Before The Fall

  Table of Contents

  Cover Page

  Excerpt

  Dear Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Cast Of Characters

  Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “You’re my only hope…”

  Angela stared at the bounty hunter’s profile. Under other circumstances, she might find him mildly attractive. But now he was her captor. Her jailer. “I know you have a job to do, but this might be my only chance to prove my innocence….”

  “That’s not my problem.”

  Angela took a deep breath. She’d never stooped to feminine wiles to get anything she wanted…but she was desperate. “I…I could make it your problem…rather…worth your while.”

  The bounty hunter slid his glasses into his hair and narrowed his gaze at her. Blue. Micah Kaminsky’s eyes were piercing blue. Angela was mesmerized for a tiny moment….

  Until he asked, “Oh, yeah? How much?”

  She blinked and took a deep breath to ease a vague sense of disappointment. “More than the reward for turning me in. How much would it take?”

  “What makes you think I can be bought?”

  Truth be known, life had taught her that almost anyone could be. “Name your price.”

  “What if it’s too high?”

  “Try me.”

  “What if that’s my price…you?”

  Dear Reader,

  A hero or heroine without any faults would make pretty dull reading, since the most gripping conflicts come not from outside forces, but from within.

  The Seven Deadly Sins—Pride, Sloth, Lust, Greed, Anger, Envy and Gluttony—exemplify the most hurtful behavior, human failings that can keep us locked in self-absorption and self-doubt. They can keep us from finding real happiness within ourselves…or with that one special person whom we all deserve….

  As a writer, I love nothing more than throwing my heroes and heroines to the precipice of danger, making ordinary people fight the worst villains and win. For me, it’s a celebration of the human spirit, the discovery of untapped strengths that I am certain we all possess if only we can find the courage to reach deep inside ourselves.

  For SEVEN SINS, I’ve chosen to raise the stakes, to push my heroes and heroines to the emotional edge at the same time they are fighting for their very existence. In the midst of mortal danger, they must wrestle with equally destructive inner demons and take back their lives…and in doing so, be rewarded with a love for all time.

  Let me know how you enjoy their stories, at P.O. Box 578279, Chicago, IL 60657-8297.

  Before the Fall

  Patricia Rosemoor

  To my readers—

  Thanks for your continuing support. I would love to know which of my Intrigue titles are your favorites.

  Patricia Rosemoor

  P.O. Box 578297

  Chicago, IL 60657-8297

  An abundance of PRIDE makes a person

  arrogant and hostile. S/he ignores

  others or hurts their feelings by

  patronizing them. S/he is so competitive,

  s/he can’t gracefully concede

  first place to anyone else.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Angela Dragon (formerly Dragonetti)—The same pride that made her disown her father compelled her to prove her innocence…even if she had to break the law to do so.

  Micah Kaminsky—His motives for holding Angela hostage across the country were as complicated as his feelings for her.

  Tomas Dragonetti—Was Angela’s recently paroled father really reformed?

  Joey Mariscano—The Chicago businessman swore he had nothing to do with Angela’s indictment.

  Douglas Neff—The man in Angela’s life stood by her…from afar.

  Frank Gonnella—How nostalgic for the old days was the Las Vegas car dealer?

  Otto Usher—The retired mobster had been her father’s fiercest rival. Was he carrying the feud on to the next generation?

  Leon Woerter—The bail bondsman was in the right place at the right time.

  Prologue

  Alex Gotham planted himself before the turn-of-thecentury Dupont Circle mansion and flipped a coin. Heads, he would go inside. Tails, he would get his butt back where it belonged.

  Heads.

  Brushing aside his reservations, he entered the brickand-sandstone building that now housed Haven, a privately funded mental health foundation. Not unaware of the irony of his reason for being there, Alex strolled through the lobby with its fluted Ionic oak columns and ascended the curving staircase to Zoe Declue’s office.

  He’d never actually spoken to the research psychologist. She’d left a phone message asking him if he’d be willing to collaborate on a project—after considering all the angles, he’d made an appointment through her secretary. From Zoe’s formal, no-nonsense message, he’d gotten the impression of a mature woman, so he was naturally surprised when he came face-to-face with a lovely blonde who couldn’t have been much older than thirty.

  “Mr. Gotham. I hope you don’t mind if I call you Alex.” Her voice low and silky, she added, “I’m delighted to meet you at last. Thank you for coming.”

  When she leaned across her desk to give him her hand, he noticed that the chin-length cornsilk hair that swept across her cheeks did hold a sheen of silver. Her shake was solid and yet a touch reserved—as was her expression. Her welcoming smile didn’t quite light her deep green eyes…as if she were as wary of him as he was of her. Her cautious demeanor made her seem older than her years.

