Body of Evidence

by Debra Webb

  The cell in the hip pocket of her jeans vibrated, reminding her that she had nothing clean left to wear after today. This pair of jeans and the “Doctors would be lost without nurses” T-shirt were the last of the casual wear she’d packed. Obviously her idea of how long this business would take had been far too optimistic. Cutting herself some slack, she had just discovered her ex dead in the bed next to her. Her ability to think clearly had been seriously compromised. She pulled the phone from her pocket and checked the screen.

  Blocked Call.

  Fear swam through her veins.

  “It’s him.”

  Lacon nodded for her to answer.

  The fridge started that annoying sound that warned the door had been open too long. She pushed it closed with her hip and touched the screen, accepting the call and putting it on speaker. “Frasier.”

  “It’s time we met, Dr. Frasier.”

  She held on to the counter, his declaration making her knees weak. “If you’ve managed to get two more of your men gravely injured, save us both some time and trouble and just shoot them.”

  “Now, now, Doctor, you wound me. Sometimes it’s impossible to keep my people safe. I suppose I have far too many enemies to hope for peaceful negotiations in business.”

  Marissa dropped the kale and spinach onto the counter. “If no one is in need of medical care, why are you calling?”

  “As I said, I think it’s time we met in person.”

  A new fear surged into her chest. She stared at Lacon. He moved his head side to side. But how was she supposed to stop Anastasia if she didn’t do as he asked? She couldn’t bring this guy down from afar. She had no choice.

  “What time did you have in mind?”

  Lacon looked away, but the set of his jaw told her he wasn’t happy with her decision.

  “Tonight. Eight o’clock. We’ll have dinner in my home. I rarely invite anyone into my home. Consider yourself honored, Dr. Frasier. My chef is one of the finest in the city. I’m certain you will fall in love with his culinary skills.”

  His comment gave her pause. Did he somehow know that she had raved about Lacon’s abilities in the kitchen? That was impossible. The security here was far too state-of-the-art.

  Reaching for her most cavalier tone, she said, “I’ll need your address.”

  He provided the Lincoln Park address without hesitation. “I’ll see you at eight. Bring your bodyguard if you like.”

  The call ended. One look at her bodyguard and she held her breath. To say he appeared upset would be a monumental understatement.

  “You know we have to do this,” she ventured.

  “No way in hell are we going to his house.”

  “Yes.” She took a deep breath to bolster her waning courage. “We are. It’s the only way I’ll be able to get close to him. I can’t stop him from a distance. I need to be closer. Close enough to connect him to a murder or some other criminal activity.”

  “So you’ve decided this is your mission in life? You’re just going to take whatever risk necessary.” He passed a hand over his jaw. “Not happening. I’m calling Victoria.”

  “Suit yourself. I’m going to get ready.”

  He was already making the call when she walked out. Maybe it wasn’t a smart move. Anastasia could be planning to kill her. The trouble was, she couldn’t keep living this way. She had a career. Was she supposed to go back to work not knowing when he would call and demand she appear and make a house call for him? How long would she have to play that game before she got close enough to find some sort of leverage to help bring him down?

  She didn’t want to live that way. Didn’t want to follow in William’s footsteps.

  Peeling off the jeans and T-shirt, she went into the closet. The dress clothes she had brought for meeting Victoria would have to do. The black slacks were some of her favorites. The blouse, too. The flats were comfortable and dressy enough. She didn’t actually care what this piece of shit thought of how she looked. She just wanted to get closer—close enough to learn at least one of his secrets.

  She hadn’t brought any makeup, which was fine by her. She rarely wore it anyway. She brushed her hair, let it fall in those wild curls that were the bane of her existence. Perfume was the last thing she’d been thinking about when she’d packed. The cherry blossom scent of the body wash still lingered on her skin. Good enough.

  She’d just shut off the light and exited the en suite bath when Lacon walked into her room, the tension in the set of his shoulders like a flashing neon sign that screamed frustration.

  “You’re determined to do this, aren’t you?”

  “It’s the only way I’ll ever be free of him.” She clasped and unclasped her hands. “I can’t stay hidden like this forever.”

  He dropped his head. “You’re right. He’s not going to stop using you until someone stops him.” He lifted his gaze back to hers. “I don’t know if we can count on the police to make that happen. He’s a powerful guy, and the kind of money he throws around can sometimes sway even the most honorable man.”

  “Which means it’s up to us.”

  “I just don’t like it.”

  She walked over to where he stood and wrapped her arm around one of his. “I don’t like it either. But I can’t think of a better plan.”

  “I don’t want you alone with him.”

  “I want you right beside me every minute.”

  “All right. Let’s do this. Give me five to change clothes.”

  “I’ll have a glass of wine while I wait.”

  They parted in the hallway. He went to his room and she descended the stairs. In the kitchen, she picked through the chilled white wines until she found one of her favorites. In the past couple of years, she’d become quite the expert at removing wine corks. Before it had always been William’s job. Funny how so many little things changed when a marriage ended. Luckily, the cork gave her no trouble. She poured a glass and savored a long drink. Though she needed a clear head for tonight, a little fortification was in order, as well.

