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“That idiot,” the first one said, “thinking we’d let him run the show after he’d already botched things.”
“He’ll end up just like his little girlfriend,” the other one said, laughing.
The voices grew closer and the front door banged open. Ty peered around the corner again. If it was just him, he’d make a run for it, but couldn’t chance someone else being in the car and seeing Norma Rose. He tucked her closer to his side and pulled her down to a crouch as the beam of a flashlight shone through the window.
“There’s no one here,” one of them said.
“Probably hiding,” the other answered. “Girlie, oh, girlie, come out, come out, wherever you are.”
Norma Rose shivered and Ty gestured toward an old shed behind the house. She followed him through the dark, around the back of the shed. “I have to find a weapon,” he whispered.
“Don’t you have a gun?”
“I left it in my truck,” he answered, kicking at the ground for anything of substance.
She let out a hiss before saying, “Here, it’s a yard rake. I found a shovel, too.”
He took the rake. “Give me the shovel, too.”
She’d moved a few steps away. “No, I’ll need it.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Stop arguing,” she insisted. “They just came out the back door.”
A shovel wasn’t much, but she would need something. With the rake in one hand, he said, “Stay here.”
“No,” she said, “You stay here.”
Before Ty had a chance to react, or figure out what she was doing, Norma Rose shot around the building. “Yoo-hoo!” she shouted. “Over here.” She turned around and while running past him, hissed, “Trip them with the rake.”
Ty cursed, but kneeled down and stuck out the rake handle. The ground rumbled with footfalls, but he still caught a glimpse of Norma Rose rounding the far corner of the shed. The first thug went down, wrenching the hold Ty had on the rake.
The second one shouted, “Get up!” as he kept running, not noticing what had tripped his companion.
Ty leaped on the first one, yanking the man’s hands behind his back. All he had were Norma Rose’s stockings, so he used one to tie the man’s hands while kneeling on the back of his head, keeping the thug’s shouts muffled by the tall grass. Ty shoved the rake handle between the man’s arms and back, so he couldn’t roll over, and then found the man’s holster and pulled out the gun.
He’d just jumped to his feet when a resounding thud and scream shattered the air. He ran around the building, heart thumping, and fueled with raw, burning fear. The other corner of the shed was bathed in the headlights of the car, and Ty raced forward to where Norma Rose stood over a prone body.
“I hope I didn’t kill him,” she said. “I didn’t mean to hit him that hard.”
Ty took the shovel from her hand and pulled her into his arms. “Don’t ever do that again,” he growled.
“Did you expect me to hide in the bushes?” Without waiting for his answer, she kissed his cheek. “Please check to make sure I didn’t kill him. You got the other one, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Ty answered, unsure what else to say. There wasn’t much. He kneeled down to check the other man and found a pulse. “You knocked him out cold.”
“Good.” She let out a loud sigh. “Now what?”
“Now we hope there’s no one else in that car.”
She spun toward the headlights. “I never thought of that.”
“Obviously,” he answered, tying this man’s hands with her other stocking. If anyone was in the car, they’d have surely shown themselves before now, which did offer a pittance of relief.
“They would have already climbed out, wouldn’t they?”
“Let’s hope so.” Ty stood. “This one will be fine for a minute. I have to get the other one.”
* * *
Norma Rose started to tremble, but she held herself upright until Ty walked away, then she slumped against the wall and pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart was attempting to beat its way out. Too much had happened too quickly—being taken by Ted and Janet, Ty coming to her rescue, Ty taking her to bed, the thugs—she couldn’t think this fast, let alone live it.
But she had lived it and survived. Thrived, during Ty’s lovemaking. She pushed off the wall and glanced around the corner, toward the car. Ty was ushering a man around the long vehicle, and she watched as he unhitched the trunk and forced the man inside.
“The trunk?” she asked, when he started walked toward her.
“Yes, I don’t know how long your stockings will hold up.”
“My stockings?”
