Shielded In The Shadows (Where Secrets Are Safe Book 17)

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  And...what if Emma Martin was right? What if Bill wasn’t who Jayden thought he was?

  “Why don’t you let me do that?” Jayden said. If Bill was in trouble, he wanted to know immediately. If that was the case, it was Jayden’s job to get the man off the street.

  Heber wasn’t the first guy Jayden had believed. He wasn’t even the fifth. And every single one of those who’d earned his faith were was still on the outside, living productive lives. He knew. He still kept watch.

  He didn’t stop looking out for his clients when they were off parole. With their permission, he kept in touch.

  “I’ll be in the area anyway, keeping a watch on him...” And by doing so he’d be keeping Bill off the investigative radar as much as he could. And then he was going to have to see what he could do to warn whichever detective was on the Suzie Heber case to look into whoever else in Suzie’s life could be hurting her. Abusers were like bombs with faulty timers. You never knew what might set them off, or who they could strike. And if Emma was getting involved in Suzie’s life, as a way of doing her own penance for what Emma saw as letting the woman down before...if she was going to push to the point of looking up any establishment that sold ice cream...without even considering that Bill wasn’t the time bomb...who knew what else she’d delve into, who else she might make nervous? She could inadvertently trigger the real bomb while she or Suzie was in the vicinity of the explosion and get killed.

  “That’d be great.” She smiled at him again, distracting him from borrowing trouble.

  Reminding himself that, ultimately, they wanted the same thing—Suzie Heber safe—he smiled back at her.

  And then lost all track of time.

  * * *

  She stared at the man. No reason. No explanation. She just stared. When Emma realized what she was doing, she looked away immediately, her only consolation being that he’d been looking at her, too.

  Which didn’t make it okay.

  Work was work. Her more impulsive side was another part of her life. The two didn’t interconnect. That was an unwritten law inside her.

  “So...” she finally said. “I wanted to let you know...the Lincoln situation is being handled.” His parolee would most likely not be his parolee much longer. But Luke’s wife was going to be safe. Emma was pretty confident about that.

  “They had no High Risk team in the area, but Lila McDaniels Mantle, director of The Lemonade Stand, spoke with the director of the local woman’s shelter, who contacted Luke’s wife, Gina, immediately. They’ve moved Gina and her daughter into a secure residence, but are making it appear as though their home is still being lived in. When Luke shows up there, if he does, he’ll be met by a policewoman who closely resembles Gina. Assuming he shows up in the next day or two.”

  “My gut tells me he will.”

  Emma hardly knew Jayden, but was aware of his impressive recidivism statistics—they were the lowest in the county—and couldn’t help but admire his work ethic, since it mirrored hers.

  “The shelter up north is interested in the High Risk team. I think they’re going to try to start one of their own,” she added for no particular reason other than she wanted to keep sitting there with him. She had no choice but to trust him to do his job where Bill was concerned. And had no justifiable reason not to do so.

  “I’d seriously like to be more involved with this team,” he told her, adjusting his back in the chair. Slowly. Reminding her that he was nursing badly bruised ribs.

  “You’re welcome to join me at our next meeting,” she told him. “It’s next Tuesday, weekly instead of biweekly or monthly since we have an active case. I’m sure the Hebers will be the top priority, so it’s fitting that you be there. You’re our main source of containment at the moment.”

  What was she doing? Inviting him to participate in a group in which she was consistently active? Inviting him further into her life?

  The reasoning was legitimate, she argued with herself.

  “I’d like that.”

  He asked for the time and place. She gave it to him. And then they were looking at each other again. Until she stopped.

  He’d only eaten half his dinner. She’d finished a bit more of hers. Starting to pack up the remainder, she thought about urging him to take them home, but figured they’d been sitting out too long to be good as leftovers.

  And reminded herself that he didn’t need her fawning over him. If he wanted his food, he’d grab it on the way out.

  “You seeing anyone?”

  She stared at him.

  “Personally, I mean. Are you in a relationship?”

  No. Ms. Shadow Side felt all warm and important inside her.

  “Is that pertinent to our business here?” her prosecutorial side asked, maintaining eye contact with him again, probably on behalf of her lesser self.

  “It’s pertinent to the fact that, unless I’m way off my mark, we seem to have something kind of relevant in common.”

  The only thing they had in common was work. Personal relationships had nothing to do with work.

  “What’s that?” she asked anyway. Just to know what she was dealing with.

  “An inability to stop looking at each other.”

  Emma wanted to stand and walk out. Her muscles felt like mush. Maybe that was why her lips opened to give him an unequivocal “no” message and then her mouth just hung open.

  “I’m not currently seeing anyone.” He dropped the information on her.

  She nodded. “Good to know,” she said. And suddenly energized, was able to stand. To gather her things. She was going to get out of there without making a fool of herself.

  Or be in any danger of losing her good sense. Of making another bad choice over a bad-boy character who would only be trouble in her life. She knew the ropes. Had climbed them and had the burns to prove it. Had left burns, which stung even more.

