Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2)

by Casey Clipper

  “What about your other brother and your mother?”

  “Mom bought jewelry. She always buys jewelry. She says it’s for herself and then always ends up handing me the bag. She gave me a crystal earring and necklace set this time−”

  “Do you remember where you put that set?” There hadn’t been any jewelry lying about in the house.

  She looked up to the ceiling, concentrating. “I think I set it on the dining room table when I came in. But I’m not sure. I may have taken it upstairs and put it away inside my obnoxiously large collection box.”

  Dean noted to search for that set. Could it have been worth more than she thought? Could it have been a motive for someone attacking her? Maybe someone watched and followed the family, wanting those jewels.

  “And your other brother?”

  “David never buys anything. He hoards his money.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “He’s always been that way, even as a young boy.”

  “I’m going to ask you this to determine my next questions. Do you know your attacker?”

  She shook her head vehemently and hiccupped. “No. I don't think so.”

  “Did you see his face?”

  “No. He wore a black mask that covered his entire head.” Her chest hitched as she choked on a sob. “I have no idea who he was.”

  Dean gave her a moment, watching her try to desperately keep from completely losing her composure, squeezing her eyes shut, taking a shallow breath then wincing. “Okay, then going back to the yard sales. Did you come into contact with anyone? Did you have any trouble with someone?”

  “No. I just talked to the elderly woman I paid for the vanity. The other interaction was with my brothers and mother.” She stared at the white wall, as if trying to recall the day.

  “Your brothers and mother said the same thing. They said that they hadn’t noticed anyone taking an interest in you.” Dean paused from his scribbling. “Your brothers say that can be an issue at times when you’re all out together. Do you have problems with men being too aggressive?”

  “All the time,” she said, shrugging.

  He could see that. When she was healthy, he bet she exuded sensuality. Talking to her, he was positive it came naturally. She possessed an innocence about her that men craved. Her soft, smooth voice, those large expressive eyes. God, she must drive her brothers insane trying to defend her.

  “Have any men stepped over the line? Somehow gotten your phone number. Shown up at your home or your work? Done anything that made you uncomfortable?” The streets were littered with creeps.

  “Sometimes, but I always put them in their place.”

  “Have you had to do that recently?”

  She went to reply then clamped her mouth shut. Opened and then closed, again.

  Dean waited but when it looked as if she wouldn’t answer, he pressed for more. “Who, Josie?”

  “My ex-boyfriend, Steve.” She said it so quietly, he had to strain to hear the name. “He came over a few weeks ago and made a pass at me. We got into a fight. He has a girlfriend. I would never do that, I’m not the ‘other’ woman.”

  “Steve, who found you?” Interesting.

  “Yes.”

  “He said he has a key to your house. He stated you allowed him to have it.” Dean’s instincts went on high alert. So ol’ Steve boy lied. Surprise, surprise.

  “He refused to give it back. Harry was supposed to change my locks but hasn’t gotten around to it. I bought new doorknobs and they’re sitting in the packages on the dining room table.” She sighed then cringed at the movement, her hand flying to her stomach.

  “Would you like me to change the locks for you?” Where the hell did that come from?

  Josie blinked at him, surprised. She wasn’t the only one. But if her brothers were dropping the ball, he’d change the door handles. For her safety.

  “I’m sure my brothers will make certain that’s done before I come home.” She stared at him, those amazing eyes intently searching him.

  Dean locked into her gaze, noticing how a thick black line rimmed those colorful irises. He scanned her features. Her cute nose had a slight bend in it. Her high cheek bones resembled those on a model. Her full lips were dry and needed lip balm. Dean searched the area and found a small bag that had some sort of lip gloss. He snatched it and handed her the tube.

  “Your lips are dry,” he said bunglingly.

  She looked taken aback. “Thanks.”

  She carefully took the tube and applied the clear gloss. Better.

  “Was Steve angry when you rebuked his pass?” He looked down at his notes, clearing his throat, shifting in the chair.

