“Do I want to know what that is?”
“Probably not. But your safety is their only concern right now. And I told them you’d be difficult to reach until we get this sorted out.”
She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. The motion made the stitches at the back of her skull pinch. “If you’re babysitting me, how do you propose to sort this out?”
“I have five operatives and I can multitask.”
She let out a slow breath. “If only the police had been able to get a DNA sample. None of this would have happened.”
“My guys will sit on Lansing twenty-four-seven.”
“How does that help?” she asked.
“If Lansing takes a drink or puts his trash out, they’ll find something to run DNA on.”
“The police tried that for a week and nothing,” she told him. “They said he was very cagy when it came to his DNA.”
“Which means he knows it will incriminate him. If they can prove he’s the father of the waitress’s baby, that gives him motive to kill her.”
“Motive times ten if you add in his wife’s money.”
Declan gave her a quizzical look.
She hoisted the tote up onto her shoulder. “Dr. Lansing’s wife comes from old money. If anyone were to prove he was having an affair, she’d probably divorce him and take her money with her.”
“What kind of money are we talking about?”
“She has an estate on Jupiter Island. In the area of tens of millions.”
Declan whistled. “No wonder he didn’t want you and Kasey to testify against him.”
“What if I go public with the fact that I can’t actually identify him? Wouldn’t that stop him from trying to kill me?”
“You won’t have to go public. The state’s attorney isn’t going to go forward with the grand jury without a witness or some other evidence. Lansing will figure that out in no time. His other problem now being linked to Kasey’s murder and your attempted murder.”
“Well, I can’t do that,” she said, feeling defeated. “I was so distracted talking to Kasey that I didn’t notice anything.”
“What about the white SUV?” he pressed. “Maybe you saw one that morning or a day or two before you were supposed to testify?”
Chasyn pressed her lips together and tried to think. “No, nothing.”
“We’d better go. I don’t want to stay here long enough for whoever to find you again.”
She shivered. “When you talk like that I get really scared.”
His expression softened. “Let me worry about the tough stuff. All you have to do is follow my instructions.”
“Like I have a choice.”
His thumb and forefinger looped her chin, gently forcing her head back so he could look into her eyes. “You’re right. For now, you don’t have a choice and I’m sorry about that. But I’m the one with the experience here, so you’ll just have to trust me.”
“I’m trying.”
“Okay. We’re going downstairs. I’ll load the car and then come back for you. Stay away from the glass doors until I come for you. Understood?”
She nodded and they left the apartment.
Chasyn stood in the shadows of the vestibule with her heart pounding in her ears. Her headache was a dull throb yet adrenaline had her practically jumping out of her skin. She held her breath as Declan went out and put her suitcase and tote in the back of his SUV. Then he jogged back and she stepped forward to open the door.
As soon as she yanked the handle open, she heard a whoosh and a ping. Then glass from the door splintered all around them. Declan threw himself on her and they tumbled back on the ground as a second whoosh and ping split the air.
He’d knocked the air out of her so all she could say was, “What…is…happening?”
“Rifle fire! Keep your head down!”
Chasyn wasted a few seconds trying to get her breath. Not an easy task when she was scared out of her wits as bullets kept flying. Instantly her mind went back to the horrible scene on the courthouse steps, and she wasn’t sure she could get lucky a second time. She buried her face in his chest and waited to die.
CHAPTER THREE
It took several seconds for her brain to register that the shooting had stopped. The eerie silence that followed was almost as frightening as the hail of bullets. Where was the shooter? Was he walking closer, intent on finishing the job?
Chasyn’s body began to shake, and abject fear—as well as the weight of Declan’s large body on hers—made it difficult to breathe. When he didn’t move immediately, she thought the worst. With some effort and a growing sense of panic, she gave his shoulder a shove. “Declan?”
Once the shooting stopped Declan rolled off her, reached into an ankle holster, and produced a gun.
“Why didn’t you take that out sooner?” she asked in a huff.
