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

by Casey Clipper

  “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you would keep track of the number of men you go out with, like notches on a headboard or something.” Shit. Nothing he said was coming out right. He really was a dumbass. His Erin used to constantly look at him, confounded by his douchebag tendencies. Sort of the same way Josie was at the moment. Mouth agape, eyes narrowed. Yep, there went the pursing of the lips.

  “Wait, that didn’t come out right, either.” He raked a hand through his hair.

  “What is the matter with you? Do you just vomit out stupid stuff all the time?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. He opened his mouth but caught himself from telling her about Erin forever yelling at him to filter. He’d gotten better at the defect over time, just not entirely cured of the fault. But he didn’t want to share his Erin with Josie. Or anyone. He wanted to keep her for himself. Where only he could relish in the memory of his lovely wife. He didn’t want to hand over the memory of her to someone who wouldn’t appreciate his Erin for the wonderful woman she’d been.

  Josie laughed, the sound light and musical, as she shook her head in disbelief. “At least you admit you’re not perfect.”

  He gave her a genial smile. “Oh, I’m as close to perfect as you’ll get.”

  Her eyes hit the ceiling. “Lord help me from handsome egomaniacs.”

  He gave her a teasing punch. “You think I’m handsome.”

  She waved dismissively. “Yeah, me and every other woman on the planet.”

  “But those other women don’t count.”

  Her cheeks turned pink as she jerked her gaze away from him. Dean didn’t know why that popped out of his mouth. But the words weren’t a lie. When Josie called him handsome, he took the compliment to heart, knowing she wasn’t trying to get into his pants to bed the badge. She had just been plain honest. And he loved it.

  ***

  Dean carried a slumbering Josie up to her bedroom. He gently laid her down in her queen-sized bed, pulling the blankets over her sleeping form. He had debated on whether to leave her sleeping with him on the sofa, but for her own good, he wanted her to wake in her bed upstairs. She’d been obvious in her avoidance of being alone on the second floor of her home. No matter when she woke, she’d find herself safe, in her bed, and that’s what he wanted for her.

  Dean gazed down at Josie, looking so peaceful while dozing. Much more so than awake. He brushed her dark hair out of her eyes, his finger skimming her forehead. So beautiful. And strong. A fighter. Like his Erin, but in a different manner. Erin had been an “in-your-face” type of woman. Voicing her opinions at all times. Josie showed her strength silently. She hadn’t once complained about the pain in her stomach the entire day, even though Dean could plainly see her discomfort through her labored movements and subtle winces. She decided she wanted to return home and did, not too proud to ask for help from him. Dean was in awe of her.

  He went back downstairs on the sofa, slid out of his shoes, pulled his gun out of his holster and laid it on the coffee table beside him. Fluffing a throw pillow under his head, he laid back, closing his eyes. It wasn’t long before he found himself back at his home, in the nursery that had sat empty for years. But tonight, inside the crib, was a baby girl with a tuft of coal black hair and jade green eyes.

  20

  Josie rummaged through the supply closet, looking for the base hair coloring for one of her customers. Her stomach ached, her head hurt, she was hungry, and her feet screamed for relief. But she refused to go home. New Year’s Eve was one of her busiest days of the year. She would stick it out the few more hours she had remaining while the salon was open.

  Her business bustled with women getting their hair done, all the chairs full, manicures and pedicures were on a wait, Marc was juggling a massage room and a spa room at the same time, and facials were running fifteen minutes behind.

  She looked down at the supply list in her hand. “Becky!”

  Becky appeared instantaneously in the doorway, surprising Josie. “Yes?”

  “Why do I have a supply list here and a purchase order, but no supplies? Why is this closet practically empty?” She straightened and turned to face her employee. While she’d slowly gotten herself back into work, Becky had claimed she’d taken care of the ordering when Josie hadn’t been capable of keeping up with the menial tasks of running the shop.

  Becky looked at her blankly. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Did we receive the supplies?” She brushed past Becky to her office to find a delivery invoice and rifled through the paperwork piled on her desk.

  “I don’t know.”

  Josie stopped and looked up her. “You told me that you’d handle the ordering of supplies. You said you had everything taken care of. Not to worry. I signed checks in the exact amounts of invoices you gave me.” She held up a yellow slip of paper. “Where the hell are the deliveries?”

  “They must be running late.” Becky shrugged nonchalantly.

  Josie stared at the woman. Becky was blatantly lying. Josie’s suppliers were organized companies. They didn’t run behind in their shipments. As soon as an order was placed and Josie paid, they delivered. She didn’t run her business on credit. She paid up front for everything. It was too easy to put off paying bills with credit and she didn’t want to get into that habit. She’d chosen the path from the start.

  “Really?” she said, picking up the office phone. “Let me call Barbara to see where the order is.” She glanced at the clock. The supply company would still be open. Thank goodness New Year’s Eve fell on a weekday this year.

  Becky’s face turned white and she gripped the door frame. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Why don’t you let me call and you can go back out on the floor?”

