew the thief’s attention. “Somebody get the police. It’s Smitty, the security guard. He’s been hurt,” a voice called out. The sound of running feet moved past the outer door.

  The thief stood, fastened his case, and started toward the door. He’d shot Mr. Eldon. He was about to escape. She had to stop him.

  “Help,” Sterling screamed, flung the stack of prospectuses toward the killer, and whirled around.

  Later she remembered that she’d heard the sound of gunfire. Her body jerked and she collapsed crazily, but she felt nothing. Only the sensation of falling. And then everything went black.

  That had been the beginning of many days of darkness, of a deep void that had surrounded and consumed her.

  “And the man?” Mac said softly, drawing her back to the present. He still held her hand, and she clasped his tightly in return. “He was the man in the airport, Sterling, the one in the gray suit?”

  “Yes, Senator March’s aide. He’s the thief. He’s the man who killed Mr. Eldon. He’s the man who shot me.”

  “Whoa!” Mac let out a deep breath. “This is pretty serious stuff. You’re telling me the senator’s aide is a murderer?”

  “He wasn’t the senator’s aide back then. Well, he might have been. I don’t know. Nobody got a look at him but me, and I was unconscious for a long time. When I came out of it, I couldn’t give them a good enough description, except for the eyes, and there were no fingerprints.”

  “How can you be so certain now?”

  Sterling jerked her hand away from Mac’s grip. It was beginning all over again. The questions. The disbelief. “His eyes. They were this close—” She held out her hands, measuring twelve inches between them. “I’d never forget.”

  “He was alone?”

  “So far as I know.”

  “How much money did he get?”

  “Over a million dollars in unregistered bearer bonds. They were never recovered and he was never found.”

  Mac nodded. “So the thief became the millionaire he pretended to be, got away with murder, and left you … injured.”

  “He left me paralyzed. When I fell I hit my head. They never knew whether or not that caused the coma, but I couldn’t remember anything for months. The press had a field day. The only witness, me, suffered from amnesia and paralysis.”

  “Of course the real millionaire never contacted your boss in the first place,” Mac said.

  “No. It was all an elaborate hoax. Mr. Eldon knew, even if I didn’t, that keeping the bonds in his office was forbidden. But he needed, wanted to prove he was still as good as the other partners. And he took a chance that got him killed.”

  “What about the security guard in the building—Smitty?”

  “Smitty never saw what hit him. Mr. Eldon was dead, and I was in the hospital for over a year. Even though I was only an intern, the firm was still forced to pay my expenses. All the newspapers made me front-page news—for a while. Surely you heard about it. Everybody else in the wor
ld did.”

  “I seem to remember reading the story,” Mac said. “I should have followed up on your situation. Maybe I could have helped you.”

  “Nobody could have helped. They even suspected that I was involved. That and my long illness cost me my future as a financial planner.”

  Mac lifted his eyes in question. “They thought you were involved?”

  “Yes. I wasn’t, but the police never quite believed me. They kept a check on me for years. It took a long time for me to take control of my life again, to find another job. If it hadn’t been for Conner …”

  “Conner never mentioned how you came to work for him.”

  “He came to the rehabilitation center to see one of his army buddies, who worked out at the station next to me. We talked and he offered me a job. I wasn’t certain I could live away from the hospital. He convinced me that I could. Now I guess I’ll be back to square one again. Unemployed.”

  “Sterling, Conner won’t fire you over this.”

  “No, he won’t. But I’ll have to move. Either that or the senator’s aide will find me. I still have a bullet lodged near my spine as a reminder of the first time he got to me. The next time he does, I won’t be able to get away.”

  “Maybe—maybe you’re overreacting,” he suggested. “Why would he think you can identify him now?”

  She shot a quick accusing glance at him. “He knows, or at least he suspects. Otherwise, why the search?”

  He nodded. “Even if we’re wrong, we have to assume that you’re in danger. It’s a good thing my plane was already gassed up for the return trip. We might not have been allowed to leave the airport.”

  “Airport! What about Conner?” Sterling asked. “He deliberately hit that man. What will they do to him?”

  “Conner can take care of himself,” Mac said absentmindedly. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do about you.”

  “I’ll go to the police if that’s what I have to do to save Conner.”

  “And say what? That the leading presidential candidate’s trusted adviser is a murderer and a thief? I don’t think they’d buy it. Besides, we don’t know who we can trust.”

  “What about the press? I’ll admit I don’t look forward to being headline news again, but if that’s what it takes …”

  “Not yet, Sterling. Let’s not make any decisions until we get a little more information.”

  She let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mac. I’m not usually a coward, but you have no idea what the press can do to you.”

  He could have told her he knew. Long ago he’d discovered that sad truth for himself. But that was a road he didn’t want to go down—not today.

  “I don’t think the senator’s aide will release this to the press and I doubt March knows the truth. For now, we’ll just leave him in the dark. We have some serious planning to do—away from here.”

  “Mac, there isn’t anywhere far enough away that a government official can’t reach. Once you put me on this plane, your life was changed forever.”

  “My, we’re being pretty pessimistic, aren’t we? You know what they call me, I’m the head angel. I have friends in high places. Cheer up. Barney Rubble’s baby won’t be born in prison.”

  “Mac, stop it. I know you’re only trying to get my mind off the gravity of the situation. But please don’t joke about having children. It isn’t funny.”

  Apparently his attempt at relieving the tension with levity had touched a sore spot.

  “I’m sorry. I’m only trying to keep your spirits up. I never meant to cause you pain.”

