“Was that really necessary?” Lansing asked in a snooty tone as he adjusted his golf sweater with its designer logo on the right breast.
“You have a history with knives,” Declan replied.
“Allegedly,” Lansing corrected. “So, I take it you found Mary’s DVD?”
“Yes,” Declan said, handing over the disc. “This is a copy, just to prove to you I have it.”
“I’m not paying for a copy,” Lansing said.
Declan laughed. “I don’t want your money.”
“What do you want?”
“I want Martinez and Müller.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lansing lied effortlessly. “I don’t know anyone by those names.”
“If you think the press hounded you when you became a person of interest in Mary’s murder, wait until they get a hold of your lingerie show. So, let’s start again. How do I get to Martinez and Müller?”
“I have no idea.”
Declan gave the man a none-too-gentle shove. “Stop dicking around.”
“Or what?” Lansing asked. “You’ll beat it out of me?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Declan responded angrily. “What I want is for you to call them off Chasyn Summers. And I want it done tonight.”
“I’d love to oblige you, but I’m afraid I’m not in control of Mr. Martinez.”
“Channel Five is going to have a field day when I hand the video over. I can just see the crawlers and special bulletins now.”
Chasyn set aside the binoculars and turned to the screen. Something was wrong. Lansing was totally calm and collected. He didn’t seem the least bit concerned about Declan’s threat or his posture. In fact, he was wearing a bland expression, almost as if Declan was boring him.
The mic crackled to life. It was Chuck. “I’ve got a heavyset male coming up the walkway from the south. Dark hoodie. Cargo shorts. Hands in pockets.”
“Is it Martinez?” Chasyn asked, rattled.
Gavin asked, “You got eyes on his face?”
“Negative,” Chuck said.
“Declan, you may be getting company,” Gavin warned.
On the screen, she watched as Declan drew his gun and held it off to his side. It was hard to see because of the limited camera angle, but Chasyn was growing more and more anxious with each passing nanosecond. Guns, darkness, and a secluded place weren’t a good mix.
“Let’s go,” Declan said, grabbing Lansing by the arm and steering him off the pier.
“Why the hurry?” Lansing asked. “We haven’t concluded our business. I want that video.”
“And I want Martinez and Müller.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Lansing warned.
A split second later Chasyn heard a series of pops and all hell broke loose. She stared at the images streaming from the camera. It showed Lansing half-crouched in front and to the left of the lens. She could see Declan’s outstretched arm, gun trained straight ahead.
“I don’t have a clear shot!” Sam yelled.
“I do!” Chuck called just as another shot split the night air.
“Shit!” Declan cursed.
“Is he shot?” she demanded of Gavin.
Then she saw Declan pull the trigger over and over, then the sound of another series of shots coming from a distance.”
“What’s happening?” she asked more forcefully.
“Everyone okay?” Gavin asked via the mic.
“Lansing’s down,” Declan said, his voice so calm it gave her shivers.
Chasyn couldn’t stand not knowing what was going on. Completely defying Declan’s instructions, she bounded from the car and ran toward the pier, Gavin hot on her heels. She ignored his calls for her to get back in the car, increasing her pace until she reached the pathway that ran parallel to the ocean. She could hear her labored breathing over the gentle crash of the surf. When she reached the walkway, she stopped short.
Declan was leaning over the motionless body of a large man crumpled on the ground. But the worst of it was seeing the stain on the front of his shirt. She flew in his direction. “Are you shot?”
“It’s not my blood. It’s Lansing’s,” he said as he stood. Then he turned to Gavin and said, “Call 9-1-1. Lansing took one to the chest but he’s still alive.”
“Who is this?” Chasyn asked, indicating the man on the ground.
Declan reached down and pulled the hoodie back off his face. “Martinez.”
“Is he dead?”
Declan nodded. “Very.” He knelt down again and began to rifle through the man’s pockets.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Seeing if he has anything on him that will link him to Lansing or Kasey’s murder.” He pulled out several receipts and a small scrap of paper with the word “Hannah” written on it. Declan examined it, then handed it to her. “Mean anything to you?”
She struggled to make it out in the dim light. “Hannah? No.”
“Let me put it back before the cops come. This is going to turn into a clusterfuck.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Chasyn rested her head on her arms as she shivered in the hard seat behind the chipped table in the interrogation room. It was so cold she could practically see her breath. Annoyed and exhausted, she wondered what was taking more than six freaking hours.
Detective Burrows returned to the small room, notepad in hand. He took the comfortable, padded cloth chair across from her, moistened his stubby finger, then flipped over a few pages until he came back to the notes he had taken earlier.
“Let’s go over this once more, Miss Summers.”
She sighed, sat up, and glared at the man. “My story isn’t going to change. You have video of the whole incident.”
“Do you know you can be charged with interfering with an official investigation for not turning that DVD over to us when you found it?”
“You’ve been investigating two murders, not Lansing’s proclivities for lingerie. Declan was only using it as leverage to try to find Martinez and…”
“And?” the detective prompted.
