by Debra Webb
“Nope. My brother did all those things, but not me. I was too busy studying and watching out for him.”
“Is that why you stayed with Bauer as long as you did?”
He asked the question so casually, in between bites of cheese. “He was nice. Always in need of a study partner. I never thought about it that way, but I suppose the relationship felt comfortable because I was taking care of him the way I had my brother.”
“He never took care of you?” Lacon searched her eyes, as if the answer were immensely important to him.
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “In his own way. Not with romance, per se, no flowers or chocolates or spontaneous dates. But at one time we enjoyed talking about work.”
Lacon’s expression was pained. “He didn’t take care of you, Issy. You deserved a lot better then, and you do now.”
“My brother told me that from the moment I announced William and I were getting married.” She shrugged. “I didn’t listen because it felt good enough, and there just wasn’t time to do better. I was so busy, it was easier to take what was right in front of me than to try to find time to look for something different.”
He tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “Life gets in the way sometimes.”
“I would never have imagined he would do the things he’s done the past two years. I thought I knew him.” She shook her head. “I guess I really didn’t.” That was the saddest truth of all.
“Some people are good at hiding the blackness that lurks in their soul.”
He was right. She had beaten herself up plenty of times for the bad decisions she’d made with William. It was time to get past those mistakes and look to the future. And she sincerely hoped this man would be a part of her future.
His turn to talk about the more painful part of his past. “What was your fiancée like?”
He ate the last cracker on his plate, seemed to mull over her question. When he’d washed it down with the grape juice that was all she had in the house, he said, “She was kind and sweet. Pretty.” He smiled. “My boss at the bonding agency where I worked warned me not to get too attached. He knew how much I loved people projects.”
His words disrupted the rhythm of her heart. “People projects?”
He shrugged. “I was always helping someone. A beggar who lived on the street. A kid who just needed a father figure. A woman whose husband abused her. It was like my hobby. Helping folks is a good thing but I didn’t stop at helping. I had to get emotionally involved. Attached, my sister called it. Sherry—that was her name, my fiancée—we got so tangled up with each other, I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. I should have realized what that bastard would do the first chance he got. I knew his kind. But I was blinded by love—the idea of it anyway. She died, and I will carry that burden to my grave. I should have paid better attention.”
Marissa felt as if she’d been slapped in the face. He could be describing their relationship to this point—or whatever it was. She felt ill. She reached for her water and tried to dampen her parched throat.
“I was young,” he went on, seemingly oblivious to her shock. “I didn’t recognize the difference between infatuation and love, and the need to protect someone versus the need to be with someone.”
She tried to think of something to say, but no words would come.
“I have never allowed myself to get personally involved with work again.” He set down his glass and looked directly at her. “Until now.”
Somehow she forced the words out around the lump in her throat. “We’re both experienced adults. This isn’t the same.”
“No.” He stared so intently at her that she ached with the weight of it. “It’s not the same.”
The doorbell echoed through the house. She blinked away the damned tears that crowded into her eyes. How foolish had she been? She’d allowed her feelings to go unchecked. William’s death had made her vulnerable. Lacon had tried to warn her but she hadn’t listened.
He stood, drew the weapon from his waistband at the small of his back. “Stay put. I’ll see who it is.”
When he’d headed for the door, Marissa closed her eyes and put her shaking hands over her mouth to hold back a sob. She was a mess. Her life was a mess. A great deal of the fallout bombarding her just now was William’s fault, but this—this emotional entanglement—was hers alone. She had no one to blame but herself.
She drew in a deep breath. She was no little girl, no young woman so involved in her career she couldn’t think straight. She was a grown woman, a physician. Acting like a foolish jilted girl would be ridiculous. What she and Lacon shared was sex, mutual need. Nothing more. It was perfectly healthy to enjoy sex between consenting adults. This did not have to be complicated for either of them. His attention and tenderness had helped her get through this unspeakably difficult time. It wasn’t a big deal.
Keep telling yourself that, Issy.
Lacon was suddenly standing in front of her. The abrupt pounding at her door made her jump. “It’s Anastasia.”
Her heart swelled into her throat. “Your car is out front. He knows we’re here.”
He nodded. “Stay out of sight. I’ll talk to him.”
She nodded and went through the kitchen to the laundry room. She kept the door open a crack so she could hear.
A few seconds later she heard Lacon say, “What can I do for you?”
The strength in his voice warmed her. All else aside, she was so grateful to have him standing between her and Anastasia. He was a good man. A loyal man. Tears burned her eyes again and she blinked them back. Whatever happened in the future, she was immensely thankful for this time with him. For his strength, his honesty and every single moment of the rest.
“I’d like to speak with Marissa.”
The other man’s voice made her shudder with revulsion.
“She’s not available at this time,” Lacon said.