  “Yes, but then he apologized and asked me not to tell his girlfriend. I promised him I wouldn’t. That’s a guilt he needs to deal with on his own, not me.” She lifted her chin. He admired her moxie.

  “Do you know if you locked your doors?”

  Her eyes zipped away, toward the windows. The bright morning sun glared off the far side of the room. Soon the shades would need pulled. “I always do. It’s habit. One that my brothers pounded into me. But in all honesty, I can’t remember if I did or not. I want to say yes, but was it so habitual that maybe I don’t remember if I did or I thought I had?”

  So it was possible the door had been unlocked.

  “Do you remember what you were doing?”

  Her breath caught and her voice went to a whisper. “I had just gotten out of the shower. I’d gone for a short run after I returned home.”

  “What time did this happen?”

  “About four,” she said, glancing at the large clock on the opposite wall. As if the time had answers for her. “He attacked me about four. I don’t know when I passed out.”

  “What happened, Josie?”

  He hated to make her recollect her nightmare. He wasn’t a sadist. He didn’t get off on this form of pain a victim had to relive. But when they caught the man who did harm her, she’d have to rehash her night too many times to count. God, sometimes Dean hated his job.

  5

  Josie clamped her eyes shut, the vivid images of that night slamming home. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to close her eyes and not feel that night, as if she’d time warped back to the moment the knife pierced her pliable skin. Tears leaked out from behind her lids. Her body shook.

  “If it’s too much, I’ll come back.” Detective Rooney’s deep, soft rasp was soothing. She could listen to him talk for hours, allowing that entrancing tone to carry her away from her hell. He took her hand again, his callused fingers gliding back and forth over her palm and the top of her hand. A slow, rhythmic pace that meant to calm her. Nothing could truly alleviate her torment.

  But she needed to push through this. No matter how difficult. The detective was right, she didn’t want another woman to go through what she experienced. “I came downstairs to get a protein shake after I took my shower and did my hair and makeup. I was supposed to have dinner with Steve. He said he had some news to tell me. I think he’s going to propose to his fiancée.”

  “After he hit on you?” Dean sounded scandalized.

  It sort of made her smile. “Yeah.”

  “Bastard.”

  She tilted her head. “You know, you don’t come across with what I consider a detective’s demeanor.”

  He raised a brow, sat back in the chair, and crossed his ankle over his knee. “How is a detective supposed to act?”

  “Serious.”

  “I am.”

  She must have looked at him questionably because he chuckled, the sound throaty.

  “Maybe. Sometimes,” he said with a wink.

  If she didn’t know better, Josie would think he was flirting. And he managed, for the first time since she woke days ago, to get her mind off the attack. For a split second. She’d briefly been pulled from the horror by this handsome detective, intent on holding her hand and willing to go at her pace.

  She plowed ahead, rapidly. Blurting the terror of that afternoon. “It
happened so fast. I was walking to the kitchen and was knocked from behind. I might have squealed. I jolted forward and caught myself on the wall. He grabbed me from behind, his hand coming around my mouth to muffle my scream. I kicked back. I didn’t see the knife until it was in my stomach.”

  Detective Rooney’s hazel eyes turned serious as he hung on every word. “It was like time froze. I remember looking down at my stomach, not feeling the pain at first, not until it registered what happened. He yanked the knife out of me and then dragged me to the living room. I managed to get him off balance, both of us falling back, and scrambled for the front door. He tackled me and sat on my back. I remember the pain and how frightened I was. I kept trying to scream and fight. I didn’t know what I was doing. I know I didn’t defend myself well. Everything my brothers taught me, forgotten.”

  She began to cry, unable to help herself, remembering her pure panic, fright, dread, and dismay all combined into one ball of overwhelming emotion. “He pushed my face into the carpet and held me there, suffocating me. I tried to fight. I really did. He flipped me over and his hands went around my neck. He was so strong. I couldn’t fight him, no matter how hard I tried.”