“I was a little preoccupied covering your body with mine. You’re welcome, by the way.”
Leaving her lying on the glass-strewn floor, he moved along the wall, toward the now shattered vestibule doors. Several long seconds passed before he said, “All clear.”
He shot her a glance. “Are you hurt?” he demanded.
Relieved that neither of them was dead or riddled with bullets, she shook her head. “Just…had…the…wind…knocked…out of me.” With difficulty, she sipped air until her constricted lungs no longer felt constricted.
At about that same moment, she could hear a cacophony of sirens growing closer. Careful to avoid the glass shards, she stood on shaky legs.
“You’re bleeding,” Declan tucked his gun into the back of his waistband.
Chasyn looked down and saw a steady stream of blood dripping off her middle finger. She turned her palm up and noted a small piece of glass protruding from her hand.
Declan took her hand in his and examined the wound. “This may hurt a little,” he said before he grabbed the edge of the glass and pulled it free. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It doesn’t hurt,” she insisted. She lifted the edge of her T-shirt and applied pressure to the wound. While she waited for the bleeding to stop, she watched Declan move toward the back of the vestibule. He got down on his haunches and examined something shiny on the ground. “What is it?” she asked.
“Projectiles from a thirty-ought-six, is my guess.”
“In English?”
He stood, his handsome features suddenly strobed in red and blue lights as an ambulance and several police cars came to a screeching halt in the parking lot. Before he could answer, Chasyn heard someone on a megaphone say, “West Palm Beach Police!”
Declan gripped her elbow and led her out of the building. The officers had taken up defensive positions behind their open car doors. Perhaps a half-dozen guns were trained in their direction.
Because she’d seen it on TV and in the movies, Chasyn reflexively raised her hands. A small stream of blood trickled from her palm. Her surrender seemed to relax the atmosphere just as an unmarked car came rushing onto the scene.
A familiar face emerged from the car. Detective Burrows stepped from the dark blue, American-made sedan with his ever-present notepad in one hand. He did not look happy.
Chasyn lowered her arms and absently wiped her injured palm on her T-shirt again. With each step she took she could hear a slight jingling noise. It took her a few seconds to realize it was the sound of glass shards falling from her hair onto the pavement. Between her bloody shirt, bloody hand, and incessant shaking, she was definitely a hot mess.
Burrows pulled Declan aside for a statement while Chasyn was sent to the paramedics to have her hand bandaged. “Sorry, I’m trying to keep my hand still, but I’ve got the shakes,” she said as the EMT placed a couple of butterfly bandages over the cut.
“It’s adrenaline,” he explained. “It will dissipate soon.”
Burrows came over to her, pencil poised above his pad. “So, tell me what happened.”
“We were in the vestibule when someone shot at us. Sho
t at me.”
“Did you see the shooter?”
She shook her head. As she did so, Declan came up quietly behind Burrows. “I didn’t see or hear anything until the bullets when whizzing past my head.”
“Nothing? Not even the sound of a car?”
“No.”
Declan stepped forward. “The guy didn’t necessarily fire from the parking lot. If I’m right, the ammunition used can be fired from as far as a thousand yards away. This was no amateur.”
Chasyn felt a chill creep down her spine. “Are you saying a professional hit man has tried to kill me twice?”
Burrows thumbed through his notebook. “The bullets recovered from the other shooting were nine millimeters.”
Confused Chasyn looked at Declan “He changed guns?”
“Yes,” Burrows said.
“Or two different shooters,” Declan corrected. “Which begs the question. How did this guy know where to find you? The only person who knew when I’d be bringing her by the apartment is me and I didn’t tell anyone.”
Burrows looked in her direction. “Did you tell anyone your plans, Miss Summers?”
“No. Well…” She hesitated for a minute. “I think I said something to the nurse who helped me this morning.”
“Which nurse?”
Chasyn let her head fall to one side. “Seriously? Why would some nurse I met exactly three times get involved with a murder attempt?”
