Duty to Defend

by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  “Serena! For your own safety and Chase’s, if you know where this guy is you need to tell the authorities.”

  “I did that once, and they let him get away. Now he’s on the loose again. He must not know that I told before, or I’d be dead already. I’m sober now and in control of my lips. I won’t risk opening them again, even if I knew where he is, which I don’t. And you better not tell any cops what I said, either. Not if you care about me and Chase...or your own life. That man doesn’t care who he hurts.”

  The baby mewled and started to fuss. Serena whirled and stalked toward the crib. Frowning, Daci watched the younger woman. All Serena’s defensive anger melted away as she bent over the crib, crooning to her son. Daci’s heart broke. Serena was no one’s idea of a model mother, but that she loved her son there was no doubt. Would that love be enough to keep her sober? Would the dangerous connections from her past allow her to live long enough to find out?

  What about dangerous connections from Daci’s own turbulent history? Was someone in the shadows of her past bent on ending her career and her life? Other than her grandmother’s killer, there was only one other person she could think of who might have a reason to want her dead. Did Uncle Conrad hate her that much? But why come after her now?

  She would have to pay him a visit—look him squarely in the eyes and find out how deep his resentment ran. But she wasn’t going alone into that confrontation. Someone needed to be there to verify what was said and done, but she didn’t want to get any of her siblings involved in raking up this muck. Only one person appeared in her mind’s eye as an appropriate, objective witness—Jaxton Williams.

  * * *

  “Where does your Uncle Conrad live?” Jax asked Daci as they sat together at her desk, going over the day’s events, as well as speculations about her angry uncle.

  The guy sounded like a prize jerk, blaming Daci for his mother’s death just because she had an expensive car. Might be the reason Daci drove a VW now. Of course, grief did a number on people’s capacity for decency and sound reason. The guy might have his head screwed on better by now, but it was a good idea to take a close look at him.

  “Uncle Con lives in the Mid Dorchester neighborhood of Boston,” Daci answered.

  “That’s a couple of hours away on I-90. He could be behind your delightful gift basket, if nothing else.”

  Daci let out a dry chuckle. “Actually, the gift basket thing sounds more his speed than attempted murder, but I haven’t shared my new address with him, or told him about my job. Whoever left that basket had to know where I moved only a week ago, and when I was starting work.”

  “Narrows the suspect pool considerably.” Jax frowned. “Only leaves people in this office who can access your file, or family and friends you notified—unless they passed the information along to someone.”

  “Not too likely. Everyone in the family/friend category knows how protective Marlowes are of our personal information. But, look, I don’t want investigating my funky family to steal time from our assignment in the Liggett Naylor case. Would you be willing to go to Boston with me some evening after duty hours or even this weekend? I mean, strictly business. DC Reynolds did say to get a handle on who might be after me, in case it turns out not to be Naylor. I don’t want to steal your free time, though, so—”

  Jax laid his forefinger across Daci’s mouth. She’d spoken faster and faster, and her face had gone progressively redder with every word.

  “No worries,” he said. “I definitely want to go with you. I’m honored you asked. I’d say the sooner the better.” He looked at his watch. “How about we grab some fast food at a drive-through and head out?”

  “Hole in the knee and all?” She grinned down at the rent in his pants. “What did the judge say?”

  “Not a word. I stayed behind my table and played innocent the whole time and may have hit a home run for my tiny client, but the decision won’t be handed down until later this week. And as for meeting your uncle, given what you say about the guy’s attitude, I don’t think impressing him with my sartorial elegance needs to be a concern. Maybe you should call and make sure he’s home?”

  Daci shook her head. “I don’t want to warn him I’m on the way. People’s reactions are more revealing when they’re spontaneous. He’s an auto mechanic who likes to hang out with his bar buddies. When Con isn’t at work, he’s at home glued to ESPN or hoisting more than a few at the local sports bar. We’ll try home first. He’s an avid sports gambler, which is the biggest reason I rarely give him any cash when he hits me up.”