Remembering Declan’s warning that she not say anything about Müller just yet, she said, “And now he’s dead.”
“He was the link to Lansing and the shooting at the courthouse. Now he’s dead and we’re back to square one.” The detective didn’t even try to mask his contempt. “The gun we recovered at the scene was the same one used in your shooting and Miss Becker’s death.” He paused and let out a disgusted breath. “What were you doing out at the pier with Declan and his crew?”
It was her turn to be disgusted. “Am I under arrest?” she asked.
“No.”
“Then I’m done answering questions. If you have anything else you want to discuss you can contact my attorney, Jack Kavanaugh.” With that, she stood and practically dared him to stop her.
“If I find out you’ve been withholding information, I’ll put your cute little fanny in jail. You’ve already cost us the Lansing case.”
“Did he die?” she asked, thinking about Müller.
The detective shook his chubby head. “He’s in a medically induced coma in grave condition.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
The detective stood up. “It isn’t. And if Lansing dies, so does our investigation into the murders and the attempted murder on you.”
“What? Why?”
He stepped over to the door and opened it, leaving his pudgy fingers wrapped around the knob. “Once the suspect dies, we close the case.”
* * *
She emerged from the station just as the sunrise painted the sky in pastel shades of pink and orange. Sucking in a deep breath of non-stale air, she was surprised to see Declan leaning casually against his Explorer. He had a convenience store cup of coffee in one hand and a bright smile on his handsome face. He was wearing a PBSO T-shirt. “Shop at the gift store?” she teased, indicating his shirt.
“They confiscated my shirt because
it had Lansing’s blood all over it,” he explained. “But I managed to keep hold of this.” He reached into his front pocket and took out a wadded bit of tissue. Carefully, he peeled away the paper and revealed the button camera he’d been wearing at the time of the shootout. “Hopefully it has enough blood on it for a DNA test.”
“Aren’t the police going to do one?”
“Probably, but we use a private lab and they use the Florida Department of Law Enforcement lab, so their results could take forever. Speaking of which, you were in there so long I thought you were confessing to the Kennedy assassination,” he quipped.
“I see you got your car back. How?”
“Vehicle roulette,” he said as he placed the cup on the roof of the car. “A few of the guys went back to Lake Worth pier and reclaimed the cars. Then brought this one up to me.”
Chasyn stifled a yawn. “The police consider Kasey’s case closed. Same with Mary.”
“I heard about the ballistics match.” His eyes softened. “We can resurrect the cases as soon as we can either get Lansing to talk or find proof of his payments to Martinez and Müller.”
“Lansing is in a medically induced coma, so I’m guessing he isn’t going to be very chatty. And why did you tell me not to mention Müller to the police?”
He retrieved the cup and opened the passenger door for her. “Because that would just give them more ammunition against you. Since you told that lie to the state’s attorney about witnessing Mary’s murder, he has a real hard-on to find something to charge you with.”
She slipped inside and waited for him to take his place behind the wheel. “The detective already threatened me with that. But didn’t you tell me that with Lansing out of the picture Müller would back off?”
“Yes,” he said as he started the engine. “But Lansing isn’t gone. He has a slim chance at recovery so we continue doing what we’re doing.”
Tugging on her taut seatbelt, Chasyn said, “My parents aren’t made of money and this must be—”
“No charge,” Declan cut her off. “I returned their money to them two days ago.”
She turned in her seat and spoke to his profile. “Why did you do that? I mean this job has cost you a car and God only knows how much money in labor.”
Declan reached out and gave her knee a gentle squeeze. “Things have changed.”
“Is this just because we’re sleeping together?”
His dark head went back and he let out a hearty laugh. “First off, we don’t sleep together. You run away from my bed like you’re being chased by the devil. I’m trying to move this along at a pace that is comfortable for you. No pressure. But it would be nice if you spent the night in my arms.”
“I explained that,” she said in a bit of a huff. She wasn’t angry—more like frustrated. “Please tell me you didn’t tell my parents about us.”
He gave a little half-shrug. “I don’t see any reason for me to update them on our relationship. I wasn’t specific. I just said this had become personal for me and I wanted them to stay at the safe house until we had the last few pieces of the puzzle.”
Relationship? Is that what this was? Some sort of non-committal relationship? Chasyn mentally flogged herself for thinking it was or could be anything more. Still, disappointment engulfed her as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Having all these doubts in her mind was giving her a headache. By the time they reached Declan’s house, she was utterly exhausted; even her bones felt heavy as she walked into the home.
As was her normal routine, she went to the fridge and retrieved a bottle of water. All the while she could feel Declan’s gaze following her every move. It was disconcerting and a tad annoying. When she couldn’t stand it any longer, she snapped, “What?!”
That disarming grin appeared, threatening her ability to think logically.
“I was just admiring the view,” he said in a low, sexy tone. “You should wear workout clothes more often.”
“It’s ‘athleisure’ wear,” she corrected, then immediately regretted her childish correction.
“Whatever you call it,” he said amiably. “It makes you look hot.”