  She had finished off the healthy serving by the time Lacon appeared at the door. Her breath caught in her throat. “Wow.”

  It wasn’t until he grinned that she realized she had said the word out loud. Her face warmed with embarrassment.

  She shook her head and confessed, “You look...wow.” The black trousers and the black shirt fit him like a glove. But the perfect crowning touches were the boots and the jacket. “Really nice.”

  “You set a high bar, Doc. You look amazing yourself.”

  Her blush deepened, and she felt the blood rush even harder to her cheeks. “I think maybe you have a little cabin fever, Mr. Traynor. You’re delirious.”

  “I don’t think so.” He put the wine away while she rinsed her glass. His gaze settled on hers, and the doubt there was unmistakable. “Shall we go?”

  She put her arm in his. “It’s too late to back out now.”

  Maybe tonight she would learn something important to the mission without anyone having to die. That would be the best-case scenario, at any rate.

  North Burling Street, 8:00 p.m.

  MARISSA HAD BEEN to her share of mansions. The Edge administrator, Devon Pierce, lived in a gorgeous mansion out in Highland Park. It was genuinely beautiful. But this house with its manicured grounds, discreet landscape lighting, an iron fence and gate that sprawled along a full city block on Lincoln Park’s most prestigious street. The term mansion seemed wholly inadequate.

  An armed guard opened the intricate iron gate and greeted them at the sidewalk. The landscape and fountains alone probably cost more than Marissa’s entire house. The home’s towering front double doors opened as they climbed the limestone steps.

  “Good evening, Dr. Frasier,” the man dressed all in white said. He ignored Lacon. “Mr. Anastasia is waiting for you in the parlor. Directly
ahead and to your left.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled for the man, whom she decided was a butler. Did butlers even exist anymore?

  “Sir, I will need your weapon,” the butler said to Lacon.

  He relinquished the weapon in his side holster without fanfare but kept the one in his boot. He’d told her about it on the drive here.

  The entry hall was enormous, with a ceiling that soared up three floors. The winding staircase railing was black and gold, with marble steps twisting around the grand hall all the way up to the second floor and beyond. The gleaming marble floors flowed forward, changing to rich hardwood as they entered the parlor. Unlike the crisp white walls of the entry hall, the parlor walls were clad in rich mahogany paneling. A stone fireplace was surrounded by comfortable chairs in an elegant conversation grouping. In the center of the room, two sofas faced each other. An impressive chandelier hung from the soaring ceiling.

  Anastasia stood at the wall of windows that looked out over the back of his urban estate. He turned to greet her, and she was surprised to find that he was not as old as she’d expected. The photos of him that Lacon had showed her were always taken from a distance, and his face was rarely clear enough to see the details. He was undeniably young and attractive. But his gray eyes were predatory, cunning. She didn’t like his eyes, particularly as they roved over her as if she were his prey.

  He smiled, surprising her again. “Dr. Frasier, it is a pleasure to meet you.”

  Before she could answer, he crossed the room, took her hand and brushed his lips across it. She barely restrained a shiver of revulsion and hoped she had managed to conceal the reaction.

  “I’m sorry I can’t say the same, Mr. Anastasia.” She withdrew her hand from his. His touch made her feel ill.

  “What would you like to drink?” He gestured to the elegant bar across the room. “Wine? A martini?”

  She had to be careful to keep a clear head, but chances were if she drank, he would, as well. Then again, maybe she’d read far too many mysteries. “White wine. Thank you.”

  “And you, Mr. Traynor?” He looked beyond her. “Scotch? Bourbon?”

  “Nothing for me.”

  Marissa glanced at him. Hearing his voice, though weighted with irritation, made her feel safe. He stood a few feet away, arms hanging loosely, hands clasped in front of him. He and the man pouring the drinks could not be more different. Lacon’s silky blond hair and light golden brown eyes were a stark contrast to Anastasia’s raven-black hair that brushed his shoulders and eyes so dark they were nearly black.

  Both men were tall, but Lacon had the lean, muscular build of an athlete. Anastasia was thinner. He wore black trousers as well, but rather than a button-down shirt, he had donned a silk V-neck pullover that clung to his body like a second skin. He appeared fit, but she doubted he possessed the physical strength of the man who had made love to her last night. She shivered at the memories. This time she could not restrain the pleasant sensation.

  Anastasia brought the stemmed glass of wine to her, his own tumbler of bourbon in his other hand.

  She lifted the glass to her mouth, but then hesitated as she remembered that this man had ordered someone to drug her wine so she wouldn’t wake up while her house was broken into and her ex-husband was murdered and left in her bed.

  “It’s the best.” He sent a pointed look at her wine.

  When she still hesitated, he nodded. “I see. You think there might be something in the wine.”

  Before she could answer, he took her glass and downed the contents. “Now,” he licked his lips, “would you like a glass of wine?”

  “I would.” Only then did her heart begin to slow from its frantic race.

  When he’d poured her another glass of wine, the butler who’d taken Lacon’s weapon appeared and announced that dinner was served. They migrated to the equally luxurious dining room that would easily accommodate forty. The table was set for three at the end nearest yet another wall of windows.

