The Seven-Day Target

by Natalie Charles

  She listened to the creaking of the hallway as he headed toward the elevator. “Hold on.”

  Cassie unfastened the lock with one hand, clutching the baby with her other and swung the door open. He came back and stood before her. His dark eyes were a shade of worn leather, and she lost herself in them momentarily. Then she remembered that she was wearing old sweatpants and a long sleeve T-shirt stained with baby spit-up. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot and secured in place by the complimentary ballpoint pen she’d found in the hotel desk. She patted her head with her one free hand. “I’m a mess,” she stammered.

  “No, you’re not.” He was motionless, staring at her face. Something in his voice told her he wasn’t humoring her. “You’re perfectly dressed for Chinese takeout.”

  She swallowed, hoping he couldn’t hear the insistent pounding of her heart. “We can eat it in the hotel lobby, where it’s busy.” She gave him her most winning smile to try to smooth over the awkwardness of the situation. “It’s kind of like going out to dinner.”

  He lifted the bag and pointed to the elevator. “After you.”

  They rode the elevator to the first floor and selected a round table in the corner of the lobby, beside which were two striped couches. He set the take-out bag on the table. “It’s nothing fancy. Some egg rolls, chicken wings, something-fried rice.” With each item he lifted a corresponding white paper container from the bag and set it down. “Fortune cookies, of course.”

  Sam began to coo contently in her arms and she rubbed his back. “Go ahead. You help yourself first, and I’ll hold him.”

  Dom set out some paper plates and plastic utensils. He finished opening the cartons and turned to her with his hands outstretched. “Ladies first. Do you think he’ll come to me?”

  She stared at him, slack-jawed. This giant man wanted to hold her baby? “I guess we can find out.”

  She slid the infant into Dom’s arms and waited for the hysteria. Sam grunted and squirmed at the unfamiliar touch, but Dom confidently shifted him until he was against his shoulder and then paced the little sitting area. “You’re a brave man.” Cassie laughed. “You may want to put a burp cloth on that shoulder.”

  He scooped up the cloth she was extending and continued to walk while Cassie filled her plate. He’d brought enough food to feed a family of six, and she was pretty sure she could finish it off herself. She exercised self-restraint, not wanting to frighten Dom off with her raging postpregnancy appetite and well aware of all the stares they were getting from other hotel guests. She supposed it was unusual to eat Chinese takeout in a hotel lobby. She didn’t care.

  She sat on the couch and ate. Alone, unattached to another person. For the past four weeks, whenever Libby had come over, she’d marveled at the luxury of eating a meal while someone else watched her child. Eating a meal while a hot cop watched her child? That was more than a luxury. That was downright arousing. He seemed so natural, too, the way he bounced Sam and spoke softly in his ear. Sam looked quite content in his arms. “All right, Sergeant Vasquez. Time to come clean. How many children do you have?”

  “None.” He grinned, obviously pleased by the compliment. “But I have three nieces and two nephews, all under five years old.” His face brightened as Sam squealed. “Thanks for letting me hold him. I needed this.”

  She watched him smile at her son. “Bad day at the office?”

  Almost as quickly as his face had brightened, it darkened again. “Yes.”

  His throat was tense but his hands were gentle as he brought the baby down into his arms. He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push him to say more. When she was finished eating the food she’d piled onto her plate she had seconds, and when she was finished with those Sam was drifting to sleep. She coaxed him into her arms and settled back against the couch while Dom ate. They talked about his job and her father and how disruptive the past twenty-four hours had been for both of them. When the conversation settled into a brief silence, Cassie said, “I’m sorry I thought you were going to kill me.”

  “You’re smart. You shouldn’t trust anyone. Not even me.” The corner of his mouth rose in a half grin as he said it.