“We have to follow every lead.”
Declan’s expression changed to a hard, intimidating scowl. “You wouldn’t be chasing ghosts if you hadn’t pulled your man off Chasyn. You should have left a man at the hospital.”
Burrows’ face flushed. “If it happened the way you say it did, then having an officer on site wouldn’t have made a difference.”
Declan reached around Burrows and said, “C’mon, Chasyn. Let’s get out of here.”
“I’m not finished with my questioning,” Burrows objected.
While she began to walk past the detective, Declan took out his wallet and produced a business card. He presented it to Burrows. “If you have any more questions for either of us, you can call this attorney.”
As soon as they were out of earshot, Chasyn asked, “I have an attorney?”
“My brother,” Declan explained. “Jack has an office in Stuart.”
“But how can he represent me if he hasn’t met me?”
Declan shrugged and opened the car door for her. “He trusts me and he owes me one.”
As Declan slalomed through the emergency vehicles, he reached into the back of his waistband and pulled out the gun, leaving it to rest on the console between them. It made Chasyn nervous. “What if that thing goes off?” she asked.
“The safety is on. I take it you don’t have any experience with guns.”
“No. Unless you count the two times I’ve been shot at and the fact that they removed a bullet from my head.”
He let out a little half-laugh. “I see your point.”
Chasyn shifted in her seat and looked at him in profile. As predicted, the adrenaline rush had subsided and now she just felt an overwhelming exhaustion. Her limbs felt heavy and her mind wandered aimlessly as she regarded him. He was handsome in a classical statue kind of way. Chiseled angles. His shoulders were broad and the fabric of his shirt was pulled taut across his expansive chest and his well-defined upper arms. She could see the outline of his six-pack as his torso narrowed at his waist. The same was true of his thighs—muscle pressed an outline against fabric. Her attention lifted to his mouth and her frazzled brain produced a vivid image of what it might be like to be kissed by him.
It wouldn’t be soft or tentative. No, she pegged him for the deep, thrusting kind of kiss that would have the ability to curl her toes in nothing flat. Chasyn cheeks grew warm and she twisted back in her seat and kept her eyes front. Lusting after this man was a really bad idea. It wasn’t part of her plan. And she never deviated from her life plan. Yet she lifted her hand to her mouth and could almost feel the lingering effect of the non-existent kiss.
Declan made two calls from the car. One to his office and another to his brother Jack. Both calls were short and to the point. He made arrangements for his team to follow Dr. Lansing and the call to his brother was just a heads-up should Burrows contact him. The easy banter between the brothers left her with a pang of envy. She was an only child and Kasey had been the closest thing she’d ever had to a sister. And now she was gone.
* * *
He had to admit—at least to himself—that there was something not quite right about the situation. The change in MO troubled Declan. If he was right and the first attempt on Chasyn’s life had been a professional job, then the second attempt should have followed a similar pattern. It was a whole different skill set going from a nine-millimeter used in a drive-by to a thirty-ought-six fired from a long distance, high-powered rifle. It wasn’t unheard of for a killer to switch from a firearm to a knife or vice versa, but it was odd to change weapons in midstream. Why go from an easily concealed handgun to a high-powered rifle when Chasyn was the target? That fact gnawed at his thoughts. Not to mention his personal take on the change in weapons. A nine millimeter can do some damage but a two-two-three shell is designed for the infliction of maximum damage. Whoever had shot at her today wanted her dead. Real dead. It would be easy enough to check if Lansing had any firearms training but he assumed that would be a dead end. No, the way to catch Lansing would come from DNA and/or a financial trail leading to the hit man. Or more optimally, Declan could chase him down and beat the crap out of him before turning him over to the police.
He glanced over at Chasyn. She sat in silence, eyes front. Too bad. She had beautiful eyes. They reminded him of the ocean. Hell, if he was being totally honest, she was beautiful, period. He normally went for the dark, exotic type but there was something about the mix of strength and vulnerability that piqued his interest. And it didn’t hurt that she was positively stunning. Declan gave himself a mental bitch slap as he reached up to the visor and pressed the button to open the gate in the stucco fence that surrounded his home.