  “Did you notice anything about him? Did you see his hair color, a tattoo, his height, his weight?”

  “His arms looked muscular through his tight black shirt. I remember looking at them as I tried to claw at his hands from around my throat, thinking I’m no match for that strength.”

  “Did he say anything to you?”

  Her threadbare composure started to unravel. “He said I needed to die. That was all he said. No explanation. Nothing. Just, that I needed to die. Why would someone feel that I have to die? What could I have possibly done to make a man that angry?”

  “I’m sure you did nothing,” he said quietly. “Did you recognize his voice?”

  “No, it was muffled behind the full mask.”

  “Do you know why he stopped? What made him not finish what he came there for?”

  She hadn’t given it a thought that the man behind the mask quit his heinous task. “I don’t know. He just…stopped.”

  She lost it, crying hysterically into her hands. Her muscles contracting caused her stomach to cramp around her wound. She tossed out her hand to keep the pain at bay.

  Dean was on the bed next to her, wrapping her up in a solid embrace, his warmth surrounding her. Her hands clung to him. “Squeeze as hard as you have to.”

  She did. She let it all out. All her fright, all her pain, all her frustration. Everything she felt festering inside of her, she let out, grasping onto the detective’s suit jacket, releasing all her embroiled emotions. Dean rubbed his hand up and down her spine as she buried her head into his chest, crying out in a devastating release. Her body and mind painfully suffered every moment she was either awake or asleep. Why had this happened to her? Why had that man chosen her? Why did he think it was all right to take her life? To question her reality?

  “Shhh,” Dean murmured into her ear. “It’s going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll get this guy, Josie. We will find whoever hurt you.”

  His proclamation sounded so sincere, she believed him. She wanted to believe him.

  Josie cried until she could no longer breathe, the agony overwhelming. A knock on the door interrupted them but she didn’t bother to look up. Dean continued to hold her as her sobs diminished. She was vaguely aware that a nurse came into the room and administered pain meds into her IV. At some point her family returned to her beside. It only took a few minutes for the medication to kick in before her body grew heavy, her grasp going limp. Her lids became lead weights.

  “I’m sorry,” she slurred.

  Dean smiled warmly. She gained comfort in his handsome, chiseled features before sleep claimed her. For the second time, his amazingly beautiful, haunted eyes the last thing she saw before darkness blanketed her.

  6

  Dean stared blankly at ol’ Steve boy from across the table, his lawyer by his side. Dean wanted to punch both dicks. He wasn’t entirely convinced Steve was the culprit behind Josie’s attack, but he wouldn’t rule him out, either. The man gave the impression his own shadow scared the shit out of him. But when a man grew enraged enough, he could do just about anything criminal. Could Josie’s rebuke of his pass have caused a meltdown?

  “If you aren’t going to charge my client, then we insist you let him go. He came in on his own accord to be questioned. You know where to find him,” the lawyer demanded.

  Dean slanted his partner a frustrated glare, exasperated with their forced hand. He needed a drink and to get laid to take his mind off this shitty case with no real suspects. The only person of interest they had to release.

  Nick ground out, “We will be in touch. Trust me.”

  Yeah, Nick believed Steve was the man who pushed the knife into Josie’s stomach, but until they had solid proof, they couldn’t charge or hold the bastard. Dean glanced at Steve’s arms to gauge the man’s muscular makeup. It was difficult to tell under the loose-fitting suit jacket.

  Dean decided to test the temperament waters. “You know, Josie fought her attacker.”

  Steve stopped in mid stance from the chair. The lawyer didn’t flinch as he packed his briefcase.

  “She did,” Nick agreed. “Tough woman.”

  Steve’s uncertain eyes bounced between the two men.

  “Your point, detectives?” the lawyer asked, clicking the lock mechanism on the case.

