Dangerous Illusions (Code of Honor Book #1)

by Irene Hannon

  After a while, the doctor got the hint and concentrated on stitching rather than speaking.

  Once she finished and Trish was again sitting up, she handed her a list of complications to watch for, a sheet of instructions, and prescriptions for pain medication and an antibiotic to ward off infection.

  “You can come back here in a week to ten days to have the stitches removed, or have your own physician take care of it. I saw in your file you were in for a tetanus booster six months ago, so you’re covered on that score. We also have your medical insurance information from that visit. Unless there’s been a change, all we need is a signature on a few forms.”

  “My insurance is the same.”

  “Then let’s wrap this up so we can all go home. If you’d rather save yourself a trip to the pharmacy, we can fill the prescriptions for you here.”

  “That would be great.” No way was she up to yet another stop tonight.

  Five minutes later, prescription and paperwork in hand, Trish walked out the door, Colin close on her heels.

  “I’m parked over there.” He took her uninjured arm and motioned toward a Mazda, leading her that direction.

  Her step faltered. “I can’t leave my car here overnight.”

  “Yes, you can.” He kept walking, urging her along. “I spoke with the doctor about it while you were signing papers. I also asked County to send a patrol through here a few times tonight. You can’t drive with a numb arm.”

  Oh yeah. If she’d been thinking straight, she’d have realized that.

  But she didn’t want to ruin the rest of Colin’s evening.

  “Look . . . I can get a cab.” She held back, forcing him to slow his determined pace. “You don’t need to drive me home.”

  “Yes, I do. Assuming you have a key stashed somewhere on the property, that is.” He urged her forward again.

  That’s right. Her keys were in the snatched tote bag.

  But her mother had always kept one under the fairy statue in the rose garden. It would still be there.

  “Yes. There’s a spare in the garden.” She continued to drag her feet. “But I’ve already intruded too much on your night. I bet you were in the middle of something when you got the call from your colleague.”

  With a resigned huff, he stopped and turned to her. “I was—and itching for an excuse to leave. There’s no need to feel guilty about pulling me away.”

  He seemed sincere, yet . . .

  “Even so, it’s late. You must be tired.”

  “Trish.” He rested his hands on her shoulders again. Despite the shadows cast by the overhead lights, she could detect the worry etched in his features. “I’m not tired. And I’d have been a lot more upset if I hadn’t found out about this until tomorrow. I want to drive you home. It’s not an imposition. Okay?”

  Her throat clogged. For two long years her own needs had taken second place to those of her mom and her students. Week after week, month after month, she’d shouldered all the duties and obligations and responsibilities alone. Only at night, when her time was at last her own and the busyness of the day was over, did she allow herself to yearn for the days when her life had been filled with love and laughter and companionship. When John had stood by her side as partner and friend and ally.

  For this one evening, Colin had stepped into that role—and she didn’t have the strength to refuse his generosity and kindness . . . even if it inconvenienced him.

  “Okay. You can drive me home. Thank you.”

  Without a word, he linked his fingers with hers, guided her to the car, and helped her with her seat belt.

  Once behind the wheel, he put the Mazda in gear and aimed it toward her house.

  He drove without speaking—and after two silent miles, she gave him a surreptitious perusal. Although the car was dark, his brow appeared to be wrinkled. He was either worried about her . . . or he hadn’t been as anxious for an excuse to get away from his earlier commitment as he’d implied and was regretting what he’d left behind.

  Could that commitment have been . . . a woman?

  She played with her seat belt. Wednesday wasn’t a typical date night, and he’d been very clear about wanting to get to know her better—but that didn’t mean his social life was lacking. With those sable eyes, that dark brown hair, and a pair of shoulders broad enough to be the envy of a Hollywood heartthrob, Colin Flynn was the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

  If he sat home on Saturday nights—or Wednesday nights—it was by choice.

  But he hadn’t been sitting home tonight.

  So where had he been?

  If she wanted to dig, this was her chance. In five minutes, she’d be home.

  “You, uh, said you were busy when your coworker called you about me but were looking for an excuse to escape.” She played with the edge of the dressing covering her arm. “That’s how I feel at some of our staff meetings.”

  A marginal opening . . . but the best she could come up with in her present state.

  “Close.” He hung a left. “A friend of mine directs a church-sponsored children’s show every summer. I do the sound and lights. We were having a production meeting.”

  Not what she’d expected.

  But impressive.

  “That sounds like a commendable volunteer activity.”

  “I’ll concede it’s a worthwhile program. However, I don’t have an ounce of greasepaint in my blood. To be honest, I’d rather coach a soccer team or take the kids on a camping trip. But this means a lot to Kristin.”

  Her stomach dropped.

  The friend he’d mentioned was a woman—and he was doing a job he obviously disliked to please her.

  That did not bode well. If he’d signed on for an activity in which he had no interest to stay in this woman’s good graces, they had to be more than mere friends. Right?

  Except . . . hadn’t he told her just two nights ago he’d never met a woman he liked enough to consider a potential partner for life?

  So who was this Kristin?

