Security Measures

Images from the past became so real, Janice could almost touch and taste them. Vincent, tanned and gorgeous, just home from college for the summer. She’d become infatuated with him at first sight, mesmerized by his dark eyes and the cocky confidence that characterized his every move. He’d been so different than the boys she was used to, he could have come from another planet.

He’d kissed her that first night in the moonlight. How he’d kissed her! She’d thought she was simply going to die when he pulled away. Impulsively her fingers went to her lips. But that was all before that night fifteen years ago, before she was pregnant….

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Janice Stevens/Candy Owens —Forced to change her identity after testifying in a murder trial, she will do anything to keep her daughter from ever knowing her biological father.

Vincent Magilinti —He’s a wanted man, but his only concerns are for the daughter he’s never met and the woman he can’t forget.

Kelly Stevens —At fourteen, she’s a typical adolescent—spunky, curious and wants to do everything her friends do. She can’t understand why her mother is so paranoid.

Byron Hasselbeck —A friend that Kelly met in an Internet chat room.

Ken Levine —The U.S. Sheriff in charge of protecting Janice and Kelly.

Tyrone Magilinti —Vincent Magilinti’s cousin who was recently released from prison.

Vincent Magilinti, Sr. —Head of the mob, who was murdered in a massacre in his house on St. Charles Avenue over fourteen years ago.

Joel Pinanski —The one man Vincent thinks he can trust.

Rico —An ex-mobster who worked with Vincent’s father.

Mush Face —One of the kidnappers.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Joanna Wayne lives with her husband just a few miles from steamy, exciting New Orleans, but her home is in the perfect writer’s hideaway. A lazy bayou, complete with graceful herons, colorful wood ducks and an occasional alligator, winds just below her back garden. When not creating tales of spine-tingling suspense and heart-warming romance, she enjoys reading, traveling, playing golf and spending time with family and friends.

Joanna believes that one of the special joys of writing is knowing that her stories have brought enjoyment to or somehow touched the lives of her readers. You can write Joanna at P.O. Box 2851, Harvey, LA 70059-2851.

Security Measures

Joanna Wayne

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Chapter One

“You never want me to have any fun. Never. You’re so paranoid, you hardly let me out of your sight. If my father were living, I bet you wouldn’t be so mean to me!”

Her daughter’s words echoed through Janice Stevens’s mind, searing a path straight to her heart. She could blame a lot of Kelly’s outbursts these days on adolescence and the surge of hormones coursing through her ever-changing body, but tonight’s blowup had hit too close to home.

Janice buried her toes in the sand as the cooling night breezes kicked up her skirt, then plastered it to her thighs. She’d looked forward to this week on North Carolina’s Outer Banks for months, envisioned it as the perfect opportunity for her to spend some quality time with Kelly.

The week had gone fairly well until tonight, though occasional sparks had flown. Tonight had started out well. They’d gone out for burgers and shakes, then taken a long walk on the beach before settling in to watch a movie from the extensive collection in the rented beach house.

Kelly had capitalized on the camaraderie by pleading her case to go to New Orleans one more time. Her school swim team had done exceptionally well this year, and they’d qualified for a Super Regional Meet in New Orleans. Her coach was taking eight of the top swimmers to the meet, preceded by a five-day sightseeing visit to New Orleans and the surrounding area.

All the other parents had giving their permission. Janice would sooner have let Kelly take a trip to Hades than to have her set one foot inside the city limits of New Orleans, especially now that Tyrone Magilinti had been paroled.

Janice hugged her windbreaker tighter and studied the shimmering band of moonlight that danced across the surface of the water. The setting was peaceful; her emotions were anything but. All she had to do was think of New Orleans, and the terrifying memories started riding roughshod over her nerves.

But she couldn’t explain that to Kelly. She’d spent her life protecting her daughter from the lingering horrors of that long-ago night. She certainly wouldn’t toss her to the demons now.

She started back to the house. Her cell phone rang. The caller ID said Ken Levine. Her already low mood took a nosedive. The U.S. Marshal in charge of her protection never called with good news.

