by Lyn Stone
He could see Sharps mentally backpedaling. “You’re her lawyer?”
Damien shook his head. “Only her significant other right now, but all she has to do is hand me a buck and I’m hired.”
He looked at Molly and saw her roll her eyes heaven-ward, probably imagining the police running him through their computers, checking his occupation and getting the shock of their lives. Not that he cared. Or thought that any of them would go to that much trouble for an incident such as this. Molly would be lucky if they didn’t dismiss it altogether.
“You believe her complaints are on the level, then?” Sharps asked, sounding terribly professional and a great deal more interested in getting the facts.
Stepping closer to the policeman, Damien adopted a man-to-man tone. “Absolutely. You cannot imagine what this lady’s been through, Sharps. Well, maybe you can, at that. I’m sure you see a number of cases of spouse abuse out there that you can’t rectify no matter how much you’d like to, am I right? Makes you feel helpless sometimes, doesn’t it?”
Sharps nodded, his mouth drawn down at some memory that must have come to mind. “Yes, sir, sometimes. We can arrest the offenders now, however, even if the woman refuses to bring charges. We have a very aggressive attitude toward spouse abuse here in Nashville.” He quickly added, “But we can’t just haul a man in without good reason.”
“Do you know Jack Jensen?” Damien asked.
The cop hesitated, then cleared his throat. His voice was low when he answered, “Not personally, no.”
“But you know of him. You’ve heard that he did two in County for what some guys think was a natural reaction combined with an accident. Am I close?” Damien knew he was.
Sharps said nothing, so he continued, “You want to be held personally accountable if anything bad happens to this woman? If you ignore her pleas for help, if you don’t get it in writing that you did all you could within the law, then you will be held responsible.” Damien shook his head and looked sad.
Then he placed a hand on the cop’s shoulder and leaned toward him as though to impart something confidential. “It won’t cost you a dime to write this up and collect what evidence you can. How could anyone—even someone in the department who might sympathize with Jensen—object without seeming to protect a possible suspect?”
To his credit, Officer Sharps did drop his attitude of annoyance and expressed some regret. “Nobody would object to it. That’s not how we work! I can write it up, no problem. See, I’ve already started.” He angled the clipboard so Damien got only a brief glimpse.
There was Molly’s name and address and a scribble that looked like frequent questionable complaints. At least someone had noted the others, however briefly.
“That’s a start,” Damien said. “I can see you care about the people in your precinct.”
“But Lab won’t send anybody over here for something like this,” Sharps said. “No harm done, no sign of forced entry, no indication that anyone broke in and put the box there. I’m sorry as I can be, but they just won’t go to the trouble to come out and take prints and samples without better cause than that. I will bag that box of poison, though, and take it in.”
Damien sympathized. “I can certainly understand your dilemma. However, just make a note that Ms. Jensen asked that they come, will you do that much? And you might phone in the request. Just for the record. You’ve got to think of your own liability here,” he reasoned.
“Gotcha! I’ll call,” Officer Sharps agreed, stabbing the air with his pen. “I’ll do what I can, ma’am.”
To prove it, he quickly jotted down Molly’s complaint and held out the form for her to sign. He took his pen back when she’d finished. “Excuse me while I make that call.”
“Sure, and I do appreciate it,” Molly said to Sharps. She looked at Damien with an awe that made his chest swell.
Sharps laid his clipboard on the kitchen counter, pulled the cell phone off his belt and began making his useless requests for fingerprints and test slides of foodstuffs.
Molly drifted over to Damien, looping her arm through his. “Thanks,” she whispered in his ear. “If you hadn’t stepped in, I think he might have arrested me!”
“That’s what lawyers are for,” he said, and dropped a brief kiss on her cheek. It surprised her, but she didn’t object.
They both smiled at the cop who grinned back at them while he argued their cause into the phone. He looked so righteous, Damien wanted to laugh.
The young officer slipped on rubber gloves and bagged the box of poison. Damien knew full well it would sit forgotten on a shelf in an evidence room, but that didn’t matter. The existence of it was official. Damien thought about giving him the tracking device, but figured it would probably end up on that same shelf.
Instinctively, he knew there were no prints on either. The important thing was that the poison was noted. The more incidents in the files, the better it would be when Jensen showed his hand and they got proof that he was stalking Molly.
“Now you call us if you have any more trouble, ma’am,” Sharps said as he took his leave.
When the door closed behind him, Molly turned and propped against it with a sigh. “That’s amazing. They never believed me before.”
She pushed away from the door and started back toward the kitchen. “But now I think I might have at least one of Nashville’s finest on my side, thanks to you. I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he discovers who you really are instead of an attorney.”
“No lie. I passed the bar exam. Licensed in Pennsylvania. A bonafide Philadelphia lawyer.”
Molly whirled around, mouth open, eyes wide and hands on her hips. “Are you serious?”
He shrugged and grinned. “Unless you start telling lawyer jokes.”
Chapter 6
She had called the cops. Jack pounded the steering wheel and cursed. “Stupid, brainless idiot!” Couldn’t she see how useless that was? Didn’t she know there was nothing there to link him to the poison? What did she take him for?