  Emma waited for him at the door, pretending not to notice the wince he made as he stood. It was only good manners to hold the door for him, and to do so as they exited the building, too.

  Drawing the line at opening his car door, she split from him as soon as they were outside.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he called as she crossed the parking lot away from him.

  “I know,” she called back. Wanting to say more.

  Before she gave in to the warmth pooling in places he had no business knowing about, she got into her car and locked the door.

  Chapter 5

  He’d made the offer. She’d declined. That should be the end of it. It would be, too, in terms of him ever again even hinting to Emma Martin that there could be something personal between him and her. A casual reference without pressure, when one had been mutually stared at, was fine.

  Anything more than that and he crossed a line.

  He could call her out for staring at him with that heat in her eyes.

  Except that he’d kind of liked it.

  And so it went with Jayden on Thursday morning. In the shower. Stepping out. He cringed as he dried off and contorted to get his shirt on without pulling on the muscles surrounding his ribs. He’d picked up the recommended wrap that would help reduce swelling and speed up healing but had declined the prescription pain meds. He’d been hurt a lot worse playing football in high school and still gone on the field.

  There was no time for rest, either.

  Leaving his shirt open, he put a slab of frozen packaged bacon on his chest while he made some toast and drank milk from the carton. The fewer dishes he had to do, the better. The fewer actions that required movement, the better. He’d woken himself up half a dozen times in the night, turning in his sleep. Or attempting to. Back to the recliner for him that night. He’d been dumb to insist on the bed the second evening out from having taken the hit.

  He’d driven by Luke Lincoln’s place on the way home the ni
ght before. The man had been there. He’d stopped earlier in the day, too, to make sure there was no gun on the premises; it would be his first stop this morning. Another gun check. Jayden wasn’t just going to ask, he wanted to take a look around.

  He’d be seeing Harold Wallace that morning, too. Wallace’s son was going to be arraigned. And then, after a couple of workplace checks, it was on to Bill Heber. He was going it solo, partially because he didn’t need backup, and partially because he didn’t want anyone else to know he was checking into Heber. Not unless he found something that gave him cause to report anything.

  If evidence that implicated Bill turned up, he would report it. But until then, he wanted nothing to hinder Bill’s chances for successful reentry.

  Luke, who’d done time for physical assault, among other things was at home. Wearing a bulletproof vest under the shirt tucked into his jeans, Jayden kept his expression serious and calm as he asked to enter.

  Inside he was smiling; Luke was at home. The man hadn’t broken parole—at least not that he knew of. Success, even momentary, felt good.

  “I need to come in,” he told the twenty-two-year-old who’d opened the door dressed only in a pair of flannel pants. “Is anyone else home?” Luke was living with his younger sister and boyfriend, both of whom had passed the home inspection stage before Luke’s release.

  “No.” Luke stood back, his expression grim as he let Jayden inside.

  Having Leon or other backup with him would have been the safest choice for this call. And would put Luke immediately on the defensive, which would have blown any chance Jayden had for establishing even a small bit of rapport with his least-trusted client.

  As far as he knew, Luke hadn’t reoffended yet. And though he didn’t feel as positive about the young man’s potential for success as he had some others, he had to give Luke the chance to surprise him.

  “I need to search the place,” Jayden said as he walked into a living room that had definitely been lived in. Warrantless searches had been a part of Luke’s parole stipulation, but if they hadn’t been, he had reasonable cause, which, as a probation officer, was all he needed.

  Dirty plates and glasses sat on the coffee table. Three of them. As though that small family had shared a meal sometime recently.

  A blanket and pillow were on the couch, like someone had just taken a nap. Three remote controls lay on three different cushions. And there was an ashtray filled with cigarette butts.

  “Have at it,” Luke said, waving an arm toward the rest of the small house. Picking up a remote, he dropped down to the couch and flipped on the television.

  Jayden knew Thursday was Luke’s day off from the restaurant where he worked as a busboy. But he also knew Luke had to be at the convenience store where he stocked shelves later that afternoon.

  The free morning had been partially what had brought Jayden straight to Luke even before Jayden’s day had officially started. He’d more than half expected the man to track down his daughter.

  Home searches were a fairly normal part of his job, and Jayden knew well what to look for. And where and how to look. Messy housekeepers often simplified the job. At the leg of the twin bed frame and mattress set up in the room designated as Luke’s, he found a torn piece of cardboard: part of the top of a box of ammunition.

  Finding the weapon and more bullets was fairly routine. Luke had them both stuffed inside the pillow, which was inside a pillowcase matching the one on the couch.

  So much for building rapport with his offender. Who was now a reoffender. Which put Jayden in a bit of a prickly situation. He was alone in the house with a man who could be considered dangerous—one of the few of his parolees that he’d struggled to believe in at all. He’d had to give Luke the chance the courts had granted him, but the man had never looked him in the eye. Not once. That didn’t set well with Jayden.

  Sore ribs were the least of his worries as he made a split-second decision. If he made a call, requesting backup, chances were he’d be overheard. Luke might run. Or attack.