“Hello, Ken. Tell me you called to see how my vacation was going.”

“I wish. I hate to hit you with this tonight, but I knew you’d want to know.”

Dread swelled in her chest. “Is it Tyrone?”

“No. It’s Vincent Magilinti.”

Vincent. She swallowed hard, hit by a new wave of dread and a tangle of confusing emotions that all but stole her breath. “What about Vincent?”

“He broke out of Angola last night.”

She exhaled slowly and shuddered. “How did that happen?”

“He was on kitchen duty. Some guy making deliveries had a seizure. In the commotion, Vincent sneaked into the back of the guy’s panel truck and hid in a big crate of sweet potatoes. The guard didn’t miss him until it was too late.”

“What do I do?”

“Nothing yet. As far as we can tell, both Vincent and his cousin Tyrone bought the story that you and Kelly are dead. You’ve been living peacefully for twelve years. No reason to think you can’t go on that way.”

“We lived peacefully when Tyrone and Vincent were in prison. They’re out now.”

“You’re right, but like I said, we have no reason to believe they think you’re alive. Even if they did, I doubt they’d have the money or the inclination to seek revenge at this point in their lives.”

“But their cronies might do it on their behalf.”

“Not likely. When Vince Sr. died and Tyrone and Vincent went to prison, the Mob fell under new leadership, and that’s been evolving over the past few years. Word is the new kingpin doesn’t want anything to do with the Magilintis.”

“More reason for Tyrone and Vincent to nurse their grudge against me.”

“Their grudge is against Candy Owens. She’s dead.”

Ken made it sound as if the prison break was no reason for concern, but she wasn’t buying the story. “I know you too well, Ken. If you were convinced there is no chance of danger, you wouldn’t have called.”

“Just a precaution.”

Yeah. Like a tornado watch or a hurricane warning is just a precaution. If it doesn’t hit, you’re fine. If it does, heaven help you.

“I’ll keep you posted,” Ken continued. “The authorities will probably have Vincent back in custody in a matter of days.”

“A lot can happen in a matter of days.”

“But no reason to think that it will.”

His voice was smooth and calm, no doubt designed to keep her from flying into a panic. Ken was good at that. If she’d had a father, she’d have wanted him to be like Ken. Instead, she’d fashioned Kelly’s fictional father after the genial marshal, only she’d made him much younger, of course.

Ken was in his mid-fifties with salt-and-pepper hair, receding in front and thinning on top and always needing a trim. He was six feet plus of muscle and very little excess fat. He was a man’s man, but he had a gentle way about him when she least expected it.

She trusted his judgment implicitly. If he said go back to Illinois, she’d go to Illinois. If he said stay at the beach, she’d stay. If he said run for the hills, she’d run.

“How is the vacation going?” he asked.

“Fine when my daughter isn’t lashing out at me for being controlling and paranoid. And that was before I had Vincent Magilinti to worry about.”

“You don’t know how I hated to make this call.”

She sank into herself, feeling as vulnerable as the grains of sand being tossed about by the wind and washed away with the tide. “I have another week off,” she said. “I’d planned to spend it at home. Should I risk that?”

“Unless I get back in touch with you and tell you differently. Just go on with your life as usual. And ease up on Kelly. She’s a good kid and once she gets past adolescence, she’ll be human again.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“Now, try to enjoy the rest of your vacation. If there’s anything you need, give me a call. I’m always here.”

“How about making Kelly and me invisible for a few weeks?”

“I did. Candy and Nicole Owens are dead and buried. You are the beautiful widow Janice Stevens who has resettled in Chicago with your daughter Kelly.”

“You make it all sound so workable.”

“Making it work is my job. Yours is to enjoy your vacation.”

“You got it.”

“Later.”

And that was that. But the nebulous dread continued as she trudged back to the beach house. Dread and the frightening premonition that she hadn’t seen the last of Vincent Magilinti.