  She suspected he was right, in a manner of speaking. His olive skin was an even richer shade in the dim lighting of the hotel lobby. She imagined running her fingers through his thick hair. He was several layers of heartbreaker, and she’d had enough heartbreak for one lifetime. She nuzzled against Sam’s neck, listening to his uneven breaths, watching him grin in his sleep. Libby said that Sam’s smile reminded her of their father, and Cassie felt a lump in her throat as she realized the comparison was apt. The pain of her father’s absence was too fresh to probe.

  Dom pulled two bottles of water out of the paper bag, opened one and set it in on the table in front of her. She didn’t know what Dom wanted, why he was being so nice to her. She’d known several men who’d somehow gotten the wrong idea about her, who took her smiles for invitations. She wondered if Dom saw her the way the others had, as a free spirit and a good time. Cassie’s face flushed with shame. Despite her reputation, she’d only slept with a few men. Then again, look at what that had gotten her.

  The baby in her arms and the responsibility he required were all frighteningly new. Once upon a time she might have invited Dom back into her room, or maybe they’d have gone out for a few drinks. Whether the relationship lasted one night or ten years, it wouldn’t have mattered. She was attracted to him, and she’d never worried about the future before. But now everything was different. Stability mattered, and once Dom had finished with dinner, she would politely clean up and excuse herself to bring Sam to bed.

  But Dom rose first.

  “I have to get back to work. I’ve already spent too much time here, but I wanted to make sure you were safe.” He cleaned up the plates and utensils and folded up the food containers. “You have a refrigerator in your room, right?”

  “A small one.”

  “These should fit. Do you need help getting back upstairs?”

  “I can manage.” What she couldn’t manage was the pang that hit her square in the chest as he cleaned up unceremoniously, as if everything they’d done in the past forty-five minutes had been nothing. Had he really driven so far out of his way, brought her takeout and held her baby, for the purpose of checking up on her? Really?

  He seemed unsure of himself as they both stood facing each other, not quite knowing how to say goodbye. “Thanks for the Chinese food.” Cassie’s tone was cordial but clipped.

  “You take care of yourself. And that baby.”

  He gave a small smile as he nodded his good-night and turned to leave the hotel. Cassie waited for him to turn around and give her some signal as to what he was thinking, but he proceeded straight to the parking lot without looking back.

  Chapter 7

  “I can’t figure it out.” Libby practically threw the wooden letters in frustration. She was tired and hungry and now she had a headache. “I need to do something else for a little while.”

  Nick had been pacing the room like a caged lion for twenty minutes, and he was only too eager to switch activities. He glanced at the clock. “It’s almost six. Let’s have dinner.”

  She scooted across the bed and reached for a room service binder, wrinkling her nose. “It’s a bed and breakfast. I’m not sure what they’ll offer—”

  “Nothing. I already checked.” He reached down to touch her wrist. She swore her heart skipped. “We’ll leave the room. Let’s go out.”

  Even as she sat there with her jaw open wide, Nick was throwing a black sweater over his T-shirt and looking for his keys. “We’re going out?” She nearly stumbled over the words. “But what about...”

  “We’re going out.” He crossed the room to stand directly in front of her, their knees nearly touching. “We’re miles away from Arbor Falls and we haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I want to take you out for dinner. Somewhere dark and safe, where we can feel like normal people again for an hour
or so.” He bent forward slightly, almost to eye level. He was close enough that she felt his breath skim her cheek. “Do you trust me?”

  Her breath halted in her lungs—not at the question, but at the close distance from which he asked it. “Of course I trust you. I’m trusting you with my life.”

  “Then know that I would never do anything to hurt you, and at the first sign of danger, we’ll leave.” He straightened and held out a hand to help her up. “But we need to eat something. Let’s go to dinner.”

  The dark intensity of his gaze sent her heart thundering. Something about Nick had changed over the past three years. He’d always been attractive, but now he had the air of someone who was comfortable taking charge. His confidence was evident not only in the way he carried himself but in the way he helped her into her jacket, held the door for her and lightly guided her down the hall, his hand resting protectively against the small of her back. No, not just protectively, but possessively, as if he’d claimed her at some point in the past day. Her stomach sparked at the thought.

