The Marshal's Pursuit Read Online Free PDF Page A

been. After the funeral, Grandfather DeWitt had yelled at Giovanni, saying they both knew the yacht their parents and nonni had been on hadn’t sunk on accident. What if it had been a hit on them like the one now out on Giovanni? Completely possible. Plausible. And also ridiculous. Her brother did not murder Mad Dog Miller. Wrong place, wrong time, he’d said.
    But she could not ignore Fact 5: Patrolmen caught him at the scene of the murder, and now the Metropolitans were banking on a search warrant to find some evidence of criminal activity. If he was innocent, he should have nothing to fear.
    But if the packages of money were counterfeit...
    Malia stopped pacing and looked at the printed matchbox on the edge of the settee. Blossom Restaurant 103 Bowery Street. Giovanni insisted he’d been down in that seedy part of town because he’d been looking at real estate development. What if he’d been delivering—or collecting—counterfeit bills? Her gaze shifted to the empty hearth. She could burn it. That meant she’d be destroying evidence, and that would make her a criminal too. How could Nonno, Papà and Giovanni sit in church every Sunday knowing what crimes they committed? Were any of their business dealings legitimate?
    Her heart felt as if it were going to beat right out of her chest.
    She glanced about the room, at the paintings, Italian figurines, sixteenth-century French furniture and Persian rug at her feet. Luxury built on the cornerstone of crime. Ad vitam beneficio adficientem —toward a life of doing good things. Not an accurate family motto.
    People lied. Facts didn’t.
    And Fact 6 was that Giovanni told her to take what was in the safe to the family lawyers. They would know how to protect her until he was released. If the lounge lizards Seth Prendergast and Oscar had kicked out of the building were mafiosihenchmen, then what she needed most was protection. Giovanni needed some too.
    Malia looked back at the printed matchbox then walked to the phone on the end table. She picked the crystal handset off the cradle. “Operator, patch me through to the law offices of Lord, Day & Lord.”
    Tweed Courthouse
52 Chambers Street
That same hour
    “Could you use an extra hand?” Deputy Marshal Norma Hogan fell into step with Frank.
    He paused momentarily at the entrance to the room full of desks, marshals and noise, allowing Norma to enter the room first. Three years after earning her badge, she found evidence to link two unsolved cases to a convicted moonshiner. While some marshals, lawyers and judges in the courthouse didn’t like having a female marshal—and openly let her know—Frank admired grit and optimism. Norma knew how to smile in the face of adversity. Wearing a skirt didn’t make her any less intimidating, when she wanted to be.
    Frank stopped at his desk and nodded toward the coffee press in the back corner. “Black, with cream and two sugar cubes. I could also use lunch.”
    Her arched brows rose.
    He pointed to his injured foot. “I’m an invalid.”
    She looked at him without an ounce of pity.
    He laughed. “It was worth a try.” He dropped the box of files and binders on the edge of his desk. “You’re a woman.”
    “I thought you hadn’t noticed.”
    Oh, he had noticed all right. Dimples that appeared at the barest hint of a smile. Green eyes with a slight upward tilt to the outer edges. Six feet of womanly curves she didn’t hide. He’d noticed every appealing detail about Norma the first day Marshal Henkel had introduced her to his deputies, and then he filed the information away as irrelevant. His honor code meant one of them would have to quit the marshal service before he would ask her out on a date, and Frank knew full well she was as married to her job as he was. The way he saw it, Norma Hogan made a better investigator and friend than she would make a wife.
    “I could use your eyes and womanly intuition.” He wasn’t too stubborn to admit he couldn’t do this