ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE Read Free Page A

“When can we go?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper. “It’s going to be Carlo’s bedtime soon.”
    “I’ll drive you to your hotel soon.” He sat, one hip on the table beside her, a casual pose that was supposed to help her relax, but there was nothing at ease about the rigid set of her shoulders. With one hand she smoothed her son’s hair, over and over. “We’ll provide protection for you until we’re sure you and your son are safe. If we decide to press charges against anyone else, you may be asked to testify, and in that case you’ll be under our protection until the trial. After that, you’ll have the option of going into Witness Security and assuming a new identity.”
    “No.” The hand that had been stroking her son stilled. “I won’t do that.”
    Not an unusual reaction to the idea of starting life over as someone else. It took time for most people to come around. “You and your son could be in danger,” he said.
    “I can take care of my son.”
    “We can talk about this more later. For now, you’ll be assigned an agent for protection.”
    If looks really could kill, the hate-filled stare she directed at him would have felled him like a shot. He pretended not to notice. “Do you have family you want us to notify—parents, siblings?” he asked.
    “I’m an only child.”
    “Your parents, then.” He consulted the notes in the file. “Your mother and father, Debby and George Franklin, live in Queens?”
    “I don’t want to see them.”
    “Why not?” Had there been a rift when she married Giardino?
    “That’s none of your business.”
    He conceded the point and let his gaze drift to the boy. The key with a hostile witness was to find some point of connection. “How is your son?”
    “He’s tired and confused. He wants to go home.” Her expression softened and she stroked the boy’s hair again—a honey color several shades darker than her own. “I haven’t told him about his father yet. I’m not sure he’d understand.”
    “And how are you doing?”
    The hardness returned. “If you’re worried I’m all torn up because my husband’s dead, don’t be.”
    “So you’re not upset?”
    “I’m not. I hated him.”
    “Then why did you marry him?”
    She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
    “Try me.”
    She pressed her lips together in a thin line. He thought she wasn’t going to say anything, but he waited anyway. Had she really hated her husband, or was this a ploy to distance herself further from the Giardinos and their crimes? “My father and his father arranged for us to get married,” she said. “I scarcely even knew him.”
    “Come on. This is the twenty-first century. And it’s America, not the old country.”
    Her expression clouded. “I told you you wouldn’t understand.”
    He let the words hang between them, hoping she’d elaborate, but she did not. She didn’t look away from him either, but kept her gaze steady and challenging, unflinching.
    He shifted, and his leg brushed against her arm. She flinched and he moved away. This wasn’t right, him looming over her this way. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, turned to face her. “I wanted to ask you a few more questions about today,” he said.
    “I can’t tell you anything about the Giardinos.”
    “You were married to Sam Giardino’s son for four years. You lived in the Giardino family home during all that time. I believe you know more than you think you know. Did people often come to the house to discuss business?”
    She remained silent.
    He removed a photograph from the folder—an eight-by-ten glossy used by Senator Greg Nordley in his campaign. “Have you seen this man before? At the house or with Sam or Sammy somewhere else?”
    She scarcely glanced at the photo. “Where are the other women—Victoria and Elizabeth? Have you asked them these questions?”
    The women were at this moment in other interrogation rooms, being questioned by other officers.