  All afternoon they’d examined the words left at the scene of the murder. They’d rearranged the letters a hundred different ways, but they couldn’t crack it. During those long hours Libby had marveled at Nick’s focus and determination. This was a different side of him. The Nick she’d known was headstrong and impulsive. He drove fast and took risks and had trouble sitting still. He’d joined the FBI because the Arbor Falls P.D. wasn’t exciting enough, and he’d joined knowing that he wouldn’t be able to stay in Arbor Falls. This Nick was different. He’d managed to channel all of that raw energy into something more powerful still: a sense of purpose. In the three years since they’d ended their engagement, Nick had grown up.

  They drove to the town center and walked the sidewalks for a few minutes before selecting an Irish pub called Regan’s. The dark wooden bars and paneling absorbed most of the light that streaked through the stained-glass windows or out of the dimly glowing bulbs that hung from the ceiling. The booths were so broad that viewing the occupants was almost impossible without special effort. Nick ordered a burger cooked rare and a cold beer. Libby ordered a seltzer water and a salad.

  “More salad. Living on the edge?” Nick gave her a playful smirk.

  Her heart fluttered at the sight of that dimple in his cheek. “I like salads, and this one probably has more calories than your burger and fries.”

  “I did notice that you didn’t order the dressing on the side. You keep me guessing, Attorney Andrews.” He gave her a little wink that sent a rush of heat to her cheeks.

  Being with him felt like the old days, back when their lives were uncomplicated by careers and ambition. A few times Libby even lost herself and forgot about the weight of her circumstances. Then the reality came rushing back as if she’d been doused with ice water. Her father’s recent death. A stalker. Nick wasn’t having dinner with her to reminisce about happier times. He was wearing his gun, and he was protecting her from a madman. A sobering reality.

  “Nick,” she began, stirring the straw in her seltzer water, “what do you think my father did? I feel like I should know why someone would want revenge, but I can’t for my life remember ever knowing that he did anything that would drive someone to this. And why now, days after his death?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it? To be honest, this is one of the things I wanted to go out to talk about. I thought it would be helpful to reach neutral territory, because it could be that someone is acting out of revenge, but the timing suggests this may still have something to do with you.” His brows lifted slightly. “Now, who would want to hurt your father and who would want to hurt you? I need an enemies list.”

  What a shame that she hadn’t thought to bring her enemies list to dinner. “For God’s sake. Do I look like Richard Nixon?”

  “I’m serious, Lib. We need to talk about this. Let’s start with you. Who would want to hurt you?”

  “I’ve lost count of all the people I’ve helped to lock up. Let’s start with them.”

  She’d intended to be dismissive, but Nick simply shrugged and said, “Okay, good idea. Let’s talk about some of your big cases.”

  Libby rested her chin on the palm of her hand, ignoring the voice in her head that told her it was rude to put her elbow on the table. She didn’t care about manners when her dinner companion was being irksome. He actually had a pen out and was poised to write on his napkin! Here she’d been thinking they were relaxing over drinks and having dinner, and he’d brought the Spanish Inquisition.

  She answered slowly, trying not to look as annoyed as she felt. She worked with criminals for a living. Lots of people hated her. “Well, there’s the Brislin case, obviously. He hasn’t been sentenced yet, but he is facing up to five years in prison for corruption. I doubt the good senator is a fan of mine.” She wrinkled her nose as she considered this. “But I would be surprised if he had anything to do with this. He doesn’t have any connections to organized crime. He doesn’t like to pay for luxury items, but otherwise, all of our investigations turned up empty.”

  “So, Brislin is a maybe.” He drew a line down the center of his napkin and wrote Brislin’s name in a column. Libby rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “Good. Who else?”

  “Uh, let’s talk about Officer Hawkins, who said in open court that he hopes someone kills me.” She couldn’t help the quiver in her voice. In all of her years as a prosecutor no one had ever said something so terrible to her—especially not a police officer. She pressed her fingers against her eyelids. “He must be out by now. Is Dom watching him?”