  “Mind taking off your jacket and shirt, Mr. Hammond?” Dean asked. “You know, so we can get pictures, rule you out.”

  It was a bluff. The chance that the man who attacked Miss Conley still displayed possible scratches or bruising after nearly a week was slim.

  The lawyer chuckled, shaking his head, plucking his case off the table. “You’ll need a warrant, gentlemen. My client will not willingly subject himself to undue scrutiny when the police are clearly only interested in him as the assailant.”

  Dean scoffed. “Lawyers, always thinking we’re trying to pin their clients to the wall.”

  The attorney rolled his eyes, quickly escorting his client out of the building.

  Nick, rare anger radiating off him, stormed out of the interrogation room, the door slamming off the back wall. They had no choice to allow their only person of interest to walk out. Nick veered off toward the chief’s office and Dean followed. Nick wasn’t exactly in the patient state of mind to have a convo with the chief and it end with polite work issues banter. This was uncharted territory for Dean when it came to his current partner.

  “We need a warrant to get pictures of his body before any possible wounds or injuries heal further,” Nick blurted as he stormed into the office. “And I need to know what we can do about bringing in assistance.”

  Chief looked up from the pile of paperwork strewn across his desk and cocked a brow. “Tell Jordan to get on the warrant ASAP. Tell him to contact Judge Waters. And don’t even think about what I know you’re getting at. We’re not bringing Campbell onto this team or into this building ever again.”

  “I realize you’re pissed about Jason.” Nick pointed toward the exit of the building. “But we just let a man walk out of this building and go back to his normal life. A man who I believe tried to kill is ex and almost succeeded. We need someone to follow him.”

  “Then that’s on you and the team,” Chief snarled, tossing his pen onto the stack of papers in front of him. “I’m not authorizing bringing in a PI and then take heat from the commissioner. Do it yourself. But it can’t interfere with your regular duties.”

  Nick gaped. “Are you really that pissed off that you’d put an innocent woman’s life in danger, to pout?”

  Dean grinned. This was fun to witness. If he got lucky, maybe some fists would fly.

  “Watch yourself or you’ll be on the unemployment line with your friend.” Chief pegged him.

  “He quit, remember?”

  “Yeah, I fuckin�
� remember. And because of his betrayal of his badge, Internal Affairs is literally in the building going through everything we’ve ever done with a fine tooth comb. Some of the men you work side by side, who are damn good cops, are going to be under investigation because of Campbell. Including all of you. So, you might want to reconsider bringing him in when your own badge in on the line.”

  Chief’s arm swung to the door. “Don’t let it hit you in the ass.”

  Maybe this wouldn’t be as great entertainment as Dean had thought. He needed to get Nick under control before his friend ended up saying something that got him suspended. Or fired. Their unit couldn't afford to be another man down.

  Dean placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get a warrant and figure out where we can spare some guys to watch this asshat.”

  Nick glared Chief’s direction as he spun on his heels and left the office. Dean’s gaze hit the ceiling. Why the hell did he work with such drama queens?

  A half an hour and three cups of coffee later, Dean managed to calm Nick and get a bit of tracking on their suspect. It wouldn’t be a twenty-four seven job, but evenings and well into the mornings were covered to monitor Steve’s moves after his day job. Jordan worked furiously on the warrant, using every connection to track down Judge Waters, all to no avail. They didn't have enough to go on to intrusively strip a man down and take pictures of his bare torso, the judge denied their request.

  Dean made arrangements to meet the guys later for happy hour for much needed alcohol sustenance and left at the end of his shift. There was no point in remaining at his desk for new information. They'd pounded the payment for sixteen hours and needed a small reprieve.

  He drove to Josie’s home, put his car in park, and pulled a drill set out of his trunk. He went to the front door and let himself in with the keys the department had. Yellow tape, black dust from fingerprint testing, and Josie’s dried blood remained. The closed up house sat eerily silent and stale. A stench of near death—combination of the blood and chemicals—lingered in the air.