  “How often is that?” Jax scowled.

  She rolled one shoulder in a shrug. “Not often. He figured out pretty quickly that blaming me for his mother’s death wasn’t going to guilt me into coughing up green every time his team lost. Three years back, I bought him a new car when his old rust bucket gave out on him, but then he got in a fender bender about six months ago, and come to find out, he had no insurance because he’d gambled away the money to pay the premium. Needless to say, I refused to cover his fine or pay for the body work on the vehicle. He didn’t take my decision well.” Her mouth pulled into a grimace. “It’s really too bad. If he was a solid, trustworthy guy I would give him the moon. He’s family, after all.”

  A half hour later, Springfield was fading in their rearview mirror as they headed for Boston, Daci behind the wheel.

  Jax polished off the last of his burger and wiped his fingers on a paper napkin. “I’m glad the PD has assigned an officer to live in with Chase’s foster family and accompany them whenever they take Chase out of the house until the danger is past. With you stationed at the day care, and me in and out as much as possible, we should have the little guy covered.”

  Daci wrinkled her nose. “Especially since the day care worker who pulled the alarm for her abductor boyfriend won’t be there anymore. Boy, is Marina in hot water.”

  “Deservedly so.”

  “Too bad they’re both sticking to their claim that they don’t know Naylor’s whereabouts, and that the baby-snatching deal was set up by a go-between. I do worry about Serena, though. You and I have eyes on her during workday hours, and between the Marshals Service and PD, her building is staked out and her whereabouts are continually monitored, but we don’t have anyone living with her. Someone could get to her. Plus, since she turned down protection, we can’t even tell her someone’s keeping an eye on her. She feels like she’s facing this all on her own. That’s got to be terrifying.”

  “Are you starting to be a little fond of Chase’s mother?”

  Daci shot him a glower. “I’m about as conflicted as a cat crouched between a mouse and a canary. Every molecule in me hates what her choices did to her son, yet I see she deeply regrets her behaviors and truly loves Chase. And no matter what she’s done, no one deserves to be targeted by a killer like Naylor. I want to see her get through this safely, for her sake and for Chase’s. But getting Naylor out of the picture won’t solve all of her problems. Even if she successfully graduates from her halfway house, benefits from therapy and counseling, succeeds at her day care job, and gets her son back, she needs intensive monitoring and support for a few years, not merely a few months, to make sure the changes stick. Are there any programs out there that will fit the bill?”

  Jax nodded. “A few, and I’ll hook her up with those, but what they offer will still leave gaps—most prominently, the personal touch of a solid, platonic relationship to offer her support. A sober friend who loves and cares for her. She has no one. The woman was living on the streets by the age of fourteen after her parents booted her out. It’s actually amazing she’s not dead and still has a conscience.”

  “I know.” Daci’s tone was grim. “Her family background—or lack thereof—was in her file. I’m angry for her, not just at her, but don’t get any ideas about setting me up as the permanent ‘friend.’ It’s all I can do to handle this association as a wo
rk assignment.”

  Jax flung up his hands. “I would never presume to dictate your friendships.”

  Daci sniffed. “But you do have a persuasive way about you.”

  “Comes with the lawyer territory. I’m talking about charm, not smarm.”

  “You said it, buster.”

  He grinned. She didn’t, but he detected an upward twitch of one corner of her mouth. Apparently, she wasn’t entirely immune to the aforementioned charm.

  Soon the Boston skyline painted a giant halo of light on the dusky horizon. Traffic trebled and then quadrupled. They turned off at one of the Mid Dorchester exits and entered a middle-to-lower income neighborhood of duplexes and cookie-cutter apartment buildings. Commercial streets consisted primarily of bars, mom-and-pop shops, ethnic restaurants and a scattering of so-called adult entertainment establishments. The male pedestrians wore casual to grubby day-laborer-type garb. The same with the women, except for a few sporting trashy nightclub bling. No trendy fashion to be seen.