  “I’m curious about this Seven Deadly Sins project of yours,” Alex admitted. Which her message hadn’t explained in any detail. She’d merely stated she wanted to reach a large audience and felt that her own writing was too academic. “And curious as to why you contacted me.”

  “Please…sit.”

  Awash in textured whites and creams with pale touches of flesh and peach, the office seemed to be a reflection of the woman herself—cool and controlled, yet hinting of a subdued sensuality. He chose a chair upholstered in nubby cream and satiny ivory stripes. She remained behind her desk.

  “When I realized I needed a collaborator,” she began, “your book Lost Youth immediately came to mind. A very powerful piece of nonfiction. You took me inside each of those teenagers. You made me understand their despairs and their hopes. You made me feel for them…and maybe learn a few things about myself.”

  “I’m flattered.” Though Alex couldn’t fathom what Zoe Declue might possibly have in common with a runaway kid.

  “I feel you have the right touch…not only the insight, but the sensitivity to people that I’m looking for.”

  Or he’d had it once, Alex thought ruefully.

  Lost Youth had briefly cast a moderately known investigative reporter, whose primary focus had been the root of social ills, into the universe of bright new stars in the publishing world. Too soon, however, his life had taken a gruesome turn for which he hadn’t been prepared. He’d taken one wrong step after another…his star had fizzled…his very existence had imploded into a black hole. Now he was ready to glue back together the pieces of his life…given the right opportunity.

  Wondering if he still had the touch, he asked, “What kind of an approach did you have in mind?”

  “Humanistic rather than theological. I intend
to explore each of the Seven Deadly Sins—Pride, Envy, Wrath, Sloth, Avarice, Gluttony and Lust—as to how they relate to today’s world.”

  She seemed so solemn that Alex couldn’t resist asking, “And you need someone to help you do the personal research?”

  Obviously thrown, Zoe started, then stared at him as if she weren’t sure how to take the droll comment. Alex silently cursed. He’d have to watch himself around her. Thankfully, she recouped and indicated a stack of nearbursting files at the side of her desk.

  “I’ve already gathered research from colleagues across the country,” she informed him. “The subjects have agreed to share their stories—how they wrestled with their demons and won. Anonymously, of course.”

  “Stories?”

  Nodding, she kept a wary eye on him. “One to examine each of the sins, which I believe are emotionbased and keep a person isolated from society…and therefore from loving freely. Only by resolving the sin against him- or herself and really connecting with others can that person find fulfillment and happiness.”

  As she got caught up in her topic, Alex was struck by her expressio—as if she were looking inward, searching for some truth about self.

  Suddenly uneasy, he murmured, “Stories about people giving themselves a second chance at life.” What he himself needed.

  “Exactly. I want to help people recognize the trouble they attract and offer them hope that they can change and lead more fulfilling lives. And happier ones.”

  Again Alex had the fleeting impression of a personal interest in the topic. He knew he felt it personally. Maybe too much so to be objective?

  Then again, who hadn’t sinned?

  He needed the work, he rationalized, and so asked, “How do we begin?”

  Zoe reached toward the middle of her desk for what looked like a legal contract. “I’ve worked out an agreement—”

  “Skip the technicalities for now.” He didn’t want to discuss money, either, though his bank account was sagging—ever since he’d blown his job at the Washington Sun, freelance assignments had been few and far between. More important was finding a way to recover his sense of self. “I meant the content.”

  Nodding, she shifted her attention to the top of the stack and lifted the first thick file. From the folder spilled original articles and copies and handwritten notes.

  “Let me talk you through the first chapter, while you have a look at the materials I’ve collected. Then you decide whether or not the project interests you enough to throw yourself into it.” Warming to her subject, she loosened up. “Our subject is Angela Dragon. Actually, that was Dragonetti before she legally changed it on her eighteenth birthday.”

  “Dragonetti?” he echoed as she handed him a clipping.

  His investigative reporter’s antennae raised by the notorious name, he read the headline: Mobster’s Daughter Indicted…

  Chapter One

  “This sucks the big one,” Angela Dragon muttered under her breath while storming out of the courtroom.

  Her high heels clacked briskly against the marble floor. Surrounded by her lawyer, her father, the rest of her family and the man she was currently seeing, she put up a good front as members of the press rushed her.

  Smile. Show those pearly whites. Don’t let a bunch of reporters desperate to get a story whip you.

  A determined young woman shoved a microphone practically in her face. “Miss Dragon, did you expect to be indicted?”

  “Is there any truth to the charges?” asked a bucktoothed man on her other side. “And is your father involved?”

  “Why don’t you ask me if that’s what you want to know?” Tomas Dragonetti suggested coldly.

  A third reporter assailed her with “Do you really want us to believe you could buy a photo and video company not knowing it was a front for a pornographic operation and a cover for money-laundering activities?”

  Angela lifted her chin and was about to give the little snot a blistering retort when her lawyer, Mark Jenkins, growled, “Don’t do it.”

