Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel

by Hannon, Irene

  Her mouth went dry, and she froze.

  He wanted to kiss her.

  And she wanted him to.

  But this was nuts.

  They’d only met four days ago, and she wasn’t a fast mover. Never had been, never would be—despite the adrenaline pinging through her nerve endings. Tempting as it might be, moving fast was dangerous. She needed to step back, literally and figuratively. Now.

  Except she didn’t.

  But Dev did.

  “I need to go.” His words came out hoarse . . . and gruff.

  “Okay.”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I have any new information.”

  “Okay.” She was starting to sound like a parrot. “Happy birthday again.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a lift of his hand, he pivoted and strode down the sidewalk toward the Explorer.

  If he looked back once he was inside the vehicle, she couldn’t tell. He was right about the tinted windows. They offered no clue about the identity or behavior of occupants. Still, she raised her hand in farewell in case he was watching her. Then she slipped inside, locked the door, and let out a slow breath.

  This evening had turned out nothing like she expected.

  Leaning back against the sturdy oak panels, she stared into the empty living room.

  Who could have known, when Dev had invited her along on the drive to Mark Hamilton’s, that they’d end up in a cozy restaurant and that he’d share his most closely guarded secret with her?

  For that matter, who could have known Darcy’s disappearance would put her on a collision course with the most intriguing man she’d ever met, a man who dominated her thoughts whenever they weren’t centered on her sister?

  Guilt tugged at her conscience, and she folded her arms tight over her chest. With Darcy missing, was it wrong to have enjoyed her evening with Dev? She’d actually forgotten, for a few minutes, the worry that had plagued her day and night since last Friday, when she’d arrived home from work and discovered Darcy’s note.

  Yet worry wasn’t going to bring her sister home any sooner. She’d done everything possible to locate her, and she knew Dev was giving the search top priority too. For now, all she could do was put her sister’s welfare in God’s hands.

  And pray for her safety.

  Mark scrubbed his face dry with a towel and picked up the watch he’d left on the vanity before stepping into the shower. Nine-thirty. He was right on schedule to be in bed by ten—a half hour earlier than his pre-Darcy routine.

  But that was fine. Going to bed earlier to compensate for getting up earlier so he could make her lunch and breakfast before he left for work wasn’t a chore. You were supposed to do things like that for people who were important in your life.

  He folded the towel, draped it neatly back over the bar, and padded into the bedroom toward his nightstand. The lotion Faith had given him was already beginning to work, and he squeezed a dab onto his palms as he examined his hands. In another few days, after things settled into more of a routine and he didn’t feel the urge to wash his hands as often, the redness should fade and he wouldn’t need high-priced ointments anymore. In the meantime, why not take advantage of Faith’s generosity?

  Once the lotion soaked in, he opened the nightstand and removed Lil’s picture. Cradling it in his hands, he examined the fresh, smiling face—so different from the image that lingered in his mind. But this photo represented the real Lil. The woman she was supposed to be. The woman she was before the world led her astray. Before she discovered drugs and alcohol and resorted to other immoral activities. Before her priorities became twisted.

  Before she stopped loving him.

  He tightened his grip on the gold-edged frame that had tarnished through the years, just as Lil had, and sucked in a breath. “I tried so hard to help you . . . but you wouldn’t let me.”

  She smiled back at him, as deaf to his voice now as she’d been at the end. But still he continued to speak, as he had then.

  “You could have changed. You could have saved yourself. But you made bad choices, and you wouldn’t mend your ways. I could see how it would end even if you couldn’t.”

  His fingers started to itch, but he resisted the urge to get up and wash his hands again. That would negate the effect of the expensive lotion he’d just applied.

  Instead, he concentrated on the photo. “There’s a young woman downstairs who reminds me of you. She’s a runaway too, on the brink of making the wrong choices. I didn’t want to mention her until I was sure she was the one. Now I think she is—and I also think I got to her in time. So I’ll save her instead of you. With her, I’ll wipe the slate clean, make amends, and start fresh.”

  For several more seconds, he examined the photo. Then he slipped it back in the nightstand, closed the drawer, and dimmed the bedside light.

  Silence descended, and he began to drift off. But the muffled slam of a car door from outside pulled him back from the edge of sleep.

  The car was close to his house.

  He lay in the darkness, listening. Car doors slammed at all hours in this neighborhood; you learned to tune them out. After that unexpected ring on his doorbell tonight, however, every single one had registered.

  Because no one ever rang his bell, except an occasional derelict looking for a handout. No wonder he’d dropped that frying pan at the sudden peal. And who could blame him for creeping to the door, staying in the shadows along the wall of the living room to avoid detection as he checked out the intruder?

  But the guy on the other side of the peephole hadn’t been a derelict. He’d been dressed too well for that, and he’d gone away after the second ring. Most likely he’d just come to the wrong address; the house numbers were hard to read with all the snow. There was no reason for him to come back. Probably one of the college students who lived in the house next door had slammed the door. They were a wild bunch, with their loud weekend parties.

  Still . . . Mark rose and moved to the front window. Just in case.

  The street was deserted. Whoever had made the noise must have scurried inside on this cold night.