THE FRENCH QUARTER looked the same as it had fifteen years ago. Even the wino sleeping it off on the street across from Jackson Square could be the same. A group of college-age guys and girls crossed the street and walked past him, laughing and talking loud as if it were three o’clock in the afternoon instead of three in the morning. Fifteen years ago, Vincent might have been one of the revelers; tonight, he was a man on the run.

It was risky to be here in the Quarter, but he was in desperate need of money and a vehicle. Vincent staggered as if he were drunk, then ducked into the dark corner bar and took a seat near the back. In less than a minute, another drunk, this one tall and burly, joined him at the table.

“Buy me a drink, buddy?” He hiccupped loudly and almost missed the chair as he slid into it.

“Sure.”

A couple at the bar started singing “Blueberry Hill.” A few other patrons joined in, all off-key.

“You look good for an escapee,” Rico whispered as he passed Vincent a key under the table. “Car’s a late-model, black two-door Ford parked on Rampart across from the Saenger. Money, car registration and an ID are in the glove compartment.”

“Did you get the tools?”

“They’re in a blue duffel in the trunk.”

“Thanks.”

The waiter walked by but ignored them, probably figuring they’d had enough to drink.

“You’re not driving to Chicago to look up Candy and the kid, are you?”

“Not a chance. As far as I’m concerned, they really are dead.”

“So where are you heading?”

“As far away from Angola as I can get.”

“You going to see Tyrone before you leave town?”

“Why should I?”

“He’s your cousin.”

“He didn’t do me any favors at the trial. I’m cutting out of here as soon as I walk out that door. I’m starting a new life.”

“I hope you make it. One drink before you go?”

“Yeah. Coffee. I’ve got to stay alert.”

Rico slammed a fist into the top of the bar. “What do you have to do get service in here?”

The waiter ambled over. “Name your poison.”

“I’ll take a scotch on the rocks,” he said, letting his voice slur a bit. “Give my buddy here a coffee. He’s had a few too many.”

“You have, too, if you’re driving.”

“Hell, no, I’m not driving. I got me a room right on Bourbon Street.”

“Good for you. Drinks are coming up.”

The waiter looked to be about twenty, a couple of years younger than Vincent had been when all hell had broken loose and life as he’d known it had exploded in a burst of machine-gun fire and flowing blood.

Now he was thirty-seven and felt as if he were a hundred. Prison did that to you. Yanked those rose-colored glasses of youth off your nose and crushed them under the feet of hundreds of brawny, tattooed thugs who all wanted to prove they were tougher than you.

The coffee was thick guck, heavy on the chicory. Vincent drank it quickly, then nodded and headed for the bathroom. When he came out, Rico was gone. Vincent put a few bills on the table and slipped out the door. Fifteen years had been a long time. He wondered if Candy Owens would recognize him.

He’d find out soon enough.

Chapter Two

Janice glanced at the clock on the dashboard as she pulled into the driveway of her home in the Chicago suburbs. Seven-thirty. Not bad timing, considering that they’d sat in stalled traffic for over an hour after a wreck on the interstate.

Kelly roused herself from the rap-induced coma she’d been in for the past hour, pulled the headphones from her ears and had the car door open by the time Janice came to a complete stop.

“Grab some luggage,” Janice reminded her.

“Mom.”

Kelly managed to stretch the word into three syllables, registering her irritation. “Why do we have to unload the car this minute?”

“Surely you can walk into the house with a couple of suitcases.”

“I will, but I was going to see Gayle first. I haven’t seen anyone in a week.”

“You’ve seen me, and I was someone last time I checked.”

“You know what I mean. Besides she’s leaving for New Orleans first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, but don’t be too long. Gayle’s mother picked up our mail for us this week, so bring that home with you.”

Janice watched her daughter barely skim the grass in her haste to visit her best friend and next-door neighbor. The two girls would have had to have been joined at the hip to be any more inseparable. Janice was thankful Gayle lived so close and that her mother was almost as protective of Kelly as Janice was.

In fact, Gayle’s mother was as close to a real friend as Janice dared to have. She and Joy Ann didn’t actually do anything together, but they chatted at the mailbox and occasionally shared a cup of coffee discussing the trials of living with a teenage daughter.

