No sooner had she said it than Müller darted to the left and slalomed around the downed safety bars. An instant after, the train crossed the tracks. Declan slammed his palm on the steering wheel. “Damn it!”
He held out his hand for the walkie-talkie thing. Chasyn forgot she’d been clutching it during the harrowing ride.
He put the SUV in park as the slow-moving freight train rumbled down the tracks. “Gavin?”
“Did you get him?”
Declan sighed and she could just make out the strained vein at the side of his neck by the light coming off the dashboard instruments. “No. But he’s in a black van, first three of the plate are K-6-6. How are the parents.”
“Shaken. A few bumps and bruises.”
Chasyn’s heart sank. “Take me to them.”
Declan shook his head. “Have Tom take the parents to the house in Fort Myers.”
“But I want to see them!” Chasyn protested.
He turned to her. “Too dangerous. The best course of action is to put them somewhere out of Müller ‘s reach.”
“But I want to see them first,” she insisted.
“No,” he said with finality. “You’re just going to have to trust me for a little bit longer.”
* * *
She hadn’t spoken to him with more than single syllable responses in the time it had taken them to return to his house. Chasyn was physically tired, but her mind raced with possibilities. Sitting at the table, pen poised over her legal pad, she made herself a list:
How is Lansing paying Müller?
Mary…storage unit?
White SUV at courthouse?
Black van Müller was driving?
2013 Taurus?
Mary’s adoption scam?
Lansing’s credit card cash hiding system?
Lansing’s DNA?
“What are you doing?” Declan asked when he pulled up the chair next to hers and slid the pad over so he could read her notes. “You forgot something.”
“What?”
“Why three different weapons?” he asked. “There were nine-mil casings at the courthouse and 30.06 projectiles at your apartment building. And Mary was killed with a hunting knife.”
She thought for a second. “I’m assuming a knife was used on Mary because it was an up close and personal killing. Not to mention people would have heard gunfire outside the restaurant.”
“I’ll give you that,” he said with a slight nod. “But a handgun and a rifle? That’s just odd.”
“And the witnesses said there were two people in the white SUV that shot at Kasey and me. Would Müller use an accomplice?”
Declan pensively stroked the shadow of stubble on his jawline. “Unlikely. It makes more sense that Lansing hired someone local for the hit at the courthouse and when that went south, he hired Müller.”
“How did he manage that?” Chasyn asked. He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Lansing is a forensic psychiatrist. I’m guessing he’s crossed paths with a few killers in his time. Maybe he called in a favor.”
“He’s been consulting for over a decade,” Chasyn explained. “I could go to my office and use our database to cross-reference him with what cases he’s been involved in. Besides, I have to pick up my check from Mr. Becker so I can take care of my apartment lease before too much time passes.”
“How much time is your boss willing to give you off work?”
She half-grunted a humorless laugh. “I called him briefly from the burner phone and after the shooting at my apartment, he doesn’t want me back until”—she made air quotes—“I no longer pose a threat to the office.”
“Do you have a key?” he asked.
“Sure,” she said. “But it’s almost midnight.”
“No time like the present,” he suggested, scooting his chair back. “Unless you’re too tired.”
“Too tired to figure out why someone wants me dead?”
“Point,” he acknowledged with a sexy half-smile.
They both stood and Declan casually guided her toward the door. Her nerve endings ignited at the sensation of his splayed fingertips. The warmth spread through her body as they stepped out into the cool night air.
It was a relatively quick drive to the four-story glass building off Blue Heron Boulevard that housed the Law Offices of Keller & Mason. Declan pulled into a spot in front of the double doors etched with gold lettering. Before they stepped out into the otherwise vacant lot, Declan retrieved a gun from the glove box and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“Are you always armed?” she asked as he hurried her to the door.
“Müller is still out there,” he said as he stood behind her while she slipped her key in the lock and opened the door. A loud beep sounded every few seconds until Chasyn disabled the alarm. She waited for the door to close, relocked it, then reset the alarm.
She went to the round reception desk and leaned over the smooth mahogany top to reach for her messages. Not that she was going to do much with them; retrieving them was more out of habit than anything else. There were only three pink message slips and an envelope from Mr. Becker—the apartment cancellation fee, no doubt. It was sweet of him to take care of it given that she now needed to move and she wasn’t getting paid leave time so every penny was welcome.
Just the thought of finding a new apartment was daunting. Sadness settled over her. A move would be a huge change with Kasey gone.
“What’s wrong?” Declan asked. His deep voice echoed in the two-story atrium of the reception area.
Chasyn blew out a breath and held up the envelope. “Kasey’s dad sent me the money to pay off the lease at my apartment, so that made me think of her and…”
Declan gently turned her around; his hands bracketed her hips. She tucked the envelope in her back pocket and reached out to bracket her hands at his waist. Her intent had been to push him away, but the instant she felt corded muscle, her intentions melted away. Instead, she snaked her hands around his body and pressed her cheek against his chest.