He’d thought surely she would run as soon as she found it, scared out of her mind now that she knew he could get inside the house, kill her anytime he wanted without any warning.
Where had they gone last night? he wondered. He’d hung back when they left, then followed the signal. Damned tracker had failed and he’d lost them not long after they’d left town. Anyway, that had given him the opportunity to come back, get in the house and plant the poison for Molly to find when she came home.
Now he couldn’t delay another day with this next maneuver. This was the ultimate masterpiece. Molly’s worst nightmare come true, next to death itself. Or maybe it would be death, after all. That was the beauty of it. A little risky maybe, to do it here, but he would just have to take the chance.
His stomach growled. Jack figured he might as well go and get some breakfast and come back later. It looked as though she meant to stay home. There was not much else he could do today as long as she was in the house. He sniffed righteously.
But tonight…
As grateful as she was for it, Molly didn’t delude herself about what Damien had accomplished. Winning over one cop did not constitute support of the local police force.
In a way, she could understand their attitude. Most believed she had picked a fight with Jack and then had him jailed when she didn’t win it. If only she had refuted all the lies Jack had told about that night, things might be different. But she had kept silent to protect Ford, and she still wasn’t sorry.
She sighed with sheer weariness. “This is such a small town. Sometimes I long for a place like New York where nobody knows anybody.”
Damien shook his head slowly. “No, you don’t. Nashville is a great place. Small town flavor with big city perks.”
“Has its drawbacks at times. Where did you grow up?” she asked him, curious about the kind of community that would turn out a man like Damien.
He inclined his head, thinking about it for a minute. “I grew up at school
s for the most part. Stowe.” Then he smiled proudly. “They call the alumni Old Stoics.”
Molly laughed. “I’d hardly call you that! I meant, your home, where your family lived. Surely you went home on weekends.”
He shrugged. “Not any more often than I could help. At Christmas and for a week or so in summer. Haysleigh Hall always seemed very isolated, a bit spooky and as cold as the Arctic. There was only my uncle and the staff. I upset their rigid routine.”
“Not exactly merry, huh,” she guessed. “What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“They died when I was very young. I don’t remember them. My mother was English, married to an American from Pennsylvania. That’s where I was born. My mother’s brother came over and took me home with him after the accident. He saw to my education there. I decided to come back to the States for college and then attended law school.”
“Did your uncle mind when you left England?” she asked, already hating a man cold enough to toss his own nephew into a boarding school after the poor boy was orphaned.
“He died when I was sixteen, just before I completed my upper levels. As soon as his funeral was over, I left. I’ve sold the house and property, so there are no ties for me there now.”
Or anywhere, Molly thought. He sounded glad of it. Small wonder. She couldn’t help her reaction. She crossed the few feet between them and slid her arms around his waist, patting his back. Beneath his lightweight jacket, she felt the impression of the holstered gun.
His genuine laugh surprised her. With his hands on her shoulders, he moved her away from him. With one finger, he brushed a curl off her temple. “Did my life story sound that sad to you? It really wasn’t so bad. I had everything I asked for, and I’ve usually been fortunate enough to do exactly as I please.”
He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze and turned away from her, avoiding her eyes. “Enough reminiscing. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”
“Going crazy for a cup of coffee,” she admitted, adopting the same light tone he was using.
“Give me ten minutes to wash up and change,” he said, already heading down the hallway toward the guest room. “Meanwhile, stay out of that kitchen. I’ll help you toss all the questionable food when we get back.”
Obviously, talking about his background disturbed Damien, so she wouldn’t pry any further. From what he’d told her, there wasn’t much more to say, anyway.
Molly had the picture of a quiet, lonely boy who kept to himself and threw his energy into his studies, a boy who had learned from an early age to fend for himself among strangers. To depend entirely on himself. It made her heart ache to think about it.
She sank onto the living room sofa and waited for him, unable to help comparing Damien’s upbringing to her ex-husband’s. Jack had enjoyed every advantage, parents who doted on him, popularity, scads of buddies, girls falling all over him. And look how he’d turned out.
Damien might have been just as privileged when it came to wealth. It sure sounded as though his uncle had had a bundle. But family-wise, it seemed he’d been sadly deprived. He might as well not have had a home at all.
Yet one man had grown up to be a wife-beating braggart who had no thought for anybody but himself. And the other had turned out to be a man of principle, loyal, brave and a champion of women.
Molly slowly shook her head at the irony of it. Life made little sense sometimes.
“Time to make our debut as a couple,” Damien suggested when he returned to the living room dressed in a casual shirt, sport jacket and slacks. An outfit that looked well-cut and wildly expensive.
She knew very well what FBI agents made since her brother was one. Ford certainly couldn’t buy clothes like that. Not and still make his car payment. He griped at the cost of a new pair of jeans. He and Mary had sweated the expense of her round-trip ticket to Europe and the added cost of a vacation in Switzerland.
It made her wonder why a man who had sold an English estate and likely inherited the family fortune was working for the government, doing such dangerous work.
Molly had promised herself she wouldn’t pry anymore, but he certainly did arouse her curiosity. Among other things.