Reaching back into the car, Janice grabbed her keys from the ignition. She unlocked the back door to the house, then retrieved a box of grocery items from the SUV. The odors of coffee and overripe bananas mingled in her nostrils as she carried the box inside and set it on the counter.

Only there shouldn’t be a smell of coffee. They’d used the last of the grounds that morning and she’d thrown the empty bag away. She glanced at the coffeemaker. The light was on. Apprehension swelled on cue.

“Hello, Candy.”

Damn. She lunged for one of the kitchen knives in the wooden block. Vincent caught her from behind before she could. His fingers tightened around her wrists. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

She tried to jerk away from him, but he held on tight, pulling her to him so that her back was pressed into his chest and his breath was hot on the back of her neck.

He released his grip slowly, and she turned, gulping in a quick breath of air as she got her first look at what almost fourteen years in prison did to a man.

He’d been so young before, Hollywood handsome and boyishly seductive, with his mischievous smile and dark, dancing eyes. He was still handsome, but the lines in his face were hard and his chin looked as if it had been carved in granite. The muscles in his arms were more pronounced and his dark hair was cut so short, it barely covered his scalp. A scar ran from just below his left ear to under his jaw.

Only his eyes were still the same. Piercing. Mesmerizing. She shuddered and looked away.

“How did you get here?”

“I drove. The car’s parked in your backyard.”

Out of sight because he knew she’d have noticed a strange car parked in the driveway. “How did you know where to find me?” Her mind was already jumping ahead, thinking of how she could protect Kelly.

“Anybody can be found if someone really wants to find them.”

“They had my funeral.”

“I know. That was a smart move. I didn’t buy it, but then prisoners tend to be a cynical bunch. And here you are, sweet little Candy Owens, alive and kicking in Illinois.”

“The name is Janice Stevens now. How did you get in without setting off the alarm?”

“Alarms only keep out honest people and stupid burglars.”

“And you’re neither.”

“Right. So where’s my daughter?”

She’d never told Vincent she was pregnant, but the investigation and the pretrial hoopla had been in full swing while she was carrying Kelly. News reporters had dogged her every step, asking her if the baby she was expecting was a Magilinti. She’d denied it vehemently.

“If it had been your daughter I was pregnant with, I wouldn’t have kept her.”

His muscles flexed; for a second, she thought he was going to slug her, but he exhaled slowly. “I’ve been here for two days. I’ve seen her room. I’ve seen snapshots of her. Nicole, or whatever you call her now, is a Magilinti.”

“I call her by her name. Her name is Kelly Stevens.” She’s pretty. Smart, too, and a good swimmer. I saw her academic achievement awards on the wall of the den and the swimming trophies in her room. You’ve done well with her.”

The compliment got to her. So did his voice. It had deepened some over the years, but she’d have recognized it anywhere. Old memories rushed into her mind and she went weak.

She couldn’t let him do this to her. No matter what they had been before, he was the enemy now. She’d testified for the prosecuting attorney at his trial. She’d seen the gun in his hand the night of the bloody massacre that had left his father dead.

The fear hit again, like a white-hot pain searing into her heart. “If you’re here to kill me, then do it, but don’t hurt Kelly. She never did anything to you. She doesn’t even know you exist.”

“Why would I kill you? As far as I’m concerned, the woman I knew fifteen years ago is dead. I’m here for my daughter. That’s it.”

“If you want to do something for your daughter, walk away. She thinks her father is dead, Vincent. She thinks he’s a hero.”

“And I once thought her mother was an angel. People get over those early illusions.”

“How will you explain to her that you’re an escaped convict?”

“I won’t. Not yet. You’re Janice Stevens. I’m Vincent Jones, a friend of her father’s.”

“You can’t stay here. This will be one of the first places the Feds look.”

“That’s a chance I have to take.”

“Why? Why take that chance? You’re out of prison. Keep running, just don’t stay here. Don’t put Kelly in danger.”

