Harper Allen - Covert Cowboy

“He stole viral stock.” Even to her own ears her voice sounded strained. “We’re a pharmaceutical firm. That’s one of the things our research department works with—viruses, some of them deadly. And somehow Corso got into my computer and authorized the transfer of a batch to a nonexistent company.”

Now she did meet his eyes. “Either he intends to sell it on the black market, or…” She’d been wrong, Marilyn thought sickly. This was the sentence too terrible to finish.

But the dark-haired man in front of her seemed to have no qualms. “Or he’s got his own plans for the stuff,” Con said.

He held her gaze, his features so grim they seemed carved. Like emeralds on fire, his eyes blazed with some incendiary emotion in the tan of his face.

That emotion was hatred, Marilyn realized with a sudden chill—a hatred so deep and all-encompassing that it seemed almost an entity in itself. If Con Ducharme’s hatred didn’t consume his enemy, she thought slowly, it would end up not only consuming him but everything he held precious.

Fear ran through her. Her hand spread protectively over the child growing inside her.

“You know what that plan is, don’t you?” Her voice cracked. “You know what Tony used me for.”

Just for a second the emotion in those green eyes darkened to compassion. Then it blazed up again, and when Con answered her his tone was devoid of any feeling at all.

“It’s not his plan, cher’, it’s his mobster uncle’s. And Helio DeMarco would only want to get his hands on experimental viral stock for one reason.” He gave a humorless smile.

“DeMarco intends to use it as a weapon against whoever gets in his way. And that includes anyone who might be too close to discovering what he’s done with your nephew, Sky Langworthy.”

“You never wanted Tony at all, did you?” Marilyn looked up at Con in dawning comprehension. “The mobster’s the one you’re really after.”

“Helio DeMarco.” He’d drawn something from his pocket, she saw. It gleamed between his fingers as he passed it back and forth, and she realized it was a silver coin. He smiled tightly as he noticed her watching him. “You’re right. I’ve been hunting the bastard for eight months now, ever since he killed a friend of mine. One of these days I’m going to find him, and then—”

The silver dollar flashed upward as he tossed it carelessly into the air. It came down, and he caught it. He spread his palms wide for her inspection, and she inhaled sharply as she realized the coin was nowhere to be seen.

“And then Helio DeMarco’s going to disappear, just like that,” Con said softly. “That’s New Orleans justice, cher’.”

Something in his tone shook her. “Where I come from that’s vengeance,” she said unevenly. “No police force would countenance one of their own taking revenge like that.” Her gaze widened with swift doubt. “Unless that was a lie, too. Are you really a detective with the New Orleans Police, Con?”

For a moment she wondered if he was going to answer her. Then he grinned with real amusement. “Does this sound like a Minnesota accent, sugar?” he drawled. “Sure I’m with the New Awlins authorities, cher’. But I’ll bet you checked me out already, didn’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, I—”

Marilyn stopped, the words dying in her throat. That grin. It was absolutely devastating. And why hadn’t she noticed before that instead of being completely green, in a certain light those emerald eyes of his seemed sparked with gold? He was definitely too much, of course, with one wayward strand of raven-black hair falling across his brow and thick lashes casting shadows on those hard-cut cheekbones. Even his choice of attire, austere as his dark suit and white shirt seemed at first glance, was a world away from both Boston and Denver. His vest was a black on black brocade. His shirt wasn’t cotton, but creamy linen.

He was a throwback. Even as the thought occurred to her she knew she’d hit upon the key to the man. Con Ducharme was pistols at dawn, bourbon on the verandah, a risky dalliance with another man’s wife in a jasmine-scented and moonlit garden. He was a quick temper flaring over a card game. He was heated hours entwined in satin sheets.

He was wearing a gun.

Hard reality returned in a rush as she glimpsed the sliver of worn leather briefly revealed under his jacket. He’d as much as confessed to her that he intended to kill a man. That lazy charm camouflaged a resolve as cold as bare steel.

“As a matter of fact, I did check up on you,” she said slowly. “But tell me, aren’t you a little out of your jurisdiction? You said it yourself—it’s New Orleans justice you’re dispensing, and Denver’s a long way from the Big Easy.”

“I had some time coming to me. I took it. This is a private hunt, not an official one.” He looked away. “You’re right, from the first I was only after Corso because I hoped he’d lead me to DeMarco, and when I found out he’d left his position at your company I got a real bad feeling. When I learned that Mills & Grommett dealt with viral material and that the family who owned the company had just had a child kidnapped, the bad feeling got worse.”

He met her confused gaze, his own shadowed. “But I needed a solid link between his nephew’s disappearance and Sky’s abduction before I could know for sure he was involved, and there didn’t seem to be one until this week when the Denver police forwarded the reports I’d requested on the kidnapping. I’d told them it sounded similar to an unsolved case I’d worked on years ago,” he added.

And why did you feel you needed to give me that information? Marilyn wondered, watching as he looked briefly away again and then back at her, his gaze once more steady and clear. He was lying, she thought with sudden certainty. Not about everything, maybe not about anything important, but it hadn’t happened the way he was telling her.

Still, he was a police detective talking about a case, whether it was officially sanctioned or not. Maybe he was holding back details he couldn’t—

“Denver CSI found traces of eggshells in Sky’s crib.” His words ran through her like an electric shock, driving all else from her mind. He took in her reaction. “Apparently that means the same thing to you as it did to me.”

“I’ve visited M & G’s research facilities often enough to know that one method of cultivating viral stock is to inject it into eggs.” Too agitated to remain seated any longer, she got to her feet and faced him. “I assume you’ve already informed the local police that you suspect Helio DeMarco’s involved in Sky’s kidnapping, but with what I found out today about the missing viral stock, it’s obvious they should widen their investigation to include Corso.”

She swallowed. “I—I’m willing to provide a statement to the Denver P.D. as soon as you can arrange it with them. Just give me a few minutes to compose a notice of resignation from my position at Mills & Grommett. It could save the company some embarrassment when this all comes out, and it might lessen the impact on Josh’s campaign.”

She placed a hand on the back of the sofa for support against the dizziness that swept over her. “Governor Houghton’s people are going to make political hay with this as it is. My brother’s run his platform on the premise that biological weapons research and testing should continue to be restricted, and Houghton is all for opening up the field and bringing a new lab facility to Colorado. Josh won’t have a leg to stand on when the public learns his own sister allowed potentially lethal stock to be stolen right out from under her nose.”

“The public isn’t going to know that.” Dark brows knitted together in a scowl, and without warning he strode to her side. She felt him take her arm in a firm grasp. “Dammit, cher’, when did you last eat?”