  And on her other side, her sister, Petra, dug her nails into her arm. “Angela, please.”

  Controlling her temper, she whispered through gritted teeth, “All right!”

  They plowed through the viper’s nest and out into late-afternoon sunshine even more brilliant than Angela’s jonquil yellow suit, then raced down the courthouse steps to the waiting limousine. A welcome breeze skittered over Angela, fluttering the heavy, shoulder-length hair that was her pride. She pushed the mass of natural waves out of her eyes and took a deep breath of dry desert air.

  Such a beautiful day to have one’s life ruined.

  Despite her outward belligerence toward the legal system and the media, Angela was shaking inside. Not that she would ever show weakness—lest she be eaten alive by the hordes of eager reporters.

  “We’re going to get through this, darling.”

  Looking into Douglas Neff’s hazel eyes as he helped her into the back seat of the limo, she grabbed at the reassurance. “Of course we are.”

  He slid in next to her and dipped his head, brushing her lips with his mustache. She forced a smile. With his classic good looks and perfect tan, and his impeccably cut Armani suit, Douglas was a man many a woman would sigh over. Not that she was a woman who ever sighed…or believed in romantic claptrap. Look where her mother’s stalwart devotion to her father had gotten them. But, a successful financial adviser who respected her intelligence and abilities and refused to be intimidated by her drive, Douglas was the first man she’d dated who had a real possibility of becoming more to her than a convenient escort.

  Staunchly shifting in her seat next to her husband, her mother, Sylvie, assured her, “Your family’s behind you, sweetheart.”

  Exactly what Angela feared. She didn’t need—or want—her father’s involvement. But despite the fact that Angela had never accepted his return to the fold the way the rest of the family had since his parole six months before, Tomas Dragonetti wouldn’t let her forget that he was her father and that he supposedly loved her.

  A love she could certainly do without.

  “I’m gonna get to the truth if it’s the last thing I ever do,” her father muttered. “Whoever set up my baby won’t get away with this.”

  What was he going to do? Angela wondered. Have the guilty one rubbed out?

  She shuddered at the very idea of violence.

  If only Benedict were here.

  She’d always been able to count on her older brother for emotional support. And he’d know what to do, how to get her out of this mess. But, having chosen to leave the running of Here Comes the Bride to her, he was off building his career in middle Europe, and she hadn’t wanted to drag him home to this mess.

  “I want you all to stay out of it,” she announced, her determined gaze burning into her father’s face.

  With his history, he could instigate additional trouble for the family. Her mother certainly didn’t need more grief. And the youngest of the siblings, Petra, had always been sheltered. She was a true innocent, and Angela hoped her sister’s faith in human nature would never be shattered the way her own had been.

  “What do you mean, stay out of it?” Douglas asked. “We’re in this together. You bought Picture Perfect with my encouragement. I feel responsible.”

  “Well, don’t.” Angela refused to involve a man who had no underworld connections…other than her via her own father. Besides, she didn’t feel close enough to Douglas to be totally open and honest.

  “I have an investigator already working on the case,” Jenkins added.

  “Hiring an investigator’s fine. But I’m a big girl. I got myself into trouble.” How was just now beginning to dawn on her. “I’ll damn well get myself out.” Her pride wouldn’t let her do less than she could.

  “And how do you think you’ll manage that, Angel?” her father asked.

  Hating it when he used his childhood nickname for her, she stared at him. Voice stiff, she said, “As you keep
reminding me, I am your daughter.”

  Once a prominent Las Vegas mobster, Tomas had been in control of his little corner of the world until it had been ripped from his hands by the authorities. That she had inherited from him—the lust for control over her own life and the determination not to let go without a fight.

  She was innocent of the charges brought against her, and she would damn well prove it to everyone’s satisfaction. Even the D.A.’s.

  “WHAT ARE YOU UP TO, Angela?” Douglas demanded a while later, pouring them glasses of brandy.

  He’d insisted on coming home with her against her wishes. It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his concern, but she didn’t choose to explain herself to anyone. The less others knew about the plan that had been fomenting in her head all the way home, the safer they would be.

  Besides, if they didn’t know anything, they wouldn’t be able to give her grief.

  Or try to stop her.

  As Douglas handed her a glass and slid next to her on the red leather couch, Angela said, “I’m going to finish this drink and get some rest,” hoping he would take the hint.

  “I know you better than that. I can hear the wheels turning in that pretty head of yours.”

  Sipping the brandy, she waited for the warmth to fill her—to calm her nerves—before saying, “I was just trying to figure out who might have it in for me.”

  Who would want to take her away from everything she knew? From the people she loved? The work that had become her life’s blood? The two-story condo whose decor reflected the complexity of her mind, the impetuousness of her spirit?

  “And?” Douglas pressed. “Have you come up with a suspect?”