* * *
Chasyn wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the home set back from the road. As they pulled in the drive and waited for the garage door to open, she spotted at least a half-dozen security cameras mounted on the beige stucco house with the barrel tile roof. Very Florida.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Unincorporated Palm Beach County,” he replied.
“I meant, is this your house?”
“Yes,” he said as he pulled into the garage.
The walls were lined with pegboard and an assortment of tools hung in precise order. There was a surfboard leaning against the back wall and scuba gear to the right of that.
She started to open the door when Declan reached out and closed his hand over her wrist. “Wait until the garage door closes.”
“You think the killer will look for me here?”
“Doubtful,” he said. “The property is in the name of my company and I made sure we weren’t followed on the way over here.”
She let out a sigh of relief just as the garage door rumbled to a stop. Grabbing her tote, she slipped out of the SUV. Not an easy chore; it was more like a dismount than a graceful exit. Declan retrieved her suitcase, then led her through the door.
They passed through a laundry room that then opened to a spacious kitchen, complete with light marble counter tops. Obviously private detecting paid well. But it didn’t decorate well. It was immediately apparent that a man had selected the furnishings and other décor. Everything was big and masculine with lots of leather and there was an adjacent family room with the biggest TV she’d ever seen.
Declan rolled her suitcase down the hallway off the family room, flipped on lights, and showed her the guest room and the guest bath. “There’s towels and stuff in the hall closet.”
“Thank you,” she said as she eyed the sleigh bed
dominating the room. There was a large window over the bed, obscured by plantation shutters.
“I’ll let you get settled, then join me in the family room, okay?”
She nodded, then watched his back as he left the room.
Chasyn spent about twenty minutes changing out of her bloody shirt and unpacking and setting up her things in the bathroom. While there she took a look at herself in the mirror and groaned. Her hair was mussed and her lip gloss was long gone. And the bandage at her temple didn’t exactly heighten her appearance. It shouldn’t have mattered. Declan was her bodyguard, not her date. Still, she took the time to brush her hair and reapply nude gloss before re-emerging to the family room.
The gigantic television was on, but instead of a normal screen, this screen was split into nine images, stacked in three rows of three. Declan was in the kitchen with a dish towel over his shoulder and a whisk in his hand.
He smiled at her and she just about melted. Recovering quickly, she asked, “What smells so good?”
“An omelet. I’m afraid it’s the only thing I know how to cook well. And I figured you’d be hungry.”
“I am,” she admitted, rubbing her belly for emphasis. “May I help?”
He shook his head and whisked the eggs. He poured them into a pan, then allowed them to cook for a minute or so before adding cheese. It smelled wonderful and also worked as an effective distraction from her silly fixation on his physique.
As he was plating the food, he asked, “Coffee, water?”
“Water’s fine.”
Declan grabbed one plate and stopped at the fridge on the way to the kitchen table and grabbed a bottle of water for her. He made a second trip and retrieved his plate and a mug of steaming coffee.
“What’s with the television?” she asked.
“My security system,” he explained. “Before I forget,” he paused to reach into his pocket, then passed her a fob with a red button on it. “This is the panic button. Keep it with you at all times when we’re in the house. One press and this place lights up like the fourth of July.”
Chasyn curled her fingers around the fob, then dove into the omelet. It was a wonderful change after two days of hospital food. When she looked up, she found Declan staring at her mouth. It was a tad distracting. Then again, her nerves were shot and she wasn’t exactly in the best frame of mind to try to decipher what that look was all about. When her belly did a flip-flop, she chalked it up to her stomach thanking her for the good food. The alternative was to acknowledge that in the midst of her grief and fear she was actually attracted to him, and that wasn’t an option. Still, all of her nerve endings sizzled at once.
Trapped Page 3