  “I can’t imagine tackling a project like that. Dealing with kids in art class is taxing, but putting on a stage show . . . wow. Your friend is braver than I am. She sounds amazing.”

  “She is. But don’t sell yourself short. You’ve weathered some tough storms over the past couple of years. I also heard you put up quite a fight tonight. When did you take the self-defense class?”

  He’d shifted the spotlight back to her.

  So much for her interrogation techniques.

  “After I was hired at the school. I took a one-day seminar, more to please my mom than anything else. The few instructions I remembered did slow the guy down, but if the police hadn’t shown up when they did . . .” A shudder rolled through her.

  He reached over and laid his hand on her knee. “You’re safe now.”

  “I know.” In fact, she had a feeling she’d always feel safe if Colin was beside her.

  “Call coming in.” He withdrew his hand, pulled out his phone, and scanned the screen before he put it to his ear. “What’s up?”

  For the most part, the conversation was one-sided—on the other end—but after Colin hung up, he gave her the gist.

  “That was Mac, my colleague. The officers found your purse tossed in an alley. The wallet was inside, and your credit cards and driver’s license were still there. The cash was gone.”

  She sighed and shook her head. “He took a lot of risk for a very small payoff. I never carry more than thirty dollars.”

  “A word of advice.” Colin turned into the residential area she called home and shot her a quick glance. “If this ever happens to you again—and I hope to God it doesn’t—let go of the bag. A few bucks and potential credit card hassles aren’t worth your life.”

  “I know. I can’t believe I held on to it as long as I did. That was a huge m-mistake.” She swallowed past the catch in her voice. “I seem to be making a lot of those recently.”

  “Hey.” He touched her knee again. “I’m not t
rying to beat up on you. I should have waited for a better time to broach that subject.”

  “Don’t apologize. You’re right. They hammered that into us in the class, but it was like my brain froze even though my body responded on autopilot with defensive moves.”

  “Everyone reacts differently in a panic situation. You may have forgotten to let go of the bag, but you bought yourself precious seconds by doing the other stuff. And all’s well that ends well. Plus, now that they’ve got the purse, they might be able to find some prints and nail this guy.”

  “Oh.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I just remembered. The guy was wearing latex gloves. I should have told that to the officer.”

  Silence as he swung into her driveway and shut off the engine.

  “That’s not the best news I’ve had all day. Let me pass it on to Mac. He can let them know.”

  Once more, he pulled out his phone, punched in some numbers, and gave his colleague the update.

  “Assuming the bag’s clean, you’ll have it back tomorrow.” He pocketed the phone. “Sit tight. I’ll get the door.”

  She didn’t argue. Weariness, self-reproach, and worry over a woman named Kristin had depleted the last reserves of her energy.

  A few second later, the door swung open and she got out, with a welcome assist from Colin.

  “How’s the arm feeling?”

  “The numbness is starting to wear off.”

  “In other words, it’s beginning to throb.”

  That was putting it mildly.

  “I’ll take a painkiller in a few minutes.” She cradled her arm as she walked, his hand under her uninjured elbow. Steadying. Guiding. Supporting.

  “Where’s the spare key?”

  “In the back.” She described the location.

  “Give me sixty seconds.”

  He left her on the front porch, easing her into one of the wicker chairs that had been there for as long as she could remember, their chintz cushions faded from the sun.

  One minute passed. Two. Three.

  At the four-minute mark, she pushed herself to her feet. Finding the fairy statue in the dark would be a challenge for someone unfamiliar with the backyard. She’d have to help him.

  But as she walked across the porch, he jogged around the side of the house.

  “Sorry.” He took the steps two at a time. “Finding fairies isn’t my forte.” After flashing her a grin, he unwrapped the foil-encased key, slipped it in the lock, opened the door . . . and frowned. “Why isn’t the security system beeping?”

  So he’d noticed the keypad by the door in the kitchen during his previous visits.

  She had a feeling not much got past this man.

  “I didn’t set it today.” She edged past him, into the foyer.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s never been any trouble in this neighborhood. But I always set it at night.”

  “You need to set it from now on whenever you leave the house.”

  “It’s safe here, Colin.”

  “Nowhere is safe. And the thug who did that”—he laid his fingers on her bandaged arm—“knows who you are and where you live.”

  Panic swept through her, followed by a wave of nausea.

  “But . . . it was just a random mugging. Why would he come all the way out here to find me? He got what he wanted.” Yet even as she asked the question, she recalled the fury in his eyes and his words after she fought back.

  Nobody does that and walks away.

  “I’m not saying he will. I’m saying always assume the worst and take precautions.”

  “So much for sleeping tonight, even with an armed security system.”

  “I could stay. You have plenty of couches in this place.”

  “Seriously?”

  “If it would help you get some rest.”

  Of course it would help her get some rest!

  But the man had his own life, and a job to go to tomorrow. It wouldn’t be fair to impose any more than she already had.