“I still can’t believe she’s really dead,” she said as she gathered strength from his embrace. It didn’t hurt that he was gently stroking her back. Or that she could feel the outline of his thighs where they pressed against hers.
Chasyn squeezed her eyes shut. Her brain was all over the place. This whole situation was turning her organized, logical mind to mush. One minute she was feeling despair and the next desire. It made no sense. Well, no logical sense. She needed to concentrate and that wasn’t possible when she was drinking in his scent.
Stepping out of his embrace, she plastered a smile on her face and said, “This way,” as she led him to the elevator. Once inside, she pressed the button for the second floor. With a soft ding, they were welcomed to the dimly lit area.
Declan followed her to the third office on the left, across from a massive law library. Chasyn flipped the wall switches and the fluorescent bulbs flickered to life. Hers was a modest office with a functional desk, a credenza, and two chairs. On top of the credenza were a few framed photographs. The only adornment on the walls was her diploma and a nondescript painting of a beach scene that added color to her otherwise sand-colored office.
“You spend hours in here?” he asked.
“It’s not huge, but it’s fine for me. Not everyone has the space for a hangar and a gun range.” She smiled as she slipped behind her desk and fired up her computer. “There’s a mini-fridge in the credenza, help yourself to some water or whatever.” In no time, she logged into the database and began her search while Declan settled into one of the chairs opposite her desk.
Chasyn was acutely aware of his presence and struggled to keep her mind on the task at hand. Not easy because she could see him looking around her office above the top of the monitor. She watched as his attention settled on the pictures on her credenza.
“Europe?” he asked, nodding toward the picture on her credenza.
“Kasey and I spent six weeks traveling around after graduation,�
� she explained. “A graduation gift from Mr. Becker.”
“Generous guy,” he responded vaguely as he continued to catalogue her stuff.
Chasyn was into the database and quickly put in the search parameters. “He is that. He also sent Kasey and me to Hawaii for our high school graduation gift.”
“I’m jealous. I never had rich friends in high school or college.”
“You went to college?” she asked, then felt completely embarrassed because it came out sounding so incredulous.
He smiled. “Yes. I got my degree in criminal justice then did a six-year stint in the Army.”
“Is that where you learned all your, um, skills?”
“I was a quick study,” he replied evasively. “How’s the search coming?”
Chasyn glanced back at the monitor. “Lansing has been an expert witness in sixty-six trials in the last eleven years.”
“All for the defense?”
She shook her head. “Roughly about seventy percent of the time. He also works with the State’s Attorney’s office.”
“Can you print a list of cases?” he asked. “Ziggy can run backgrounds on all the participants and try to figure out if any of them could be Lansing’s link to Müller.”
She pressed three keys, frowned at the screen, and then stood. “The printer is off. I’ll be right back.”
Chasyn went into the adjacent room and switched on the machine. Then she returned to her office and re-sent the information to the printer. After collecting the pages, she grabbed an accordion folder from the shelf and slipped them inside before powering down the printer and returning to her office. “All set,” she said.
She reversed her actions as they left the building: shutting off lights and resetting the alarm. Chasyn had the file tucked under her arm and was shielding a yawn when she reached the car. She glanced down at her watch. It was nearly two a.m. No wonder she was tired.
As soon as they were belted in and Declan had pulled out his gun and placed it in the cupholder in the console, he started the engine, and she asked, “Where are my parents and when can I talk to them?”
“I’ll arrange a call in the morning,” he promised as he steered out onto Blue Heron.
The road was all but deserted this time of night, save for the occasional vehicle stopping into one of the many gas stations that dotted each corner. As they drove toward I-95, overhead lighting strobed through the car.
“My folks must be frantic,” she commented. “Did Müller hurt them?”
“Not according to Gavin,” he said with a reassuring pat on her knee. “Shaken up a bit, but otherwise fine.”
As they veered off to the on ramp, a bright glare illuminated the car from behind. Chasyn turned to see a white SUV coming up fast. “Declan, I—”
“I see them,” he said, his voice calm but crisp. “Hang on.”
Chasyn grabbed the overhead strap with one arm but remained twisted in her seat trying to get a look at whoever was chasing them onto the highway. Unfortunately, Florida didn’t require front license plates, but she did take note of the name of the rental company logo on the vanity plate. All the while Declan was increasing his speed and gunning it down the interstate. The white SUV stayed with them. The road was empty save their two vehicles, and Declan was flooring his car.
Her heart was pounding in her chest and she kept her eyes glued to their pursuers. The highway lights made it just barely possible to detect the occupants of the vehicle. “There’re two men in the car,” she announced breathlessly.
“Neither one is Müller,” Declan replied.
“He sent minions?” she asked.
Before he could answer, their back window shattered.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Stay down!” Declan yelled and revved the engine, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
Chasyn did as instructed, terrified that another bullet would come piercing through the car at any second.
They swerved back and forth. “He’s coming up on your side!” Declan’s voice was grim. “Hold on, I’ll try to bump him.”
No sooner had he spoken than Chasyn felt a sharp jerk, followed by the sound of metal against metal. Their SUV bounced back toward the left and Declan cursed loudly as he took one hand off the wheel and pulled his gun from the console.