  He started back toward his bed but halfway there detoured to the bathroom.

  There was no way he’d go to sleep if he didn’t wash his hands again—and he had to get enough sleep to be at the top of his game for the children in his charge at daycare . . . and the girl in his charge in the basement.

  16

  I’d ask if you had a nice evening, but I already know the answer.”

  Frowning at the interruption, Dev transferred his attention from his computer screen to Phoenix’s senior partner, who’d propped his shoulder against the door frame and was regarding him with an amused expression. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your intimate dinner for two at Café Provencal looked very cozy.”

  Dev switched on blush control and resorted to evasive maneuvers as he contemplated his strategy. “You were there?”

  “Yep. With my beautiful bride.”

  “An early Valentine’s Day celebration?”

  “I just got married. Every day is Valentine’s Day at our house.”

  Dev rolled his eyes. “Give me a break.”

  “I’m serious.” Cal strolled in and dropped into the chair across from the desk, making it clear he was in no hurry to leave.

  Great.

  “Moira was giving me a hard time last night about not inviting you out for your birthday, but I told her I was sure you had the evening covered, as usual. Thanks for getting me off the hook.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So I noted.”

  Could Cal’s grin get any bigger?

  His partner stretched out his legs and settled in. “So who’s the lovely lady?”

  Continue to evade until you come up with a better plan.

  “Where were you, anyway? I looked the place over as we were being seated and I didn’t see you.”

  “You were already at your table when we arrived. Deep in convers
ation, with eyes only for your companion. I’m not surprised you neglected to notice us. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  No kidding.

  “What question?” Stalling was only going to buy him a few more seconds. Max. Think fast, Devlin.

  “Who’s asking questions?” Nikki strolled in and dropped a bunch of papers in his in-box.

  “I am.” Cal tossed the reply over his shoulder. “About who he was with last night at Café Provencal.”

  As Nikki’s expression morphed from curious to smug, Dev stifled a groan. Things were going from bad to worse.

  “You took my advice, didn’t you?”

  Connor stopped midstride as he passed in the hall. “What advice?” He poked his head in and did a sweep of the office. “Is this a party or what?”

  “No, but it sounds like Dev had his own party last night.” Nikki sat on the edge of his desk. “Dinner with the lovely librarian, right?”

  “Your client?” Cal squinted at him.

  “It was his birthday,” Nikki pointed out. “Extenuating circumstances.”

  “You’re dating a client?” Connor moved into the office too, which was suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

  Dev rolled his chair a few inches farther away from the growing mob. “Before this gets out of hand . . .”

  “Too late for that, based on the evidence.” Cal shifted sideways to better address Connor and Nikki. “They were holding hands.”

  “No, we weren’t.” At the skeptical twist of his partner’s mouth, he backpedaled. “Not like you mean, anyway.”

  “There’s more than one way to hold hands?” Nikki’s raised eyebrow said “get real.”

  “As a matter of fact, yes. This was not a romantic rendezvous. Cal’s conclusion is based on circumstantial evidence that happens to be faulty.”

  “I can buy that.”

  Dev sent Connor a grateful look. “Thank you.”

  “But I’m guessing this smoke might lead to fire.”

  Three against one. Not the best odds he’d ever faced.

  “You can leave now.” Dev sent Connor a dark look. “I need allies, not subversives.”

  “Hey . . . I’m fine with whatever you did on your birthday.” The other man ambled back toward the hall. “I can’t see any harm in suspending the no-socializing-with-clients rule one day a year.”

  “I’m with Connor.” Nikki sent a meaningful glance toward Cal, then retreated to the hall in Connor’s wake.

  That left Cal, who crossed an ankle over his knee and regarded him. “You want to talk about this?”

  No. But he was going to have to. None of them took the house rules lightly, and he owed Cal an explanation for the lapse.

  Rising, he circled his desk, shut the door, and dropped into the chair beside his partner. “I want to make it clear I would never do anything to compromise the integrity of Phoenix.”

  “I know that.”

  At Cal’s steady look, Dev’s throat tightened. He was closer to his college buddies than anyone else on this planet. Cal and Connor were more like brothers to him than his blood brother. He had trusted them with his life on numerous occasions—and would no doubt do so again. They might all kid around in the office, but each of them was a consummate professional who knew his stuff and could be counted on to pull his weight under fire. He would never—ever—do anything to jeopardize the respect his partners had for him.

  He was glad Cal understood that.

  “The truth is, I like Laura Griffith.” He twined his fingers together. “We were together early last evening for business reasons. Did I need to invite her to dinner afterward? No. Am I sorry I did? No. Am I going to take this any further while she’s a client? No. Afterward? Probably.”

  “That works for me.” Cal rose. “I know what it’s like to fall for a client. I married one. And if Laura is even half the woman my wife is, I’ll be in your corner once this case is closed.”

  “Thanks.”

  With a thumbs-up, Cal exited.

  Left blessedly alone once more, Dev returned to his desk and took a sip of his coffee. He was on his third cup, and he could use another. After tossing for the better part of the night, thanks to a certain librarian whose image kept flitting across his mind, and then getting up in the wee hours to do a little surveillance on the elusive Mark Hamilton, he needed all the caffeine he could get.