  A soft sigh exhaled from Daci. “Katerina Meier immigrated to this neighborhood in 1959 with her US Army husband. They met while he was on leave in Zurich. Ironically, she got to keep her maiden name, just spelled differently. My grandpa—who I never met—was named Rudolph Meyer. Tough break that Rudy died shortly after my mother was born.”

  Her tone was of one reminiscing aloud to herself, not someone making conversation. Jax held himself still and silent, willing her to go on.

  “Katie was left a young widow with a three-year-old boy and a less-than-one-year-old daughter to raise. She worked hard, kept them fed and clothed, insisted they finish high school, encouraged them to move on to college for the education she so prized, but they both wanted to get the American Dream the easy way. Neither sought higher education, but my mother exceeded her goal of wealth and luxury through marriage to a man with big money and an old name. Con never got what he thought was due him. Now he’s a bitter middle-aged man living alone in the same duplex where he grew up and working a job he only tolerates.”

  She suddenly glanced over at him as if realizing she had an audience for her musings.

  He smiled. “Did your grandmother tell you this?”

  She shook her head and navigated a turn around a corner by a mechanic shop that advertised cheap oil changes.

  “My uncle works here.” She waved toward the closed and dark building. “Mostly, I pieced the history together from things I overheard. Some of it came from my grandma, but quite a bit from my mother, who talked practically nonstop when she was in certain moods. The interpretation is my own.”

  “You were an attentive and observant child.”

  “I had to be.”

  “My childhood was oatmeal compared to yours, though it did involve a blended family. My mom passed away when I was very young, and my dad remarried a woman who also had a young child. I can’t squawk about my stepmom, though. She’s great! My stepsister and I aren’t close, but we don’t fight—at least not now that we’re adults.” He chuckled.

  “Be thankful.”

  “I am, but even the Brady Bunch had their problems.”

  “No time for it now, but on our way home you can tell me about your problems, Mr. Brady.” She laughed. “I need to have something on you after all the blathering I’ve done about my dirty laundry. I’m not usually so forthcoming. Must be because I sense no judgment in your listening.”

  The backs of Jax’s eyes stung. If only he could allow himself to open up to this woman. He sensed the same sympathetic ear in her. But baring his soul would inevitably open the door of his heart, and he couldn’t afford to let her in.

  A law-enforcement career created risks for both of them—risks he could no longer accept in concert with a romantic relationship. His wife and unborn child had died because he was a marshal. The guilt of their loss was as great as the sorrow. If Daci and he were a couple, and a similar event occurred where he lost his life, she’d be left feeling like he did right now. Or he’d be left behind to mourn her. He could not allow either possibility. Denying any attraction for Daci, beyond coworker camaraderie, was the only right course.

  “What is that smell?”

  “Huh?” Her question broke him out of his introspection. He sniffed the air. “Smoke.”

  “We’re getting close to my uncle’s house.”

  She sped up and a few blocks later turned a corner. Dead ahead, fire trucks and police cars, lights flashing, surrounded the charred remains of a home.

  Jax’s gut clenched. “Your uncle’s place?”

  Her terse affirmative was accompanied an abrupt halt at the curb as close to the ordered chaos as they could get. Was that an ambulance among the emergency vehicles? Jax leaped from the car and raced to catch up with Daci, who was charging into the fray. Smoke hung acrid in the air as embers hissed at the water streaming from hoses trained on the wreckage.

  Just as Jax caught up to his partner, a burly uniformed officer stepped into her path.

  “No closer, ma’am. Authorized personnel only.”

  “I am authorized.” She whipped out her badge.

  The uniform squinted down at the deputy marshal ID, illuminated by a nearby floodlight. “Hey, Lieutenant Jacobs,” he hollered to a man in a suit who stood, hands in pockets, near the idling ambulance. “Did you call in the US Marshals Service?”