  Percentages said he’d run. Jayden might or might not catch him. And being a hunted man would make Luke more desperate to see his young daughter—since it could be the last time in a long time he’d have the right to do so.

  Jayden could make the arrest on his own, and hope all went well.

  Or he could pretend he hadn’t found the gun, leave, keep a watch on the place, and call for backup. During which time Luke could arm himself with the gun hidden in the pillowcase. Or do something with it so Jayden couldn’t find it again.

  Texting Leon, he went to the living room to make the arrest.

  * * *

  With back-to-back hearings on two different cases in two different courtrooms, Emma spent Thursday morning fully engrossed in work. She was just getting back to her office, her feet hurting in the three-inch heels she’d put on that morning because they made her legs look sexy. She was cursing herself for letting her shadow side out long enough to influence her wardrobe choices that morning—knowing full well they’d been made with the thought in mind that she might run into Officer Powell.

  The black slim-line short skirt and matching jacket was her power suit because of the red cami she wore with it. She’d left her hair curly and wild, rather than trying to tame it as she usually did.

  And after a morning in the courtroom, she was disgusted with herself for her early-morning lapse. Her feet hurt.

  “Hey, boss, this came your way this morning. I figured you’d want it first thing.” Kenny punctuated the last two words with his typical head bob, as he came into her office with a file in hand.

  “What is it?” she asked, taking and looking at the file. Kenny would give her a speedier and as equally accurate rundown as her cursory glance was going to do.

  “That probation officer, Jayden Powell, requested that it come to you specifically,” Kenny said. “One of his offenders, Luke Lincoln. You know him?”

  “Yes!” She looked at the front page of the file.

  “Jayden made the arrest?” She looked up at Kenny.

  “Found a gun during a home visit this morning,” Kenny said. “Powell’s lucky he didn’t get himself shot again. You’d think, after what happened Tuesday, he’d at least have had backup there.”

  You’d think. If you weren’t Ms. Shadow who found the man’s courage rather admirable.

  “He was there alone?”

  “That’s what I hear. He had the guy down on the ground at gunpoint and then called for officer backup.”

  Wow. Emma was impressed. Thankful. And a bit wary, too. Powell didn’t play by the safety book. Officers like that muddied waters, too. Powell finding that gun—it could come down to his word against the offender’s. And Emma would be left to prove who was telling the truth.

  She hoped to God Jayden had some definitive proof that he hadn’t planted that gun just to keep the guy away from his daughter. She could hear the defense already.

  And while she admired Powell’s ability to get his job done, his dedication to keeping innocent people safe, she also had to wonder just how big a risk he’d be willing to take to do so.

  Like planting a weapon?

  Why, after having just been shot, had he gone to the home of a serious offender alone? Unless he hadn’t wanted anyone else to be privy to what he was doing. Hoping to cash in on the fact that a panel would believe him over a dangerous offender.

  Part of her wanted her to call the man, to see what he had to say about this morning’s visit and arrest. The untrustworthy part that was attracted to him.

  Thanking Kenny, she dropped the open folder in front of her on her desk, turned on her computer and told her shadow side to shut the hell up.

  * * *

  Jayden went home for lunch. With the rib wrap and bulletproof vest he’d been wearing in July heat, he stank. He was stripping as he came in the door from the gara
ge, stopped at the refrigerator, thinking about a beer from the six-pack on the bottom shelf—probably would have had one if he hadn’t had a full afternoon of work facing him—and settled for a grape energy drink instead.

  He’d put in a good morning. Hated to lose one of his own to reoffender status, but was glad that he’d stopped Luke from doing something much worse than possessing a gun. Luke would serve out his time in prison, with a bit more tacked on, he’d expect, once Emma got through with him, and maybe get himself straightened out. It happened sometimes, prison knocking some sense into a guy. Maybe he’d get some counseling. Or find religion.

  Did Emma have the file yet? He’d give her until after his shower and then he’d call her. If she hadn’t already called him.

  She’d said she’d get him windows of time and dates for Suzie Heber’s injuries, to check against Heber’s file on Jayden’s location app and also to use as he canvassed ice cream shops and establishments that sold ice cream in Heber’s area to see if there were any Heber visits that coincided with Emma’s dates. He’d been waiting all morning to hear from her.

  She had other cases. A lot of them. So did he. So he showered. Fed the feral cat who hadn’t been outside since consuming the fish in his tank. Ate a peanut butter sandwich and then rewrapped his ribs. They were a bit better, though perhaps a little challenged by the morning’s events. He couldn’t say for sure. At the time that he’d pulled his gun, aimed it at Luke and told him to lie facedown on the floor, he’d been so filled with adrenaline, he hadn’t felt a thing.

  The twinges had come later, when he’d stood over the man, called for backup and waited, poised to act at any minute movement from his soon-to-be ex-client. Other than breathing. Luke was allowed to breathe.

  They’d twinged a bit during his meeting with Harold Wallace, too. Jayden wasn’t pressing charges against the boy, but the state was. He was to be remanded to juvenile detention while awaiting trial. His father was an ex-con on parole—they weren’t going to give the child to him.