“Look at me, Janice.”

She turned away.

His grip tightened. “I said look at me. I’m not here to hurt Kelly. I’m here to protect her.”

“The only danger comes from you, Vincent.”

“No. It comes from my cousin, Tyrone Magilinti. He knows where you are, and he has plans to kill the both of you.”

His tone was deadly serious. Icy chills snaked up her spine. “He’s been out of prison for three weeks.

He’s made no move to hurt us.”

“But he will. He’s planned his revenge for years.”

“If that’s true, we have to tell the police. I work with a U.S. Marshal. He’ll know how to handle this.”

“You can’t call the police and you can’t tell the marshal. Get them involved, and he’ll put this off until you think you’re safe again. The police will let down their guard. They always do. He knows that.”

“Okay, you stay here. But let me take Kelly away. Please, let me take her somewhere safe.”

“Listen to me. If I wanted to hurt you or Kelly, I’d do it now.” He slid a gun from a holster under his shirt. “All I’d have to do is fire this. I’m here to protect Kelly. If you run, he’ll find you. If you stay with me, I can protect her. I know Tyrone. I know how he thinks. He’s evil to the core, but I know his weaknesses.”

She looked up and met his burning gaze again. He was deadly serious. She didn’t want to believe him, didn’t want to believe Tyrone had already planned her and Kelly’s execution. But there was no way to look into Vincent’s eyes and not believe he was telling the truth. And if he was, did she dare send him away and trust the police to save her from Tyrone?

“Let me save my daughter, Candy. Then I’ll walk out of your life and never bother you again. I promise.”

“And you won’t tell her that you’re her father?”

“No. Your identity is safe with me.”

“Then don’t call me Candy. The name is Janice.”

“Janice it is.”

There wasn’t time to say more. Any other night, Janice would have had to call and ask Joy Ann to send Kelly home, but tonight she was at the door that led to the garage with both hands wrapped around a towel encased casserole dish. A plastic grocery bag was hooked over her wrist, mail spilling out the top.

“I could use some help here.”

Vincent went to her aid. Janice stood frozen to the spot, paralyzed as Kelly came face-to-face with her father for the first time. Kelly stared at him critically; Janice held her breath, waiting for the worst, half expecting that Kelly would feel some kind of weird bond and figure it all out. But she handed him the food and went right back to talking.

“Mrs. Givens made an extra chicken potpie so you wouldn’t have to cook tonight. It’s still hot.”

“That was thoughtful.” Her voice was too shaky. If she didn’t get some control, she’d never be able to pull this off.

Kelly tossed the mail to the kitchen table, then looked from Janice to Vincent. “So, who are you, anyway?”

“He’s a family friend,” Janice said, this time managing to keep her voice more steady.

“We have family friends? News to me.”

“Actually I’m a friend of your father’s.”

“Shut up! For real?”

“For real. I’m Vincent Jones, and you must be Kelly.”

“That’s me. Well, my name is Elizabeth Kelly, but everyone calls me Kelly.”

“It fits.”

“Did you really know my dad?”

“Very well. We grew up together.”

“How come I never heard of you before?”

“Good question.”

“Was my dad as handsome as Mom says he was?”

“Your mother said he was handsome?”

“Yeah. A hunkster.”

“Kelly, why don’t you bring in the rest of the luggage,” Janice said.

“I’ll help you,” Vincent said.

“Fantastic! And you have to stay for dinner. Mrs. Givens makes a to-die-for chicken potpie, not like that frozen junk you buy at the market.”

“Sounds delicious.”

Janice just stood there watching the two of them connect like old friends. She’d spent the past fourteen years praying Kelly would never know the monster whose blood ran through her veins.

Now the monster had escaped from prison and was moving in. Heaven help them all.

KELLY’S CELL PHONE RANG. She answered it, then left Vincent and Candy alone in the kitchen. Only she wasn’t Candy anymore. She was Janice Stevens, a legal secretary and widowed mom living in Chicago, Illinois. But it wasn’t only her name that had changed. She acted different, talked different, even looked different.