Read Online The Marshal's Pursuit by Gina Welborn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gina Welborn
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second in the binder. You didn’t recognize him.”
“Oh. Why wasn’t Mr. Daly in the binder?”
“Until he’s brought up on charges, he’s still an assistant district attorney.”
She nodded as if that made sense to her.
She was rather nice to look at, with the contrast between her amber eyes and tobacco-colored hair worn piled on top of her head like a crown. A few strands grazed the part of her collarbone exposed by the wide neckline of her gown. Frank swallowed and returned his attention to her face. But it wasn’t merely those details that he found attractive. She didn’t lower her lids like a coquette. He’d noticed how she met Cady’s gaze with the same boldness as she met his, which was how she had also looked at Edwin Daly. Malia Vaccarelli wasn’t timid and insecure, which some men wouldn’t admire, but he did. He liked confident women, and when they were in lacy gowns that accentuated every feminine curve...
Frank cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you are caught up in this.”
She nodded again, just nodded.
“I’m not what you think I am,” he insisted. “Give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“And put my life at risk?”
“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be speaking now.”
She opened her mouth then closed it.
Frank sighed. It’d been a long day, his foot was aching, he’d missed lunch and he didn’t care much for the musty smell inside the train car from the last passengers, but this conversation needed to happen now. “May I ask how it is you have such a negative view of law enforcement personnel?”
Her eyes flared. “Coppers beat my grandfather until he learned to speak to them in English,” she snapped, her beauty unblemished by the accusatory edge in her words. “Coppers beat my father until he paid for their protection. Weekly they collected donations from his businesses.”
“Is it possible,” he said softly, “that your father and grandfather did not share the whole truth regarding those events? That maybe they were beaten for mafiosiinvolvement? The donations were really payoffs?”
She shifted uncomfortably, and when she spoke, her jaw barely moved. “Yes.”
He didn’t fault her for resenting his question. Nor did her animosity bother him. If he were in her shoes, he’d be as suspicious, angry and embarrassed as she was. Not to mention exhausted. But he couldn’t leave his questioning there. He had to push her into reevaluating what she’d been taught, so that she would open her mind to viewing him as her protector.
He ensured his tone stayed gentle. “In light of that, is it possible they were erroneous about all police being corrupt?” When she didn’t answer, he asked again, “Could they have been?”
“Yes,” she bit off. “Is that what you want to hear? You’re right, I’m wrong. You’re honorable, I’m debased. You’re—” Her voice broke; eyes welled with tears. She turned to the mirror, gripped the sink, her shoulders shaking as she cried. “I don’t know what...is wrong with...me. This isn’t— I don’t cry. I don’t yell at strangers...or friends...or family...or anyone at all.”
That didn’t surprise him. Anne Morgan had, indeed, described Miss Vaccarelli as a kindhearted soul, without an enemy in the world, someone able to put the most unfriendly sort at ease. Yet she looked battle-weary.
“You’ve had a rough day,” he offered.
She wiped her eyes, smearing the soot from her fingers onto her skin. “Oh, splendid.”
The train’s whistle blew and the train started to move forward to where they would pick up passengers. That meant he had only a specific amount of time in his metaphorical hourglass to reach that truce. Or else she wouldn’t get off the train with him. That then would mean he would have to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off, literally speaking.
Frank withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to her. “Here.”
She took it with a whispered, “Thank you.”
He
“Oh. Why wasn’t Mr. Daly in the binder?”
“Until he’s brought up on charges, he’s still an assistant district attorney.”
She nodded as if that made sense to her.
She was rather nice to look at, with the contrast between her amber eyes and tobacco-colored hair worn piled on top of her head like a crown. A few strands grazed the part of her collarbone exposed by the wide neckline of her gown. Frank swallowed and returned his attention to her face. But it wasn’t merely those details that he found attractive. She didn’t lower her lids like a coquette. He’d noticed how she met Cady’s gaze with the same boldness as she met his, which was how she had also looked at Edwin Daly. Malia Vaccarelli wasn’t timid and insecure, which some men wouldn’t admire, but he did. He liked confident women, and when they were in lacy gowns that accentuated every feminine curve...
Frank cleared his throat. “I’m sorry you are caught up in this.”
She nodded again, just nodded.
“I’m not what you think I am,” he insisted. “Give me the benefit of the doubt.”
“And put my life at risk?”
“If I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be speaking now.”
She opened her mouth then closed it.
Frank sighed. It’d been a long day, his foot was aching, he’d missed lunch and he didn’t care much for the musty smell inside the train car from the last passengers, but this conversation needed to happen now. “May I ask how it is you have such a negative view of law enforcement personnel?”
Her eyes flared. “Coppers beat my grandfather until he learned to speak to them in English,” she snapped, her beauty unblemished by the accusatory edge in her words. “Coppers beat my father until he paid for their protection. Weekly they collected donations from his businesses.”
“Is it possible,” he said softly, “that your father and grandfather did not share the whole truth regarding those events? That maybe they were beaten for mafiosiinvolvement? The donations were really payoffs?”
She shifted uncomfortably, and when she spoke, her jaw barely moved. “Yes.”
He didn’t fault her for resenting his question. Nor did her animosity bother him. If he were in her shoes, he’d be as suspicious, angry and embarrassed as she was. Not to mention exhausted. But he couldn’t leave his questioning there. He had to push her into reevaluating what she’d been taught, so that she would open her mind to viewing him as her protector.
He ensured his tone stayed gentle. “In light of that, is it possible they were erroneous about all police being corrupt?” When she didn’t answer, he asked again, “Could they have been?”
“Yes,” she bit off. “Is that what you want to hear? You’re right, I’m wrong. You’re honorable, I’m debased. You’re—” Her voice broke; eyes welled with tears. She turned to the mirror, gripped the sink, her shoulders shaking as she cried. “I don’t know what...is wrong with...me. This isn’t— I don’t cry. I don’t yell at strangers...or friends...or family...or anyone at all.”
That didn’t surprise him. Anne Morgan had, indeed, described Miss Vaccarelli as a kindhearted soul, without an enemy in the world, someone able to put the most unfriendly sort at ease. Yet she looked battle-weary.
“You’ve had a rough day,” he offered.
She wiped her eyes, smearing the soot from her fingers onto her skin. “Oh, splendid.”
The train’s whistle blew and the train started to move forward to where they would pick up passengers. That meant he had only a specific amount of time in his metaphorical hourglass to reach that truce. Or else she wouldn’t get off the train with him. That then would mean he would have to toss her over his shoulder and carry her off, literally speaking.
Frank withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and offered it to her. “Here.”
She took it with a whispered, “Thank you.”
He
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