Body of Evidence

by Debra Webb

  He held up his hands. “Okay.”

  As angry as she was, she stalled and did as he said. She inhaled long and deep, let it out slowly. A couple more times, and her heart rate had calmed somewhat. Her phone vibrated and she snatched it from her pocket.

  Blocked Call.

  “I think it’s him.” She accepted the call. “Marissa Frasier.”

  “Dr. Frasier.” He sighed. “You are determined to test my patience.”

  “Call your dogs off the Owens home. I did what you asked—now I want you to leave them alone.”

  Lacon sat back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest. She couldn’t decide if that amused smile he wore was about pity or pride.

  Silence, thick and suffocating, reverberated across the line.

  “Your friend the bodyguard should explain the hierarchy in this relationship, Dr. Frasier.” Anastasia’s voice was cold, hard. “He’s employed by the Colby Agency. I’m certain he’s well aware of how things work.”

  “If you don’t live up to your side of the bargain,” Marissa warned as if he hadn’t said a word, “then there is no relationship. Leave the Owens family alone.”

  More of that tense silence filled the air. Her heart thumped harder and harder with each second that elapsed.

  “Done.”

  The call ended. Marissa stared at the screen. Could it really have been so easy?

  Lacon stood. “You okay?”

  She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

  He chuckled. “I have to tell you, Issy, I’m torn between being damned impressed and freaking terrified.”

  A laugh burst from her, but before she could say she felt basically the same way, the door opened and Kim poked her head into the room. “A balcony collapsed while a bridal party was taking photos on it. We’ve got fourteen injured five minutes out. Dr. Reagan wondered if you might be able to help out for a couple of hours.”

  “Glad to.” She glanced at Lacon.

  “Don’t worry about me. Do what you’ve got to do. I have calls to make.”

  Marissa wasn’t exactly dressed for work, but that hardly mattered. She washed up, donned a white coat and was ready by the time the lead ambulance rolled in.

  The first gurney to come through the doors was the bride. Marissa moved toward trauma room one with the paramedics.

  “Caroline Boehner, twenty-seven, BP one fifty over ninety, pulse a hundred ten. Complaining of pain in the right leg.”

  “Thank you.” Marissa put a hand on the young woman’s arm. “Don’t worry, Caroline, we’re going to get you taken care of. You’ll be ready for that walk down the aisle in no time.”

  The younger woman’s mascara had made black streaks down her cheeks. The updo her blond hair had been arranged into had come undone. Beyond the tangled mass of hair, her veil appeared to be intact. The beaded bodice of her gown had managed to avoid damage, but the lower portion of the mermaid-style lace-and-tulle train had not fared so well. Whatever shoes she’d been wearing were long gone.

  “Are my parents okay?” A sob tore from her throat. “I’m so worried about them. We were doing the photos—you know, the ones you do before the wedding.” More tears flowed down her face. “My whole family was on that balcony.”

  Marissa gave her arm a squeeze and turned to the paramedic. “We’ll get you an update on everyone as soon as we can. For now, let’s get you taken care of.”

  After a quick examination, Marissa sent the bride off to Imaging. The six bridesmaids and the flower girl were all treated and released with nothing more than scrapes and bruises. The bride’s two brothers and one sister, who was the maid of honor, were shaken and bruised but had no serious injuries. The mother suffered a fracture of the left scapular body.

  By far the worst injury was the father’s, a hip fracture that would require surgery. The sixty-year-old man was in excellent physical condition, so there was every reason to be optimistic about a speedy recovery. The bride suffered a stable fracture in the tibial shaft. Surprisingly, there wasn’t one concussion among the whole lot.

  They were a very lucky group.

  The groom and the rest of the wedding party arrived and filled the lobby. Anyone else coming in would think a wedding was imminent right there in front of the registration desk. Thankfully, the news Marissa had to pass along was all reasonably good, considering the fall the bride’s party had taken.

  When the last patient was out the door and the ER was quiet again, Kim watched as Marissa peeled off her gloves and left the white coat in the laundry hamper.

  Marissa shot her a look. “What?”

  “So, tall, blond and handsome is your bodyguard?”

  Marissa laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “He is.”

  “Wow. I mean, I know you’re still reeling from what happened to Dr. Bauer, but the two of you were divorced for a really long time before...he died. And you’ve hardly dated since. Seriously, you should enjoy some of that.”

  “Some of that?” Marissa dried her hands, thankful they were in the locker room. “What on earth are you suggesting?”

  Kim pushed away from the door frame. “I’m suggesting, Doctor, that you relax and let go. You’re always so busy giving that you never take anything for yourself. Take something!” She threw her hands in the air for emphasis. “Something gorgeous and hot and better than six feet tall.”

  Rather than scold her friend as she normally would have, Marissa nodded slowly. “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Kim rolled her eyes. “You are so predictable.”

  Ah, if she only knew. “The one thing I am not these days, Kim, is predictable.”

  “Where your love life is concerned you are.” Kim sent her a look daring her to counter that statement.

  Love life. Marissa didn’t have a love life. The most recent three men in her life were her deceased ex-husband, a mob boss and a bodyguard. Even if she were in the market, it was hard to make anything romantic out of the combination.