  Josie raised a brow. Did Becky think she was that stupid? She pulled up the internet on her computer to log into the business bank account and see where the checks went. Josie dialed the distributor’s phone number, holding the line when choosing the correct extension. While she waited, she logged onto her bank account and retrieved the checks she’s signed.

  The phone slipped from her hand, clattering to the desk. Each one of the checks she had signed were made out to Becky. Her name expertly written over top of each distributor’s name. Someone might think the forgery was jittery handwriting or a pen that blobbed on the check. Josie pulled up another check, one she hadn’t signed or written, and gasped. It was forged, for ten thousand dollars.

  “Josie,” Becky said, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I thought I’d be able to have the money back into your account without you ever noticing.”

  Betrayal and anger ripped through her. She knew Becky could be intolerable at times. The woman consistently harassed her about owning a piece of her salon. And she hardly worked. It was quite noticeable she did everything in her power to avoid any form of labor. Which had been the opposite when she’d first been hired. Josie had looked over her other personality flaws, assuming the death of Becky’s husband had changed her work ethic, causing her stress. But her employee stole from her. And not toilet paper. She stole thousands upon thousands of dollars, from her business. From Josie’s bread and butter. The place she busted her ass for daily. And Becky thought it was all right to take from it. Take what didn’t belong to her. That she didn’t have a vested interest in. That she didn’t spend sleepless nights worrying about a plumbing issue, or an attempted break-in, or staffing issues.

  Josie wanted to cry, scream, throw anything within reach. God, what the hell had she done in her life to go through this karmic bullshit?

  She hung up the phone and then picked up her cell, dialing Dean.

  “Josie,” he answered on the first ring. Like he had for the past few days.

  “Dean, I have an issue.”

  Becky screeched and lunged for the phone, knocking Josie backward in the chair, falling to the floor, the phone flying out of her hand. Josie tried to fight off a physical attack, Becky pulling her hair, arms pinwheeli
ng, trying to punch her in the stomach, screaming profanities.

  “You stupid bitch. If you'd just let me have a piece of the pie,” Becky roared.

  “Josie!” She heard Dean’s voice coming from the phone.

  Suddenly Becky was off her, legs and arms flailing. Marc slammed her into the nearest wall.

  “Settle down before I put you out cold,” he growled.

  Josie laid on the floor in shock, taking stock of her body.

  “Josie!” Dean’s voice bellowed in the air.

  She stretched out her arm, rummaging for the phone, without trying to move too much. Her other employees rushed into the room, the stylist who was about to have a baby any day, bending down and handing her the phone.

  “Dean,” her voice croaked.

  “Josie, I’m on my way to the salon. What the hell is going on?”

  “Becky.”

  “Motherfucker,” he snapped. “What did she do?”

  That caused her to halt. “Wait, why do you say it like that? Is there something I should know?”

  “What happened, Josie?” He ignored her questions.

  “She’s stolen thousands of dollars from me. Forging checks. She just attacked me.” She choked back the anger.

  “We’re on our way, Josie, baby. We’ll be there in just a couple of minutes. Where’s Becky now?”

  “Marc has her pinned against the wall.”

  Dean’s knowledge of expletives came through loud and clear.

  Josie tried to sit upright, but her stomach cramped from the connections Becky did make. She let out a small whimper. She hadn’t felt too badly in the past week, able to move more fluidly, without constant pain. Today she had pushed her limits, but she chose to soldier forward. So much for that decision.

  Two other employees knelt down beside her, carefully helping her off the floor into her office chair. Becky cried while Marc used his brute strength to keep her in place.

  The next few minutes consisted of Josie’s employees fussing over her. She directed many of them to get back to work, not wanting the drama to spill out of the office.

  Becky tried unsuccessfully to squirm away from Marc, whining it was all a misunderstanding.

  A flurry of activity appeared in the doorway, Dean’s bulking frame taking up the doorway, his sharp eyes scanning the room and the scene before him. He rushed to Josie, pushing her employees out of his way.

  “Are you all right?” His hands went to her shoulders, sliding down her arms, his eyes searching, checking her.

  “Yes,” she said weakly.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She cringed, holding back the onslaught of distraught that threatened to pulverize her. “I’m just sore. Her attack didn’t help.”

  Dean glanced over his shoulder, Josie following his furious gaze, to find Nick slapping a pair of handcuffs on Becky, her face planted against the wall. Detective Hayes stepped up next to Dean. They were all in casual wear, jeans and tees and pullover sweaters. A pair of uniformed police officers appeared in the office, asking her employees to leave the small room.

  “Miss Conley, can you tell me what happened?” Detective Jordan asked, pulling out a pad and pen.

  Josie took a deep breath, closing her eyes. What the hell was happening in her life? An unknown man attacked her, attempted to kill her, and now her employee stole thousands of dollars from her. Honestly, she was ready to lose her every lovin’ mind on someone. How much could one human being take?

  She went over the entire episode, pulling up the bank account with the forged and altered checks. Meanwhile, Becky had been escorted out of the building. But not before trying to plead her case.

  “Josie, I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I can’t go to jail. Please.”