  Anastasia held her chair and then sat down at the head of the table. Lacon was seated directly across from her. Marissa felt as if she were in one of those old gangster movies.

  More staff dressed in white, a woman and a man, rushed around the dining room delivering their salads and leaving cutting boards loaded with fresh bread. Water goblets were filled. Linen napkins were placed across their laps.

  Anastasia wanted to know everything about her, from her childhood to her work at the Edge. He acted as if he knew nothing of her background. She knew this was a lie, but his performance as the uninformed was nothing short of award winning. He said nothing to Lacon. It was as if he wasn’t in the room.

  By the time dessert arrived, the tension between the two men was palpable.

  Marissa stole glances at Lacon, but his full attention was on the man at the end of the table. The dessert was delicious. The raspberries and blackberries provided the perfect tart contrast to the creamy ricotta mousse with its distinct hint of orange liqueur. She nibbled at the dessert while coffee was served.

  Her mind wouldn’t stop with the questions. Why had Anastasia invited her here? What did he want? What did he need to prove? That he had the grandest mansion in all of Chicago? That he had a hell of a chef and a loyal staff?

  Or was it that he wanted to show her he could be just another billionaire businessman?

  Whatever his intent, he wasn’t fooling Marissa. She knew what he was. A heartless, greedy criminal who would do anything to achieve his goal. This man had murdered William. He had killed at least two other people in the short time since she learned of his existence.

  He was a monster.

  * * *

  ANASTASIA STOOD.

  Lacon had never been so grateful for anything in his life. If he survived this night without punching the guy’s face in, it would be a flat-out miracle.

  This meeting, however important they had hoped it would be, had proven utterly pointless. The only thing Lacon had learned was that the bastard was seriously obsessed with Issy.

  Anastasia couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He took advantage of every damned opportunity to touch her. Her hand, her arm. Lacon was about ready to explode.

  You have really screwed this one up, buddy.

  Lacon had allowed the relationship with Issy to become personal. Images of last night flickered through him, reminding him that he’d made a serious mistake. But he couldn’t call what he’d felt a mistake. It wasn’t just sex...it was more. Still, protecting her had to be his top priority. Nothing else could get in the way.

  “I’d like to show you something,” Anastasia said to Issy.

  Fury eating at him, Lacon trailed behind the two as they exited the house through the French doors that lined the dining room. A terrace flanked the back of the house. Overhead, a balcony ran that same length. Down the steps was a reflecting pool and fountain, as well as a large gazebo that covered an outdoor living room. The property was bordered with thick shrubs and trees, giving more privacy than he would have expected to find in such an urban setting.

  Anastasia appeared to be headed for the garage. Like the one at the Colby safe house, the garage was a six-bay structure that faced the street running behind the house. Considering the property covered an entire city block, there could potentially be street access on all four sides. Lacon had only spotted this one access.

  Between the gardens and the garage was a carriage house. Anastasia placed his hand at the small of Issy’s back and ushered her in the direction of the carriage house. Fury exploded deep in Lacon’s gut.

  Damn it. Where was his objectivity when he needed it?

  Anastasia entered the code that unlocked the door and pushed it inward. Lacon stepped ahead of Issy. “I need to have a look first.”

  Anastasia gestured to the door. “I have premiere security, but by all means, be my guest.”

  Rather
than a guesthouse as he’d expected, the carriage house was like a small medical clinic. He checked the other doors. One led to living quarters and the other to a small private courtyard.

  Lacon gestured for Issy to come on in, then he stepped aside to observe. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next.

  “This is the clinic I had prepared in anticipation of taking on a private physician as part of my staff.”

  Issy wandered around the room. Lacon was no doctor, but he’d never seen a better-equipped clinic. Not surprising, really, since Anastasia was megarich. Bastard.

  The other thing Lacon had recognized tonight was the sheer jealousy he felt every single time Anastasia looked at her, much less touched her. He shook his head, frustrated with himself.

  “This is pretty incredible,” Issy admitted.

  Lacon reminded himself she was playing along, but he still didn’t like her positive reaction.

  “This is where you will work.” Anastasia shook his head. “No more rushing to locations where what you need might not be available. I’ve put you through a great deal this week, but I needed to know I could count on you—that you could handle the demands of my business. I have no doubts now. You possess the necessary skills, and you are beautiful. You’re exactly what I’ve been looking for.”

  “This is all very nice,” she said, drawing Lacon from his fixation with beating the guy to a bloody pulp. “But I already have a position that means a great deal to me. The people, the facility—I can’t walk away from either.”

  Lacon didn’t miss the flash of anger in the other man’s cold eyes.

  “You work for me now,” he reminded her. “Going back to the way your life once was isn’t possible, so don’t waste your time fighting the inevitable. This is where you will work.”

  Issy cocked her head and studied him a moment. “What’s in it for me? Contrary to what you obviously believe, I don’t live my life for you or to serve your every whim.”

  “I thought you understood the nature of our relationship, Issy.”

  Who the hell gave him permission to call her Issy? Lacon clenched his teeth, kept his mouth shut. His fingers curled into fists.