  “I saw him watching you,” Kim argued. “He thinks you’re hot.”

  Marissa laughed out loud. “Okay, I think that’s my cue to get out of here.”

  “Just sayin’.”

  “As you said from the outset, this is not exactly the right time for romance,” Marissa pointed out.

  Kim gave her a skeptical look. “Who said anything about romance? I’m talking about sex. Hot, down-and-dirty, mind-blowing sex.”

  Before Marissa could summon a proper response, her friend hustled off to check on her patients. Marissa sighed and went in search of Lacon. He was waiting for her at the nurses’ station. Every female on duty smiled at him and called goodbye.

  The man was undeniably handsome, cowboy boots and all.

  Marissa shook her head at the foolish notion. She had a mob boss to take down. This was no time for sex, not even the hot, down-and-dirty, mind-blowing kind.

  Colby Safe House, 9:30 p.m.

  MARISSA STARED AT the glass of wine in her hand. If she had been impressed with Lacon Traynor’s breakfast-making skills, she was truly fascinated by his prowess at the grill. Steaks and potatoes and a nice, leafy green salad. When she’d asked him how he’d acquired such a command of the culinary arts, he’d simply replied that being single and closer to forty than thirty, it was either learn to cook or starve.

  When he’d first offered the wine, she’d passed, but the more he’d made her laugh during dinner, the more she’d relaxed, and a couple of glasses of wine began to sound far more appealing. He’d stopped at one, and she’d felt a little guilty when she moved on to number two. But not that guilty. She sipped her wine. Rich, red and bold flavored. She needed the relief—that was a certainty.

  “According to Anastasia,” she said, abruptly recalling the conversation, “you should be able to tell me all about him and how the hierarchy of my new relationship w
ith him works.”

  Her bodyguard considered the statement from his relaxed position on the sofa. She’d curled up in one of the massive upholstered chairs for the best view of the water. Rather than answer her right away, he pulled off his right boot, then he moved on to the left. He set them side by side on the floor.

  Marissa frowned. “Do you always wear boots?”

  “Most of the time.” He leaned back and propped his sock-clad feet on the large leather ottoman. “I have running shoes for working out. And the boots.” His shoulders went up and then down in an easy shrug. “That’s about it.”

  To avoid staring at his long lean body like a smitten schoolgirl, she said, “Tell me what makes Anastasia so special.” She wanted to make the bastard feel the pain he inflicted upon his victims. Despite the wine, anger simmered inside her.

  “He’s young to be sitting at the top. Forty-two. He’s doing all in his power to resurrect the ‘family,’ as he calls it. He’s smarter than the average criminal. Ruthless. Single. No children. So he has basically nothing to lose. It’s hard to best a man who doesn’t have an Achilles’ heel.”

  “Except he wants to win,” Marissa decided. “Power is his weakness.”

  “You’re saying that he’s so fixated on getting what he wants that he might not see what’s right in front of him?”

  “Exactly. Psych 101.” She downed the last of the wine and set her glass aside. “Is he unmarried and childless because he’s so focused that he ignores his own needs? If so, that makes him a ticking time bomb. Eventually, that kind of focus comes back to haunt you. You can’t ignore what the mind and body require forever.”

  Lacon assessed her for an endless moment. “Sounds like words spoken from experience.”

  She assessed him right back. “Experience we have in common.”

  A grin hitched up one side of his mouth. “Touché.”

  They lapsed into silence for long enough to make her feel restless. She pushed out of her chair and went to the wall of windows. The sun had set, leaving the moon to reflect its golden glow on the water. Way out here, away from the city, the world felt so peaceful, so quiet. So innocent.

  “Why did you become a doctor?” He moved up beside her, his gaze settling on the dark water.

  “Because I wanted to help people.” She crossed her arms and leaned against the window frame. “And it was all my mom and dad ever talked about.”

  “Have you ever regretted your decision to go into medicine?”

  “Never.” A smile tugged at her lips. “I spend a lot of time working with kids. I donate every other weekend to the Chicago Children’s Center. I love seeing them smile when they’re happy. It makes my heart glad to see the relief on their parents’ faces when I tell them everything will be fine.”

  “What about when you can’t tell them everything will be fine?”

  He was watching her closely now, as if the answer was somehow incredibly important to him.

  “It’s the most painful thing I’ve ever felt. In that moment, I would give anything to have a different answer.”

  “Is that why you didn’t have children of your own?”

  She met his analyzing gaze. “No. William didn’t want children right away. Then it was always later, later. When everything fell apart, it no longer mattered. I guess I assumed I’d one day meet someone new and things would be different, but that window is closing all too quickly.”

  “You deserve things to be different,” he said softly. “And that window is far from closed.”

  “What about you?” She lifted her chin and made the same deduction about him. “Don’t you deserve for things to be different in your personal life? A wife, kids, maybe?”

  “What makes you think I want anything different from what I have right now?”

  Maybe he didn’t. Maybe she had misjudged him. “I don’t know. You just seem a little lonely when it’s quiet like this and no one needs rescuing.”