  Nick had not-so-kindly dragged her out of the building. Jordan sat at Josie’s computer, printing out copies of the check images while Dean pulled purchase order requests and unpaid invoices, making copies of everything.

  Josie, who couldn’t afford to have any customers leave and needed product, called a good friend who owned a salon a few miles away to get some supplies. She’d worry about the rest of the order on January second. The amount she'd pay to get stock immediately would be more than distributor cost, but she didn’t have a choice.

  Luckily, by the time the last customer left, an hour after closing, her employees managed to do damage control and every customer walked out the door happy. They all collapsed in chairs after clean up.

  “My fingers ache,” Marc said, flexing his hands. “I think they’re cramped into a permanent C.” He held up a clawed hand.

  Josie snorted. “Everyone go home. Happy New Year. Thank you so much for pulling together today. Detectives Rooney and Hayes have stated that they’ll want to be interviewing all of you again at some point.”

  Marc saluted. “Yes, boss lady.” He tilted his head, looking toward the office where Dean, Nick, and Jordan were going through records. “Detective Rooney seems very fond of you.”

  Josie smiled tiredly. “He’s been extremely nice to me. He’s been sleeping on the sofa at night for the past couple weeks because I’m scared to death to be alone in my house.”

  Marc’s brows reached to the sky. “Wow. It must be serious then.”

  “Yeah, someone tried to kill me.”

  He wagged a long finger at her. “No, I mean, the way he feels about you must be serious.” Marc pointed to the back. “Men, including detectives, don’t sleep at the homes of the cases they’re investigating.” He paused, turning serious. “Josie, has he told you about his life?”

  She shook her head. “By the time I get home in the evenings, I usually end up falling asleep. We don’t really discuss much except if anything out of the norm happened and if he has any questions about the case.”

  Marc hesitated, his eyes darting to the office then back to Josie again. “I think you should ask him about his history. The way that man came running into the office, it wasn’t that of a concerned law enforcement officer. He was a man with a vested interest in you. I just don’t want to see you...”

  Dean rounded the corner out of the office, turning off the light, Nick and Jordan behind him.

  “How are you feeling? Are you sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?” Dean approached, his eyes bouncing from Marc to her and back.

  She huffed. “Not everything requires an ER visit.”

  Jordan chuckled and winked at her. “She’s right. She’s fine, Dean. She’s a tough cookie.”

  “I’m concerned about her health,” Dean snapped, glaring at his partner.

  “And I would be the first person to complain if something was off to the point where I needed to go to the hospital. I’m fine. Just a bit tired and sore.” She rested her hand on his forearm when he came to her side.

  Dean slid his hand down to hers and interlocked their fingers together. She caught Marc’s face registering his surprise. She couldn’t deny she was a bit thrown off as well.

  “We’re going to our friend’s house for New Year’s Eve. Do you have any plans? I won’t be home for a while tonight,” Dean said. He sounded as if he wanted to go, but he would stay with her if she didn’t have plans. She didn’t want to ruin his New Year celebration. It was bad enough she was a damper to her own end of year countdown.

  “Home?” Marc quietly repeated.

  “I’d love for you to join us. Nick and Jordan will be there.”

  Jordan smiled, his wide grin showcasing a truly good-looking young man. “Yeah, Josie, we’ll be there to ring in the new year. Along with Hannah. You need to meet Hannah. She’s a rip.”

  “I’m not much in a party mood.” She regretted it, wanting to be with him.

  Dean lifted her chin, searching her eyes. His sparkled. Something she hadn’t noticed before. They seemed lighter, not nearly as haunted. “It’s not so much a party than good friends together to celebrate ringing in the new year. Hannah is pregnant and our friend’s parents will be there.�
��

  “And Roy,” Nick said.

  “Roy?”

  “Roy has severe anxiety, so things tend to be a bit not so boisterous around him,” Dean explained.

  Nick laughed. “Then how the hell is he such good friends with Hannah?”

  Jordan pointed to Nick. “Good point.”

  Josie didn’t want to be alone in her house. Just the thought of it nearly made her break out in hives. But she was tired. Exhausted, to be totally honest with herself.

  “You can relax on the sofa,” Dean said, as if reading her mind. “Or maybe even rest in the spare bedroom for a bit.” He turned to face her directly, blocking out everyone around them. “I would feel better if you were with me. I wouldn’t worry about you being home alone.”

  She nodded and whispered, “All right, I’ll go.”

  Dean smiled, his worry lines disappearing, his features appearing years younger. “Terrific.”

  Marc stood and playfully saluted. “I’m out. Happy New Year, Josie.”

  He lingered a fraction of a second, looking between her and Dean. He was probably just as confused about what was happening between her and Dean as she was.

  21

  “Oh my god,” Josie gasped. Dean had just lead her into the Campbell home where she stopped short at the door. “This is beautiful.”

  Dean looked around confused and then realized she’d taken in the holiday décor that had exploded all over the home. And Hannah managed to add New Year’s decorations to the mix. Black and gold streamers and balloons hung from the ceiling fans and archways.