  The craggy-faced plainclothes detective removed his hands from his pockets, sauntered over and repeated the squint at Daci’s badge. Jax hovered in the background. The fact that the ambulance emergency lights were not flashing and the paramedics sat on the rear bumper could be good news or bad. Either no one was injured...or the injuries were fatal, and there was no hurry.

  “Lieutenant Ben Jacobs.” The detective thrust a bony hand toward Daci, apparently satisfied with his inspection of her bona fides.

  She shook the hand, then Jax shook it in his turn. “Marshals Service, also,” he said.

  “What happened here?” Daci clipped out.

  “Why is the Marshals Service interested in a residential house fire?” Jacobs countered.

  Daci waved toward the smoldering remains. “My uncle Conrad lives—er, lived there. Is he all right?”

  The detective frowned. “If this is a personal visit, you shouldn’t be flashing your badge.”

  “Yes...uh, no. Not a personal visit...but now it’s personal. I need to know about my uncle!” Her hands fisted at her sides.

  Jax had never seen Daci so flustered—not even when someone shot at her or tried to run her over in the street. Despite her pragmatic assessment of her uncle’s character and the way he’d treated her, she really cared about the guy.

  Jax stepped forward, pulling the attention away from his partner. “What can you tell us about the situation? Accident? Arson? Casualties?”

  “We are reasonably certain no one was home in one of the duplexes. The fire was arson, no question. But it wasn’t started until after the murder.”

  “Murder!” Daci went stiff.

  Jax sidled closer to her. “Do you know the vic’s identity?”

  The detective’s demeanor softened. “The ID on the man firefighters pulled from the blaze says Conrad Meyer. That your uncle?”

  “How did he die?” Daci said in a choked voice.

  Jacobs let out a soft huff. “I’m sorry to say, he took a bullet to the head.”

  Daci wilted into Jax. Fighting the urge to wrap her close, he settled for putting his arm around her shoulders. Her whole body trembled against him like she was gripped by fever chills.

  What were the odds that this murder was unconnected to the attempts on Daci’s life? Next to nil. The killer had tried to put Daci in her grave and succeeded with her uncle. What was going on and why? The reason had to be personal—and now that they knew her uncle was involved, that meant it had to be connected to her bizarre family. This
perp intended to keep on coming until he extinguished the bold flame that was Daci.

  Jax’s pulse throbbed in his neck. The world needed more people like the strong young woman he hugged to his side. She felt so right there. So natural. His heart was in more danger than he’d been willing to admit, but at this moment he didn’t care. After all she’d endured and overcome, some lowlife was not going to put her on a mortuary slab. He was going to hunt this creature down and pray that digging into the reason for these murderous attacks did not unearth secrets that would add more pain to Daci’s world.

  Five

  Focus... Think... No, don’t think. Just focus.

  The litany of self-advice played in the back of Daci’s mind as she absorbed the details of what had been discovered so far in the case. Lieutenant Jacobs—or Ben, as he gave her and Jax permission to call him—was completely forthcoming with them.

  Investigating officers were running a canvas of the area, but so far none of the neighbors admitted to having heard a gunshot or seen anything or anyone unusual until someone across the street noticed the smoke around seven that evening and called the fire department. Neighbors had verified that the duplex next to Con’s was vacant so the Boston PD were hopeful they wouldn’t discover further casualties as they sorted through the rubble.

  Feet squishing in the sodden ground, the lieutenant and the arson investigator led Jax and Daci around back of the house. The investigator panned a flashlight across the foundation, revealing scorched splash marks of accelerant applied to start the blaze.

  “The perp wasn’t trying to use the fire to hide the crime of murder, as would be more usual in these cases,” the investigator said. “It was more like he was trying to call attention to what he’d done. Even left the body near the front door so it could be rescued before the fire got to it.”

  “Thoughtful killer.” Ben’s tone dripped sarcasm.

  “Almost like he was trying to send a message.” The investigator scratched his head. “But to whom?”