“That’s what I tied their hands with.” He then hoisted the man she’d hit with the shovel off the ground by the shoulders and started dragging him toward the car. “I’ll need you to open the trunk this time.”
“What are we going to do with them?” she asked.
“Take them to the resort,” he answered. “You’ll have to drive Bronco’s car. I have it hidden in the woods.”
Chapter Eighteen
Norma Rose was at the window in her office, watching the front lot. The same place she’d stood five long days ago when Ty had driven away. Her love for him had grown desperate. She knew where he’d gone this time—after Bodine—and rather than wallow in self-pity, she was praying to the heavens for his safe return. He was still an agent, she a bootlegger’s daughter, and she had no idea where that might lead them, but she would never give up on him. On them.
None of the cars rolling into the parking lot were the Duesenberg Ty had driven away in that night, with the two thugs who’d been responsible for Janet Smith’s death in the trunk. The sleek automobiles parking out front were early arrivals for Palooka George’s party coming up in two days’ time. Norma Rose wasn’t worried about the party or the guests’ accommodations. Her sisters had everything under control. Thank goodness, because to her, the party seemed frivolous.
In this very room, she’d discovered Ralph Brandon was Ray Bodine’s alias. He hadn’t arrived at the resort to claim the reservation he’d made for the farmhouse. She hadn’t expected him to, not after what Ty and her father had said, but she was concerned. If Bodine recognized Ty, he’d be killed for sure. Mobsters, especially the cutthroat ones like Bodine, had communication lines that burned hotter and faster than phone lines, and Ty would be the subject, put on a list far and wide.
She’d told her father it was imperative no one learn Ty’s real identity, but he still hadn’t sent anyone after Ty, insisting that would implicate him and the resort. Fury had never lived so strongly in her, or remained there so long.
Her door opened and she turned from the window, pinching her lips as her father walked in. “Have you seen this?” he asked sternly.
Silently, for she’d barely said two words to him in days, she took the envelope and opened the flap to reveal a stack of bills. She handed it back and shook her head.
“It’s from Brock,” her father barked.
She had no emotion to waste on this. “He paid off his family’s debt. You should be glad.”
“He should have been taking care of Ginger rather than making money,” her father bellowed.
“Ginger’s fine. Palooka George told you that when he arrived.” Gesturing at the envelope, she added, “Looks to me like Brock’s done both.” An inkling of jealousy stirred inside her, at what Ginger had managed to find. Norma Rose paused, realizing she, too, had found it. “I’m happy for them. Very happy, and you should be, too. You should be proud your daughter knew a good man when she saw one.” Moving toward the door, she said, “Excuse me, I have work to do.”
“If I’d sent anyone after Ty, it may have gotten him killed.”
Her fingers, curled around the doorknob, squeezed harder and she swallowed. “Or saved his life.”
“He’ll survive, Rosie. He’s the best there is.”
“I know that, and I hope you’re right,” she said, opening the door. “Because I won’t survive if he doesn’t.”
“Rosie—”
She left the building.
Taking the trail, she walked to the Northlander, the cabin she’d refused to rent even when her sisters claimed several guests wanted cabins rather than rooms upstairs. People could sleep on the floor for all she cared.
In the cabin, she sat down at the table. There was nothing here of Ty’s, no mementoes or signs that he’d ever been here, but she pretended. So far as to believe she could smell his aftershave. Dropping her head on the table, she closed her eyes. There were no tears left inside her, just emptiness. She tried to fill the gap with fantasies of how things might have been, but that was no longer working. Not after five days.
Emptying her lungs, she lifted her head and her line of vision caught something in the window. A reflection of herself, ghostly and thin, like she was there but wasn’t.
Frowning, she looked harder at the faint image. After all she’d been through, this was how she ended up? A weak and fading image of who she’d been. Her frown increased. When had that happened? Why? A flutter happened deep inside her, as if an almost forgotten part of her wanted to return.