  “I appreciate that—more than I can say—but I’ll be fine.” She managed to infuse her tone with far more bravado than she felt. “The doors and windows have excellent locks, and the security system is top-notch. I tripped the alarm by mistake once not long after I moved back, and I couldn’t remember the password when the alarm company called. The police were here in four minutes flat.”

  He studied her for a few moments. “If you want the truth, I think I’d sleep better if I stayed.”

  Warmth filled her heart at his revealing admission, and she touched his arm. “You’ll sleep better in your own bed. I wouldn’t mind if you called me once you got home, though. By then I’ll have the alarm set for the night and everything should be safe and quiet.”

  A few beats ticked by. At last he covered her hand with his. “Fine. But I also want you to promise you’ll keep your phone within reaching distance, and that you’ll call me if anything spooks you—day or night.”

  “I’m not in the habit of bothering people late at night.”

  “I’m used to being bothered at all hours. It goes with the job. Promise me.”

  With his intent brown eyes fixed on her, it was hard to think—and impossible to say no.

  “I promise.”

  “And call me in the morning as soon as you wake up. I’ll either drive you over to get your car or tap an officer to do it if I’m tied up.”

  “I can get a cab to—”

  “Trish.”

  She fell silent.

  “In case you haven’t figured it out, I want to be part of your life. I wish you’d had the officer or paramedics call me tonight instead of trying to drive with a bleeding arm.” His voice scraped, and his Adam’s apple contracted. “I know you’re a strong, independent woman who’s used to handling things on your own, but there’s nothing wrong with calling on friends when you need them. And I’d like to be one of those—at the very least.”

  “I’d like that too.”

  “Good.” Before she realized his intent, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her forehead. “I like to back up my words with actions.” The murmured statement was a gentle, oh-so-lovely puff of warmth against her skin.

  When he eased away, it took every ounce of her willpower to remain motionless instead of throwing herself into his arms and begging him to stay.

  He too seemed to be fighting the impulse to get close again.

  Instead he turned and clutched the knob. “I’ll call you in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you for everything you did tonight.”

  With a lift of his hand, he exited, closing the door with a quiet click behind him.

  Trish moved to the sidelight window. He was striding toward his car, as if he needed to put distance between them before he succumbed to temptation and did more than kiss her forehead.

  And she’d have let him.

  Colin Flynn might be new in her life, but already he was becoming an integral part of it.

  She stayed by the sidelight until his red taillights disappeared, then methodically checked the doors and windows, set the alarm, and retreated to her bedroom, cell in hand, to await his call.

  Once in bed, she adjusted the pillows behind her head and sent a silent thank you heavenward for the favorable outcome of this night.

  As for the future . . . she prayed it would be calm and trauma free. And after all she’d been through, surely God would grant that request.

  Wouldn’t he?

  Colin sat on the edge of his bed and set his phone on the nightstand. Trish might think he’d sleep better here, but he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told her he’d get more shut-eye at her place.

  Hearing her voice over the phone hadn’t helped his peace of mind, either. Hard as she’d tried to hide them, subtle threads of apprehension had woven through her words as she’d assured him the house was secure and the alarm was set.

  She was scared.

  Plus, she had to be hurting.

  How was he sup
posed to sleep, knowing both of those things?

  His cell vibrated again, and he snatched it up. Could she have changed her mind, decided to take him up on his offer?

  But the name on the screen dashed those hopes.

  “Hi, Mac.” He leaned back against the headboard.

  “Did I wake you?”

  Was he kidding?

  “No. Did they catch the guy?” Why else would his colleague be calling back at—Colin peered at his bedside clock—eleven o’clock?

  “Sorry. No. But I touched base with the city detective assigned to the case and asked him to keep us in the loop on any developments. He called to let me know he found something interesting during his walk around the schoolyard. You’re not gonna like it.”

  He tensed. “What did he find?”

  “A photo of Trish Bailey.”

  As the implication sank in, Colin bolted upright.

  Tonight’s mugging hadn’t been a random act of violence.

  Trish had been targeted.

  He raked his fingers through his hair and stood. “Someone had her in their sights.”

  “That’s how I read it. The guy must have dropped the photo while he was running away. It was partially folded, but there was enough visible to catch Delaney’s eye on his walk-around. Candid shots of young Caucasian women aren’t exactly common in that neighborhood. He showed it to the responding cop, who identified her. He agreed to take a picture of it and email it to both of us.”

  Colin began to pace, dissecting this latest development.

  “I’m not liking what this suggests. If the mugger needed a photo to identify his victim, this had to be a paid job. Someone gave the guy Trish’s photo and told him when and where to find her. The question is who would do that . . . and why?”

  “Maybe the lady can provide some answers. She might have an enemy she neglected to mention.”

  “You’ve met her. Does she strike you as the type to have enemies?”

  “No—but what other explanation could there be?”

  He wished he knew.

  “That’s what I’ll have to find out. Will you call me if anything else breaks tonight?”

  “It’s getting late.”

  “You won’t be interrupting my sleep.”

  “Got it. But don’t hold your breath. They’re done processing the scene, and the guy wore gloves. Unless a witness comes forward, this case is over.”