Cindi Myers - Rocky Mountain Rescue

Instead of thinking about what Stacy had said, his thoughts turned to everything she hadn’t said. Why had her father and Sam arranged for her to marry Sammy—if that had indeed happened? What had the Giardinos done to make her so afraid? Was she really as ignorant of their dealings as she claimed?

And why did she get to him, making him forget himself and want to comfort her? Protect her? Was she just a good actress, accomplished at manipulating men, or was something else going on here? He needed to understand so he could avoid making a wrong move in the future.

A sharp knock sounded on the door. “Come in.”

Sergeant Robinson, a thin, balding officer, leaned in. “Sir?”

“What is it, Sergeant? Why aren’t you with Mrs. Giardino?”

The sergeant’s gaze darted around the office, as if he expected to find Stacy Giardino standing in the corner. “She’s not with you?”

“No. She’s in interview room two. I told you that.”

The sergeant swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “The interview room is empty, sir. Mrs. Giardino is gone.”

Chapter Three

Stacy wasn’t about to wait around for Sergeant What’s-his-name to haul her off to a hotel room that would be little better than a prison. She’d had enough of men telling her what she could and couldn’t do and where she could and couldn’t go. Now that Sammy was dead, she had a chance to start life over, but she was going to do it on her own terms.

She checked the hall to make sure the coast was clear, then woke Carlo. “Time to go, honey,” she said, hoisting him onto one hip.

“Where are we going, Mama?” he asked.

“We’re going to stay in a hotel. Won’t that be fun?” She kept her voice to a whisper, but tried to sound excited for Carlo’s sake. “They’ll probably have a pool and you can go swimming.”

“Will Daddy be there?”

His face was so serious—too serious for a little boy. “No, Daddy can’t make it. But you and I will have a good time, won’t we?” Soon, when things were more settled, she’d have to tell him about his father. Though Stacy had long ago ceased to like, much less love, her late husband, Carlo adored his daddy, even though Sammy had spent less and less time with the boy in the past months. She wasn’t sure a three-year-old would understand death, but Carlo would be devastated once he accepted his father wasn’t coming back. She’d postpone that pain for him a little longer.

Once in the hallway, she headed for the door marked Stairs. Less chance of running into anyone than if she risked the elevator. Fortunately, she only had to go down two floors and there was a back door. Probably where all the smokers went to sneak a cigarette, she thought, and slipped out, praying an alarm wouldn’t sound.

The door opened into a parking lot at the back of the building. Only a few cars sat in the glow of overhead lights. A stiff breeze blew swirls of snow around her feet as she hurried across the concrete. She needed to find her way onto the main drag and lose herself in the crush of tourists.

She followed the sounds of voices and music to Telluride’s main street, where she fell into step behind a crowd of adults and children—a big family group on vacation, she guessed. A quick check over her shoulder told her the brawny marshal wasn’t following her—he was tall enough she’d have spotted him, even in this crowd. And he had the clean-cut good looks and alert attitude that pegged him as law enforcement from half a mile away.

She checked the shops along the street and spotted one that advertised children’s clothing. A woman with a kid wouldn’t stand out in there. She set Carlo down and pretended to look through the racks of clothing while he headed for the toy box against the wall. She needed a plan.

“Can I help you find something in particular?” an older woman in a black wool skirt, pink blouse and boots asked.

“You have such great stuff here,” Stacy gushed. “I wish I had more time to shop. I just ducked in here while I’m waiting for my husband. But I’ll be back tomorrow when I have more time.”

“Your son is adorable,” the woman said, and she and Stacy both turned to watch Carlo fitting big foam blocks together.

“Thank you.” Stacy offered her most dazzling smile. “He’s going through that phase where he just loves trains and buses and airplanes. Does Telluride have a bus station?”

“Not really. Some of the hotels run shuttle buses to the airports, and there are buses to the ski area.”

“Thanks. I was just curious.” She could rent a car to get away, but that required a credit card and ID and would be easy to trace. She pulled out her phone and pretended to read a text. “Got to go. Come on, son, we have to go.”

“But I want to stay here and play,” Carlo said.

“We’ll try to come back tomorrow and stay longer.” She held out her hand and Carlo took it.

On the sidewalk once more, she tried to think of her next move. Maybe she could catch an airport shuttle. Anything to get out of town. She set off walking toward a high-rise on the corner where she could see several tour buses and a crowd of cars waiting for their turn to unload beneath the portico.

As she’d expected, the building was a hotel, and a busy one, crowded with people coming and going. Perfect. She’d just be one more anonymous woman in the crowd. She threaded her way through a line of tourists unloading luggage and skis from a shuttle bus and entered the lobby. She made her way to the front desk and turned on the charm for the clerk, a harried-looking young man with thinning blond hair. “What time is the airport shuttle?” she asked.

“Telluride, Montrose or Durango?” he asked, not even looking up from his computer screen.

She hesitated. “Um...”

“The bus to Durango leaves in ten minutes, but the one for Telluride will be right behind it.”

“Great. Thanks.” Durango it was.

She took a seat behind a potted plant and gave Carlo her phone to keep him occupied. She was showing him how to get to the games she’d downloaded for him when the phone rang, startling her.

She stared at the number. A 303 area code—Denver. Those marshals were probably based in Denver, weren’t they? She hit the button to ignore the call, but a few seconds later, the chime sounded, indicating she had a message.

She hesitated, then decided to listen to the message. Maybe it wasn’t the marshal at all.

Patrick Thompson’s deep, velvety voice filled her ears. “Running away is not a good idea,” he said. “Call me back at this number and I’ll send someone to pick you up. I promise you’ll be safe with us.”

“Right.” She was supposed to trust the people who had shot her husband. At least that was the story Thompson himself had given her. Apparently Sammy had killed his father, then turned the gun on his sister, but still, it was a federal agent who’d put the bullet in his back that killed Sammy. And though this Patrick Thompson guy had been nice enough when he was interviewing her, he was probably like all the rest—he thought she was like Sammy—a lowlife mobster, or even worse, his tramp of a wife. Why would they be so concerned about her safety? They really wanted her to tell all she knew so they could pin the Giardino family crimes on someone. But after today, no one was left to blame, except maybe for a few thugs who’d been following Sam and Sammy’s orders.

She switched off the phone, hoping that would keep them from being able to trace its signal or GPS or whatever the feds used to keep tabs on people. She was tempted to leave the phone behind, but being that cut off from any resources felt too dangerous.

A deluxe passenger van pulled up and the driver announced the Durango airport shuttle. Stacy and Carlo joined the line of people climbing on board. “Name, miss?” The driver was checking off names on a list on a clipboard. He was a middle-aged man with a round face and an underdeveloped chin.