She picked up her purse. “Fine, let’s go. There’s this great place called DiPinto’s only a few blocks from here. After we eat, I’ll give you a nickel tour of Nashville.”
Damien nodded. He set the security alarm, which seemed to be in perfect order, and then opened the door for her. On the way to the car, he reached into his pocket. “I think I’ll reactivate the tracker. We might as well make it easy for him to find us now that we want him to.”
She winced. “I’m not altogether sure that’s what I want. You’d better remember, Jack is crazy.”
“Molly, my darling, I never doubted his insanity for a minute.” He reached over and took her hand, brought it to his lips and playfully kissed it before he released her. “Look what the fool gave up.”
Darling? Molly cherished the sound of the word, even though Damien was definitely joking when he said it. Sugar, babe, hon and sweetie, but nobody had ever called her darling. At least not with the g on the end. Sounded kind of uptown, she thought with a happy sigh. She tingled from that brief kiss to her knuckles. Who kissed hands anymore? She’d never had her hand kissed.
Lord, she had it bad, didn’t she? She was going to have to get over this crush she had on him. And her feelings of sympathy for his early neglect. And the loneliness she sensed in him now.
Good grief, she didn’t need this on top of everything else. Damien was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He didn’t need her, of all people.
The smart thing would be to keep her mind on the pressing problem of her ex-husband. Once they had that solved, Damien would go on his way and she would probably never see him again. That’s what she wanted him to do. What he had to do.
If she had any sense at all, she would quit hugging and touching him every chance she got. And she would definitely not encourage any more kisses, on hands or otherwise. That one last night in Clarkston, earth-moving as it had been, had almost gotten away from them.
Honorable and good as he was, Damien was a man and would surely take what was offered if she was foolish enough to offer it. She’d soon be picking up the pieces of her heart if she didn’t put on the brakes.
Damien punched on the CD player. He had learned to appreciate even isolated moments of pleasure in the midst of chaos, and this one was especially nice. He had a beautiful woman beside him, Rachmaninoff in the background, and the anticipation of a good meal. If only he had a firm and foolproof plan to make things right for Molly, life would be damn near perfect.
“Turn here,” Molly directed. He obediently pulled into the parking lot of a small family restaurant.
“Damien! I think that’s Jack’s car!” she exclaimed, pointing to a dark blue Mercedes across the parking lot. “He’s already here! How did he do that? How did he know?”
Damien scanned the front windows of the restaurant. “Maybe he just got hungry while he was watching the house. This is the closest restaurant, right?”
“Only one around here, except for fast food. He hates fast food. Maybe you’re right.” Molly was practically wringing her hands. She looked as upset as when she’d found the poison. “I’m not sure an open confrontation’s such a good idea,” she admitted. “Jack can get real mean.”
Damien laid his hand on her arm. “The place looks fairly busy. He would have to be an idiot to start anything in a restaurant full of witnesses, but let’s hope he does. That’s exactly what we want him to do. Try not to worry. I can handle him, and I promise I won’t let him hurt you.”
“I know that.” She looked at him and tried to smile. “Anyway, unless he loses his temper the minute we walk in, he’ll probably play the good ol’ boy. I doubt Jack will mess with anybody as big as he is.”
Maybe Jensen wouldn’t be that smart, Damien hoped. He took her hand and threaded his fingers throug
h hers. They felt cold.
“I would like to see him, face-to-face,” he explained. “The better I know him, the easier it will be to decide our course of action. But if this frightens you too much, Molly, we can go somewhere else. We don’t have to do this right now.”
She took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “No, I’m just being silly. What can he do in a public place? Let’s go.”
Damien opened the glove compartment, took out his tape recorder and stuck it in his pocket. Then they exited the car and entered the restaurant.
“Over there,” Molly whispered as they waited for the hostess to seat them. “By the front window with his back to us. He probably saw us when we drove up.”
Damien followed her gaze to the man sitting alone, his windbreaker stretched tight across wide back and shoulders. “Be interesting to see what he does. If this is a coincidence and he wasn’t expecting us, he might simply get up and leave without a word.”
“Knowing Jack, I wouldn’t bet on that,” Molly said.
They followed the hostess to a table on the opposite side of the room, took their seats and opened the menus. Both sat with their backs to the wall, where they could see Jensen.
Under her breath, she whispered from behind her menu, “He’s coming over here.”
“Stay calm,” Damien suggested, reaching for his jacket pocket. “And be nice. I’m recording.”
She smiled at him and nodded her approval.
“Well, well, well. Here you are again. And I thought you were serious about that restraining order,” Jensen said, sounding amused. “Staying a hundred yards away from you is gonna be impossible, Moll, if you keep turning up everywhere I go.”
“I wonder how that happens,” she replied wryly, and went right on to the introduction. “Damien Perry, Jack Jensen.”
“Jensen,” Damien acknowledged as he folded his menu and stood. He quickly assessed the immediate threat. The man’s clothing was too fitted to conceal a weapon, unless it was a blade. “Molly has mentioned how you keep running into each other in public places. Almost as if by design?”