Marissa held her breath, hoped he would leave.
“I’ll wait.”
There were footsteps and then the unmistakable squeak of leather. He was staying. Damn him.
“I think maybe you didn’t hear me,” Lacon said. “She’s not available, now or later. You should go before I get frustrated.”
Marissa pressed her hand more firmly over her mouth. The silence terrified her.
“I’m certain you’ve misunderstood me,” Anastasia countered. “I will wait to see her. If you take issue with that, then you may sort it out with my associates.”
How many did he have with him?
“Would you like to step outside, Mr. Traynor?”
Another voice. Male. Hard.
Enough.
Marissa opened the door and walked back through the kitchen and into the living room. Two men hovered around Lacon. Anastasia sat on the sofa.
“I’m a little busy,” she said to the man in the sleek black suit now staring at her. “The police left my house in a mess. I won’t feel at home until everything’s back in order. Perhaps we can visit another time, Mr. Anastasia.”
“Vito,” he reminded her as he stood. “The reason I stopped by won’t take long.”
Lacon pushed between the two thugs and came to her side.
Anastasia glanced at him as he moved ever closer to Marissa. “I thought you might want to thank me for clearing your name. It was quite a sacrifice, as I’m sure you’ve learned. Two of my men died for the honor.”
Fury blasted through her. “What a waste.” She held his stare. “I’m certain I would have been exonerated in any event. I’m touched that you felt compelled to intervene on my behalf, but I can assure you it was a waste of your resources.”
Rage flickered in his eyes before he schooled the reaction. “You are a fighter, Marissa Frasier. I’ve decided that forty-eight hours is far too much time. I will have your answer to my proposition today. Will you accept my p
roposal?”
If she told him no, he might kill them where they stood. If she said yes...
“As you can imagine, I haven’t really had time to consider your proposal. Once I’m resettled in my home, I’m sure I’ll be able to think more clearly and focus on where I go from here.”
He moved closer still. Next to her Lacon tensed.
“Is there something or someone keeping you from making the right choice, Issy?”
His use of her nickname made her stomach churn. “I make my own decisions, Vito. I thought you would know that by now. Didn’t William tell you how stubborn I can be?”
“I will have your answer,” he pressed.
Lacon put a hand to the man’s chest. “I’m beginning to think you suffer from selective hearing, Vito. She said she doesn’t have an answer for you.”
The other men in the room instantly drew their weapons and aimed them at Lacon. Marissa touched his arm. “It’s all right. I think Vito understands.”
The glare-off between Lacon and Anastasia lasted another ten disturbing seconds.
Anastasia stepped back from Lacon’s firm hand. “You, Mr. Traynor, are pushing your luck.”
Lacon dropped his arm to his side and laughed. “I’ve been pushing my luck my whole life, Anastasia. I don’t think you’re going to have anything at all to do with changing that. You see, Dr. Frasier is my responsibility. I listen only to her. Until she tells me to back off, I will be in your face. Got it?”
Five pulse-pounding seconds passed before the other man spoke. He turned his attention to Marissa. “I’ll expect your answer before midnight. Do not disappoint me, Issy. You won’t like my reaction.”
Anastasia turned and walked out. The two men backed out behind him, weapons still trained on Lacon.
When the door closed, he moved lightning fast across the room and locked it. He stepped to the window and checked beyond the shade.
Marissa struggled to remain standing when her knees threatened to give out.
“They’re gone.”
Lacon turned and started walking toward her. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to move from this spot.
“He isn’t going to let me go.”
* * *
LACON WISHED HE could promise her that Anastasia would eventually move on, turn his attention elsewhere, but he knew that was not true. He’d done more research. The man was like a dog with a bone. Once he set his sights on something, he wouldn’t let go until it belonged to him.
“Let’s take a break while I update Michaels. Maybe he’ll have some news for us.”
“You go ahead. I need to stay busy.” She rubbed her hands up and down her arms as if she were cold.
He touched her cheek and offered the most reassuring smile he could. “I’ll only be a minute.”
She nodded and returned to the cleanup work. They’d finished upstairs. She pulled on her gloves and started scrubbing the bookshelves in her living room. Lacon put through the call and brought Michaels up to speed. He and Victoria had spoken, and her concern was that Anastasia would simply take what he wanted and kill anyone who got in his way. This was his MO, Michaels reminded him. Lacon had come to the same conclusion.
With a warning to get back to the safe house as soon as possible and to be careful, the call ended.
The sooner he helped Issy get through the work down here, the sooner he could coax her into going back to the safe house. She had mentioned staying here, but that was a no-go. She wouldn’t like it, but he was confident he could convince her to listen to reason.