A second shot wiped out the window above her head, then burrowed into the GPS display. The small screen went dark and acrid smoke sizzled from the bullet hole.
Chasyn crouched into a fetal position, her hands protecting her head. Declan fired three shots in rapid succession. She could smell and taste the gunpowder and her ears rang from the sound.
“Got him,” Declan said excitedly.
Cautiously, Chasyn lifted her head and saw the white SUV veer onto the shoulder, then slammed into the jersey wall of a construction zone at full speed. The SUV went airborne, landing several yards ahead of them like an upside down turtle, its wheels spinning.
Declan slowed the car and eased close to the abbreviated shoulder in the construction zone. “Son of a bitch,” he said.
Chasyn followed his line of sight and saw a man running into the strip of woods lining the interstate. “Can you catch him?” she asked.
“I’m not leaving you alone,” he answered. “Call 9-1-1 from the prepaid I gave you while I check on the other guy.”
Chasyn reported the incident but kept her eyes locked on Declan. He leapt over the cement barrier with ease, then went to the overturned vehicle. He crouched beside the driver’s side window and reached inside. After a few moments he rejoined her.
“He’s dead,” he said flatly.
“Did you shoot him?”
He shook his head. “He wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”
“Who is he?” she asked.
“We’ll have to wait for the cops—”
Approaching sirens silenced him. Flashing lights and a strobe of red came rushing up.
Declan leaned close and said, “We’ll answer their questions but don’t volunteer anything. The last thing I want or need is the local cops screwing with my investigation.”
“But what if they can help?” she argued. “Maybe they can find the connection to Lansing.”
“Have you forgotten Detective Burrows and the State’s Attorney both blame you for being less than honest with them before the grand jury proceedings? This is one of those situations where you can’t trust anyone but me. Okay?”
Chasyn blew out a breath then nodded.
The first officer on the scene was a tall, lanky man in his mid-twenties. The plate above his crisp uniform shirt read WILSON. He had a powerful flashlight tucked in his armpit as he approached. “Ma’am,” he greeted her. “Are you hurt?”
“No, but the guy in the other car is…”
The officer asked about Declan’s possible injuries, then went over the wall and checked the overturned van. As he did so two more police cars arrived, along with an ambulance and a firetruck that was quickly used to barricade the accident site.
Deputy Wilson gave out instructions and assignments to the first responders before he started back to where she and Declan stood.
Reaching into the breast pocket of his shirt, he retrieved a small pad and a pencil. “Let’s move over toward the wall,” he suggested. “I’ll need full names and addresses,” he said.
They complied and he asked, “Are you sure neither one of you require medical attention?”
“I’m sure,” Chasyn said. Declan echoed the same sentiment.
“Okay, then,” Wilson began, pencil poised. “Your name, ma’am?”
“Chasyn Summers.”
“And you, sir?”
“Declan Kavanaugh.”
Wilson went on to ask a litany of basic questions: like address, employment, contact information and basic background. Then he got to the point. “Which one of you was driving?”
“I was,” Declan said. “We were on the interstate when the SUV came up on us. They fired a shot that took out my back windshield. Th
en they tried to run us off the road. At that point, I took out my weapon and returned fire. The white car swerved, hit the wall, and landed on the roof. I saw one man run from the vehicle.”
“Which way?” Wilson asked.
“West. Into the tree line and then probably to one of the businesses on Congress.”
Wilson looked up from his notes. “Did you see him run all the way to Congress Avenue?”
Declan shook his head. “No, but that’s the only thing that makes sense. He’s on foot and probably desperate to contact someone to get him out of the area. Best place to do that is one of the convenience stores or gas stations along Congress.”
Using the microphone clipped to his shoulder, Wilson called for a K-9 unit to begin a search for the runner. Then he asked, “Where is your gun now, Mr. Kavanaugh?”
“Console of my vehicle,” Declan responded.
Again, Wilson dispatched one of the half-dozen or so on-scene deputies to recover the gun. “Do you have any idea why you were chased and shot at?”
“Dr. Lansing,” Chasyn said.
Wilson looked at her for a moment, then asked, “The Mary Jolsten case?”
Chasyn nodded. Declan placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side as he slowly recounted the events leading up to the night’s shootout. He never mentioned Müller and she found that odd. Almost as odd as the fact that as he was speaking, she was more focused on the feel of his well-muscled, warm body than the peppering of questions from the deputy. Exhaustion settled over her as the minutes stretched into nearly an hour.
“We’re going to have to take you to the station,” Wilson announced after returning from his patrol car.
“Is that really necessary?” Declan countered. His grasp on her upper arm tightened. “Miss Summers is tired and so am I. We’ll come in later today.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Kavanaugh, I checked in and but Detective Burrows is waiting for you.”
“May I get my tote out of the car?” Chasyn asked.
“You can retrieve your personal belongings and then I’ll take you in.”
They strode to the car together and Chasyn asked in a whisper, “Why did you leave Müller out of the story?”
Trapped Page 13