  “His alibi checks out for last night, but my understanding is that he and McAdams were friendly. Dom thought it was unlikely, but Hawkins is on administrative leave pending a complete investigation based on his conduct yesterday in court. They’re watching him closely.”

  Talking about Hawkins deactivated her normally hyperactive internal censor, and Libby was flooded with angry words. “Hawkins is a creep and a liar. You know, I had the impression he wanted me to help him commit perjury yesterday? He’s got a reputation around our office, and there’s only so many times we can save his sorry behind. A murderer was going to eventually walk because of him. It was only a question of when.” She clenched her fists. “The abuse of power. When he lied on the stand, I swear, Nick, I could have hurled my pen at him.”

  Now she’d done it. Nick was back against the booth seat, staring at her with his mouth wide. He blinked a few times before speaking. “I don’t think I’ve heard you get angry like that—really angry—in years.”

  She looked away, wishing she could crawl between the worn floorboards of the pub and disappear for a few days. “Sorry. I’m working on my emotions. Just like I’m working on my diet. I’m trying not to have outbursts like that. It’s just that sometimes—”

  “No.” Nick brought his hand down to cover one of her fists. “Your passion is great. Don’t change that. Promise me.”

  His hand was strong and rough. She imagined his hand against the bare skin on her arms and thighs. A flush crept across her chest. She dragged her hand out from under his and rested it in her lap. “Dad always told me that emotion was weakness. He said that the ideal of our justice system is the passionless delivery of punishment. He said that passion had no place in the courtroom.”

  Nick’s mouth tensed into a line and he looked down at the table, appearing to be deep in thought. She could practically see him weighing his response. Then he spoke carefully, as if he was aware how closely he was treading to the dragon’s lair. “And you believed him?”

  * * *

  It didn’t surprise him at all. Judge Andrews was rigid and impersonal, except when it suited his needs to be otherwise. It didn’t surprise Nick in the least that he’d tried to suffocate the passion that made Libby so fiery. So different from her father. This was the ideal she’d been striving for? Emotional vapidity? Nick’s mind wandered to the icy speech she’d delivered that night they broke up, and how that disco
nnect had haunted him even more than her words. I don’t love you, Nick. He’d spent the past few years wondering if the judge had somehow orchestrated their breakup. Libby’s last words to him had sounded so foreign, as if she was delivering a speech someone else had written. But now he understood that in some twisted devotion to her father, she’d broken his heart according to her father’s highest-held ideals: brutal truth, delivered passionlessly.

  The hot anger was back again at his suggestion that her father had been misguided in his notion of justice. He could see it flaring in the wide pupils of her blue eyes. “Of course I believed him,” she snapped. “My father was an outstanding judge, extremely well-respected. Before that he was a legendary prosecutor at the D.A.’s Office.” She sat back as if that settled everything.

  “Libby, how can justice be served without looking at the human beings involved? We need prosecutors, defense attorneys and judges to have a heart. To have compassion for the lives they affect. Otherwise we may as well create a computer program to administer justice.”

  He knew she agreed. He could see the conflict raging in her as she twisted her napkin between her fingers. She cared deeply for her profession and for those with whom she worked, but maybe not as deeply as she cared for her father. She agreed with Nick, but she was unflinchingly loyal to the man who’d raised her. “Justice is blind. The notion that we should give any thought to anything other than the facts of a case is offensive to that ideal.”

  He wanted to counter that human beings were facts to be considered in a case—their flaws, their motives, their struggles—but he stopped himself. He didn’t care what she did in the courtroom. He cared about what she did three years ago when she’d decided their engagement was over. Had she considered him when she’d told him she wasn’t moving to Pittsburgh? All of their years together, or the future they’d planned? Had she thought about why he needed to leave Arbor Falls, or how the town stifled him? Or had she only thought about herself and her career? He didn’t ask, because asking would only turn this discussion into a trial about their engagement.