He closed the gap between them and took her in his embrace, trapping her arms between their bodies. She was sandwiched between the cool metal of the fridge and the hard warmth of his body. He gently undid her topknot and her hair cascaded to just past her shoulders. Declan toyed with a lock of her hair, twirling it around his forefinger.
“You have the silkiest hair,” he said as he lifted the tendril to his nostrils. She watched him drink in the scent of her shampoo.
She tugged the strands free. “Even my hair is tired,” she told him.
“I assumed you’d need to crash.” He kissed her forehead, then moved down to her cheek before finally claiming her mouth.
This was a new and different kind of kiss. Yes, his tongue worked skillfully to inspire her impure thoughts, but there was something unique about the subtlety of the kiss. It was gentle and patient, two things she hadn’t felt with him before. Usually they were all heat and passion. But this was tender, comforting.
And scary as all hell.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Declan could hear her in the shower, then there was a prolonged period of time when he assumed she was dressing and/or primping. Whatever she was doing was taking a long time. He didn’t like the fact that it bothered him so much. All he wanted to do was see her.
And do what? that irritating little voice in his head challenged. Take her into his bed was a given. But lately that had started to feel…complicated. Maybe he needed to sit down and make one of those pro-con lists Chasyn was so famous for. Maybe then he could figure out what had him so tied up in knots.
He’d gone to the pot and drained the last of the coffee into his mug when he heard the click of her heels on the bamboo floor. Cool, calm and collected, he reminded himself as he turned to face her.
She was wearing a casual maxi dress that gracefully fell to where her pink painted toenails peeked out from strappy black sandals. There was embroidery on the bodice of the black dress and a second band of stitching around her tiny waist. Very impressive, but then she turned to move some items out of one purse to another and he got a glimpse of the back. It plunged to her waist, held in place by a tassel-trimmed tie that fastened in the back. In a matter of a few seconds, the alluring scent of her floral perfume settled in the air. He had no idea what the fabric was, only that from her thighs down, it was sheer. Taking her to bed was now the forerunning thought in his sex-addled brain.
“Ready?” she asked.
“Very,” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t notice his budding erection.
Once they reached the car, she asked, “How are we going to get into ICU?”
“Ziggy handled that,” he said. “There’s a guy in ICU with no known family, so we just tell them we’re there to see Mr. Tillman.”
“And make a detour into Lansing’s room?”
He adjusted the visor to block the sun hanging low in the sky as he headed to St. Mary’s Medical Center. “That part we play by ear,” he said.
“What about Müller?” she asked with apprehension in her tone.
“Well.” He chose his words carefully since he didn’t want to spook her. “Everyone but Ziggy is on deck tonight, watching the rooftops and other potential perches since Müller is a LDK.”
“LDK?”
“Long-distance killer,” he clarified. “Tom has already scoped out the hospital’s garage and we don’t have to be out in the open at all. So even if Müller shows up, he won’t have a shot.”
“I guess that’s something,” she sighed.
* * *
To say her nerves were frazzled was an understatement. As she walked the hallway with Declan she found herself holding her breath every time they passed a strange man. She needed to get a grip on herself. She trusted Declan and his team.
They arrived at the Information Desk and a nice volunteer in her eighties took
their driver’s licenses and used them to print out visitor passes for ICU. Following the signs, they took the elevator up and waited for it to open on their floor. The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and she easily traced it to a janitor off to one side mopping the grainy floor.
There was a nurse’s station ahead of them, although it was currently unoccupied. To the right was a long hallway and to the left was another hallway as well as a sign that read ICU WAITING AREA. Coming from that direction, she could hear the sounds of a raised voice. Declan placed his hand on her back to guide her down to the waiting area. Unfortunately for her, it meant skin-to-skin contact and she was instantly aware of him as a man. God, this kind of immediate reaction had never happened to her. Her body ached for him. The only problem was her heart ached as well.
“Leave now!” They arrived in time to see a well-dressed, statuesque blonde reading the riot act to a brunette in a tailored suit and sensible pumps.
“Martha, I just thought if you needed anything…” the brunette offered.
“It’s Mrs. Lansing to you,” the aggressive blonde countered with narrowed blue eyes. “You may have had my husband’s loyalty, and a few other things,” she added sarcastically. “But you don’t belong here. He’s my husband.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the mousey brunette said, suddenly turning redfaced when she noticed Declan and Chasyn in the doorway. “I’ll go back to the office.”
“Don’t bother,” the aggressive blonde said. “You’re fired. I want you out by tomorrow afternoon.”
The brunette looked like she wanted to argue but thought better of it. Chasyn felt for her and wondered why she and Mrs. Lansing were at such odds. The brunette practically slinked out of the room.
“What are you looking at?” the blonde challenged Declan. “Haven’t you ever seen a wife fire her husband’s loyal-to-a-fault secretary before?”
“Not in a hospital waiting area,” he answered evenly.
Martha Lansing waved a dismissive hand at them. “I’d prefer to be alone.”
“Well. We’re here to visit a family member, so you’ll just have to adjust.”
Trapped Page 20