  But his early morning stakeout in the back alley of the man’s house, where most residents seemed to park, hadn’t been all that productive. Before the sun ever rose, Hamilton had come out the back door and climbed into a slate-colored Nissan Maxima. He’d driven straight to his job at Davis Daycare Center ten minutes away, validating the employment info in the short news item about his promotion last year that a Google search had unearthed. No detours. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  Dev gulped down the last of his coffee. By the time he drove back downtown, it would be close to nine-thirty—well past the morning drop-off rush at a child care center. Hamilton might be able to ignore his doorbell at home, as he’d done last night, but he’d have more difficulty hiding out at work.

  As soon as he got with Nikki, gave her the basics he’d uncovered on Mark Hamilton last night after his dinner with Laura, and turned her loose to dig deeper, he’d head back down there.

  And hope Hamilton had information that would shed some light on Darcy’s whereabouts so he could wrap up this case as soon as possible—for personal as well as professional reasons.

  Elbow on desk, Laura propped her head in her hand and stifled a yawn, hoping none of the nearby patrons in the reference room would notice. One of these nights, maybe she’d manage more than three or four hours of fitful shut-eye.

  But probably not until Darcy was back, safe and sound.

  Truth be told, though, worry over Darcy was only part of the reason for her restless night. Dev shared the blame. Long after he’d driven away, the electric charge that had passed between them on her porch had continued to pulse through her. In fact, she could still feel the remnants of it this morning.

  And that staying power scared her. Chemistry that potent could carry a person away, lead to foolish mistakes, even when you knew any relationship with a future had to be based on much more than hormones.

  The potential with Dev was there, though. No doubt about it. But she had to give this a lot more time before she entertained any serious thoughts about the appealing PI. It was the smart, prudent thing to do.

  And in the interim, she needed to concentrate on finding Darcy.

  “Any news?” Erin stopped beside her desk and set a fruit cup and granola bar in front of her.

  “No. What’s this?” She gestured to the food.

  “Your breakfast. I’m guessing you didn’t bother to eat. Again.”

  Her boss knew her too well. “I had a great dinner, though.”

  “Yeah? Let me guess. Soup and crackers. Again.”

  “No. Salad, lamb shank, mashed potatoes, fresh asparagus, and chocolate mousse.”

  Erin grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it beside the desk. “Okay. Spill it.”

  Turning her back on the patrons, Laura gave her a recap of the evening—leaving out Dev’s personal disclosures and downplaying the intimate nature of the evening.

  When she finished, Erin sized her up. “Are you suggesting that having dinner with your handsome, single PI was an act of mercy because you didn’t want him to eat dinner alone on his birthday?”

  “If I said yes, would you buy it?”

  “Not a chance. Eat your fruit. So did you have fun?”

  Laura pried off the lid of the plastic container and speared a chunk of pineapple. “It was a nice evening.”

  “I’m hearing a but in there.”

  The sweet burst of flavor as she bit into the pineapple wasn’t enough to offset the sour taste of guilt.

  “The thing is, I actually forgot about Darcy for a few minutes and enjoyed myself. That feels wrong.” She toyed with a grape, but it eluded the tines
of the fork.

  “Laura . . . you’re doing everything possible to find her. It could be she doesn’t want to be found. You told me yourself she’s intelligent and has some street smarts. For all you know, she’s perfectly fine and hanging out with that girl she met who was also waiting for the storm to pass. She might have decided to stick around town for a while, stay under the radar, rethink her plans.”

  “Then why didn’t she call Rachel in Chicago to tell her that?”

  Erin shrugged. “You said she was smart, not considerate.”

  She captured the grape at last. “I think she would have called, if she could. We might have clashed, but she had decent manners with other people. And Rachel was doing her a favor. I don’t think she’d have left her hanging. She hasn’t gotten in touch with her best friend from New York, either.”

  “Maybe she’s afraid you could trace her if she called them.”

  “Or maybe she can’t call.” A drop of juice dripped out of the grape, leaving a dark spot on the polished surface of the desk.

  It looked like blood.

  She swiped it away. “I’m afraid she might have made mistakes, trusted the wrong people. I just have this lurking sense of unease that she needs help. So instead of worrying, what do I do? I go out to dinner with a handsome man.”

  “Who’s also trying to find Darcy.”

  “Not during dinner.”

  “The man has to eat—and you do too.” Erin stood and tapped the granola bar. “This is breakfast, not lunch. Eat it now. And if you ask me, you have nothing to feel guilty about over last night. You took Darcy in when she had no place else to go. You bent over backward to make her feel welcome. You’ve got dark circles under your eyes that weren’t there a week ago, thanks to constant worry and no sleep. If you had a respite from that anxiety for a few minutes over dinner, I say you deserve it.”

  Laura gave her boss a tired smile. “Thanks for the pep talk.”

  “Did it help?”

  “A little.”

  “If you need another one, call me.” She moved the chair back into position against the wall and gentled her voice. “I’m praying for her every day too, you know.”