By the time the last of the fingerprint dust was cleaned up downstairs, the delivery truck had arrived with her new mattress and taken the old one away. Issy had lit her favorite scented candles to chase away the lingering odor of death. She’d opened a bottle of wine but Lacon had passed on the offer. His instincts were humming. Whatever Anastasia had planned when he didn’t hear from her or didn’t get the answer he wanted, Lacon wanted to be well prepared.
He tucked in his side of the clean sheet. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books outside a library,” he teased.
She smiled, the first since that idiot’s visit. “I’ve always loved reading. Growing up, we spent more time with books than with the television. I’ve never been able to give one away, so I keep them.”
He reached for one of the new pillows and tucked it into place on his side of the bed. “I think you might need to consider a bigger house, maybe with a room to serve as a library.”
“I thought about turning the third floor into one but I kind of like having a guest room when my brother visits. How about you, are you a book guy?”
They finished making the bed. “To tell you the truth, I haven’t read a book since college. Never enough time.”
“What now?” She glanced around the room as if searching for one more chore to do.
“We should head back to the safe house. I can protect you better there.”
“What do I do about Anastasia? If I ignore his demand, he’ll just come after us.”
“We’ll figure it out as we go.” Lacon smiled, lifted her chin with his knuckle. “I do not want you overanalyzing this. We will figure it out.”
She drew away from his touch. “You’re probably right. I should pack a few things before we go.”
He watched her walk toward the closet, worry nagging at him. He’d said or done something to upset her. When he felt more comfortable about her safety, he would make right whatever he’d done wrong.
Chapter Twelve
7:45 p.m.
“You’ve got everything?” Lacon picked up the bag she had packed.
Issy stood in the center of her living room looking lost. She had been more quiet than usual the past couple of hours. They’d finished the cleanup and set her home to rights. Every hour that passed seemed to make her draw more into herself. He wanted to ask if he’d said or done something, but the situation was getting far too intense for him to go there now. Keeping his head on straight was crucial.
She finally nodded. “I guess so.”
He, on the other hand, was already worried about how he would protect her when she returned to work tomorrow. By morning, Anastasia would be searching the city for her. He would be pissed as hell. No doubt he would come here and also go to the ER where she worked. The bastard would not stop until he found her.
Déjà vu was messing with Lacon’s head. Flashes of memory from his attempts to protect Sherry had his gut in knots. You’re older and wiser now. He hoped like hell the wisdom he had gained over the years would keep him smart and prepared for what he could feel coming.
“You’re ready then?”
“I suppose.” Issy glanced around one more time before walking toward him. “I’m ready if you are.”
“I’ll have a look around outside and check the car, then we’re off.”
“And I’ll stay right here until you give me the all clear,” she said, repeating his usual order.
They’d been over the way things would go from here. With Anastasia’s edict, every move they made out in the open was riskier. He was growing more impatient. And that impatience made him all the more dangerous.
“You got it.” Lacon reached for the door.
“You’ll let your backup know?”
He gave her a nod. “Always do.” He reached for the door once more.
“Wait.”
He turned back to her as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. She stared at the screen. “It’s Anastasia.”
His heart bumping into a faster rhythm, Lacon nodded. “Answer it.”
She took a breath, touched the screen. “Marissa Frasier.”
“I need you to make a house call, Issy.”
Her gaze collided with Lacon’s. He gave her a nod to continue.
“What kind of house call?”
“What’s the address?”
He provided a South Calumet address, thirty-five minutes away on the other side of the river. Lacon instinctively calculated the most direct route.
“I’ll go now,” she said, her tone weary.
“When you’re finished, Issy,” Anastasia said, “I need your answer.”
The call ended.
Her gaze moved up to Lacon’s, worry clouding her green eyes. “We have to go, I know.” She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. “But I don’t want to. I don’t want to be his puppet again.”
For the first time in his career, he second-guessed the decisions he’d made about the case so far. “We could just leave. Get in the car and keep driving.”
She smiled sadly. “We could.”
For a couple of seconds the possibility crackled between them with such promise. But they both knew running wasn’t the answer.
He laughed. “But then we’d just have to be back by tomorrow so you could make your shift at the Edge.”
Her smile lightened the tiniest bit. “True.” She sighed. “I guess we should just do this thing.”
He nodded. “Guess so.” He reached for the door once more. “I’ll have that look around first—just in case—and then we’ll go.”
“I’ll be waiting for your signal.”
His right hand on the grip of his weapon, he moved out the door and down the steps. Sidewalk was clear. No passengers in any of the parked vehicles as far as he could see. He walked to the car, popped the trunk and dropped her bag inside. He sent Michaels a text with the address of where they were headed, then surveyed the street again as he closed the lid.
He sensed the man behind him before the bastard made a sound.
“Get your hands out where I can see them.”
Son of a bitch.
When he didn’t obey the command quickly enough, a muzzle bored into the back of his skull.