  He reached out, tugged at a wisp of her curly hair. “How could I be lonely with you standing right there?”

  His fingertips traced her cheek, trailed down her throat, moved around her neck and pulled her close. Her breath caught, but she didn’t resist. Deep down she’d wanted to know what he tasted like from the moment they met.

  His lips closed over hers, and the taste of wine and man had her melting against him.

  He drew away all too soon. “As much as I would like to, it’s probably best that we don’t cross that line tonight, Issy.”

  She curled her fingers in his shirtfront and held him close when he would have moved away. “We’re both adults. We can do whatever we like.” Her voice was thick with the desire sizzling in her veins.

  “You think about that, and if you don’t change your mind, we’ll revisit the subject tomorrow or the next day.”

  She released him and he walked away. She watched him go before turning her attention back to the moon and those glittering stars that she never saw in the city.

  The truth was, she’d already made up her mind. Going after Vito Anastasia was incredibly dangerous. She could end up dead just like William.

  Maybe it was the wine, but at the moment, she could not imagine dying without knowing Lacon Traynor intimately first.

  Chapter Seven

  Sunday, July 1, 5:30 a.m.

  Marissa lay in the darkness. She didn’t want to get up. What she wanted was to lie right here and keep replaying that brief but incredibly sexy kiss over and over. Almost two years, that was how long it had been since she’d been kissed—really kissed—even just briefly. Sure, she’d had the peck on the cheek from friends after an evening out or in thanks for the perfect birthday present. But a real kiss, cloaked in desire that burned all the way through her, had not landed on her lips or anywhere else on her body in so very long.

  Of all the times for her libido to suddenly turn itself back on. She closed her eyes and replayed one more time the tender way his lips—lips that had looked so firm and yet felt so soft—had molded to hers. The sweet, hot taste of his mouth and, mercy, the feel of his fingers tracing her skin. She shivered, feeling warm and needy.

  In medical school and then in her residency, she’d done psych rotations and she’d completed the necessary coursework, but it didn’t take a psychiatrist to comprehend the problem here. The murder of her ex-husband and the fear and chaos of being drawn into the dangerous world he’d crashed into since his release from jail had her survival instinct in overdrive.

  Her reaction was completely natural. Faced with the possibility of death, the instinctive response was a relentless urge to procreate—to celebrate the mating of the human body. No great mystery. The problem was her instincts didn’t quite understand that she was like a starving person suddenly faced with a mouthwatering buffet. She wanted desperately to assuage the emptiness and insecurity smothering her with what he had to offer well beyond his ability to keep her safe.

  Not a smart move, Issy.

  She climbed out of bed and dragged on a pair of jeans and another T-shirt. The outfit was the last of the casual wear she’d brought with her. She’d have to try out the laundry room at some point today or get permission to stop by her house for fresh clothes. Considering her name and face had already shown up in the news related to William’s murder, she had no desire to go shopping. Stuffing her feet into her sneakers without bothering to untie them, she reached for her phone, tucked it into her back pocket and then thumbed the backs of the shoes over her heels.

  Lacon was probably already downstairs prowling around in the kitchen. If not, she didn’t mind taking her turn to prepare breakfast. She was far from a great cook, but she made a mean egg sandwich. She’d hit the bottom step of the grand staircase when she smelled the pancakes. Her stomach rumbled. She could get used to this.

  Lacon stood at the stove, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. She paused at t
he door and watched as he flipped pancakes onto a plate. Like her, he wore jeans again today, paired with a khaki-colored shirt this time and the boots, of course. The usual jacket, this one black, hung on a chair at the table.

  She enjoyed watching the sure movements of his hands—broad, long-fingered hands. She’d felt his arms, his chest. There was plenty of hard muscle beneath all that soft cotton. Long muscular legs and a great backside that filled out the jeans he wore. Kim, damn her, had sparked her imagination, and now it was running away with her. She sighed.

  The object of her naughty musings glanced over his shoulder as if he’d sensed her presence or heard that sigh of defeat. “Morning.”

  “Morning.” She pushed away from the door and went to the fridge. “Orange juice?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Nothing goes with pancakes like orange juice.”

  “Except—” she reached for two glasses “—sausage and syrup.”

  “That part goes without saying. Pancakes aren’t pancakes without syrup and sausage. It’s a rule.”

  She laughed as she poured the juice. A tiny part of her wanted to feel ashamed that she could laugh and feel desire so soon after William’s death, but that wasn’t fair. Their relationship had been over for two years. Though she certainly still had feelings for him, those feelings were more about basic human compassion, the loss of an old friend...of the man who had once been the center of her universe. In reality, she had grieved the loss of their love and the intimate part of their relationship years ago. She refused to continue blaming herself for William’s problems or for what she might have done differently.

  It was well past time she moved on. As soon as she helped put Vito Anastasia where he belonged.

  One some level she recognized that she should be afraid, terrified even. But the man flipping those pancakes made her stronger, braver, not to mention desperate for another of his kisses.

  “Anything new this morning?”

  It was likely too early, but it never hurt to ask. One of his colleagues from the Colby Agency may have called him already or sent him an update by email or text. She doubted their investigations operated on a nine-to-five schedule.