  Sterling stretched her shoulders. “If you really want to do something for me, you’ll get me home to my hot tub.”

  “Good idea. One hot tub coming up,” he said, “but it won’t be at your place. You’re right about one thing.” He studied her seriously. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go home again. I think it’s time you got personally acquainted with Shangri-la.”

  Shangri-la. Sterling knew about Mac’s hideaway in the mountains of New Mexico. Conner had spent time there, recovering from the wounds he received in Berlin when his brother was killed. Conner wasn’t the first. Mac had his own private medical facility. Anyone he helped was safe and welcome there, for as long as necessary. That’s where Mac had lived for all the years Sterling had known of him.

  “Will your family be there?” she asked curiously.

  That question caught him off guard. “Family?”

  “You said you watched The Flintstones. I assume that means you have children.”

  “I have a daughter. But she doesn’t have any contact with our guests.”

  “And your wife?” Sterling was being uncharacteristically direct. Mac’s personal life was none of her business. She couldn’t imagine what had come over her.

  “I lost my wife, fifteen years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  It seemed natural that she should reach out and touch him, share the pain she saw in his eyes. She hadn’t expected the feeling of protectiveness that swept over her when she did. As they looked at each other, for one electric moment everything seemed to stop.

  “It’s all right,” he muttered. “I’ve asked you some pretty hard questions. Now it’s your turn to ask me.”

  “No. Your family is private. Your helping me—is different. I mean … that’s what you do, isn’t it? I know you helped Conner and Erica. And Katie Carithers. And there was that football player, too, a friend of Conner’s. I’ll be glad to pay you.”

  “Sterling, I never helped any of them personally. I have people, on my staff, outsiders who’ve been helped in the past. They do the real work. Not me. I’m just the connection, the arranger. I’m not someone you’d want to depend on.”

  “Yes, you are, Lincoln McAllister. You’re exactly the man I’d want to depend on. But—” She pulled back, reminding herself that she could get him killed, that she’d sworn to protect herself alone. “Because of me, Conner might be in jail. I’ve probably spoiled Katie and Montana’s wedding, and I’ve put you at risk.”

  “Yep, you’re a dangerous woman, Sterling Lindsey. And you’re brave and you’re beautiful. And I’m taking you home to meet Jessie.”

  “Who’s Jessie?”

  “Jessie is the woman I love most in this world.”

  Conner Preston sat sprawled in a straight-backed chair, presenting the illusion of total relaxation, a pose that was just that—an illusion.

  “I told you, my name is Conner Preston.”

  “And do you normally interfere with a police action?”

  “No, but I was trained as a Green Beret. When I saw you, I thought you were a hijacker and I reacted automatically.”

  The man in the gray suit rubbed his cheek and frowned, not yet ready to accept Conner’s explanation.

  “You know who I am,” Conner said. “How about telling me who you are?”

  The man in the gray suit looked startled, as if he expected everyone to know him. Conner bit back a smile. What an inflated ego, he thought.

  He finally answered. “My name is Vincent Dawson.”

  “Sorry, Vince, but”—Conner rubbed his neck—“you only got a black eye. Your guys almost broke my neck.”

  “You’re lucky they didn’t.”

  “So, who were you going after out there?”

  The man leaned casually against the wall of the small airport security room. But his eyes belied his movement. Conner decided this was a man who never relaxed. Men like him always had something to hide. Conner wondered what his secret was.

  “Doesn’t matter, Mr. Preston. It’s none of your concern. I think I’m going to let you go. For now. Next time stay out of something that isn’t your affair. That’s the way people get killed.”

  “Sure.” Conner watched him leave the room. Vincent had just issued a veiled threat. Something wasn’t right here. Being released after what happened didn’t make sense. Unless his interrogator already knew about his connection to Sterling
. Unless he wanted to keep his interest secret.

  That had to be the answer. Vince knew that Sterling was with Mac. Mac’s plane had filed a return flight plan on arrival, and Sterling had boarded that plane. With the Secret Service and the FBI files available to Mr. Vincent Dawson, he’d already learned who Conner Preston was and probably why he was here. And he knew that Mac had Sterling.

  Conner allowed himself a grim smile. He’d been surprised when Sterling had agreed to come to the wedding. Then he’d heard Mac would attend. Even then the connection hadn’t come to him. It had been Erica who knew how often Sterling and Mac talked. She suggested the possibility that they might be intrigued with each other. Sterling had come a long way from the beaten-down young woman he’d met in the rehabilitation center of a hospital ten years earlier. But Sterling and Mac?

  The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. Mac had lost his wife and Sterling had lost the use of her legs. Two wounded people who needed love. Not a bad idea.

  Conner would leave Sterling in Mac’s hands. He had a wedding to attend.

  Then he’d do a little checking on Mr. Vincent Dawson.

  THREE

  A sense of peace enveloped Mac as the plane swept over the mountaintop where he’d built his sanctuary. It had been that way for a long time. The outside world brought pain; Shangri-la soothed it. The few trips he’d made away from New Mexico had been short unavoidable ones that grew less and less frequent as the years passed.

  He glanced at Sterling and wondered what it was about her that had touched him so deeply. She couldn’t be more than thirty-five, probably younger, and as much a recluse as he. With just her soft voice on the phone, she’d caught his fancy. Sterling, this stranger who never left Paradox, intrigued him.

  Mac felt a connection with her that had eventually coaxed him away from his place of refuge. That bit of foolishness had thrown him into a complex situation. In previous times he’d been able to call on one of the people he’d helped before to return the favor by coming to the rescue of someone else. This time he was the one who was helping, because he was the person responsible for her plight.