Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel Read online

  He picked up his coffee, frowning at the slight tremor in his fingers. He was always steady under pressure. Always. Nothing made him lose his cool. Ever.

  Then again, there weren’t many times in a man’s life when he was called on to put his heart on the line.

  But this night was one of them.

  15

  You idiot!

  Laura stared in disgust at her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. How could she have been so stupid? Dev had referenced a tragic incident just days ago. She should have realized his ambiguous answer to her question about his behavior under stress might be vague for a reason and backed off.

  Now she’d ruined his birthday dinner.

  Way to go, Laura.

  Too bad she couldn’t slink out and catch a cab home.

  But that would be cowardly. So she’d march back out there, change the subject . . . and hope he didn’t hold her faux pas against her.

  Straightening her shoulders, she tucked a few rebellious wisps of hair into her French braid and headed back to the table.

  Dev smiled and rose as she approached—an encouraging sign.

  She forced her own lips up and adopted a bright tone. “You know, I feel like I’ve gone to France without ever leaving St. Louis. This place seems very authentic. Of course, I wouldn’t know for sure, since I’ve never been overseas. How about you?” Not the smoothest segue, and the words had come out a bit breathless, but it definitely moved the conversation to a safer topic.

  Except much to her surprise, Dev didn’t take her cue. Instead, his expression sobered as he sat.

  “I’ve made a few trips to Europe. But if you haven’t changed your mind, I’d rather take advantage of those listening skills you mentioned than talk about foreign travel.”

  Her pulse gave a little flutter at the unexpected turn of events. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “There’s one small caveat, though. You have to finish your dessert. It would be a crime to let that mousse go to waste.”

  She looked at his place. The plate of apple tart and ice cream had disappeared during her absence. Had he finished it . . . or asked the waiter to take it away?

  This time she left her question unasked.

  Transferring her attention to her own dessert, she inspected the generous serving. “I can try.” It was the best she could promise.

  “Fair enough.” He waited until she picked up her spoon, then rested his elbows on the table and linked his fingers. “I told you a few days ago that I used to be an undercover ATF agent, but in the beginning I was a regular agent. I only did undercover work during my last two years with the Bureau.”

  He lifted his coffee, took a sip, and assessed her progress. She spooned up another bite of her chocolate mousse as he continued.

  “During my first six months undercover, I worked a storefront sting operation. That’s a decent place to get your feet wet, see if you’re comfortable with that type of work. We were targeting gunrunners, illegal gun purchasers, and felons who were carrying guns. Even though we had a few dicey moments, the operation was clean overall and successful. We got sixty-five indictments, removed a lot of guns and drugs from the streets, and all the ATF agents walked away whole.”

  He paused again, and Laura had a hard time swallowing the bite of mousse she’d just taken. Whatever he was going to tell her next, she had a feeling clean, successful, and walking away whole weren’t going to be part of the story.

  His subsequent words confirmed that. “My second assignment didn’t have the same kind of ending. Are you still certain you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”

  In truth, she wasn’t. But the fact that Dev was willing to trust her with details he’d never revealed to anyone else awed—and touched—her. And while his story might be disturbing, the sharing of it would also forge a stronger bond between them. One she hoped would long outlive their professional relationship.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to prepare herself for an emotional avalanche. “Yes, I’d still like to hear it.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgment, then looked off toward a shadowy corner of the restaurant. She doubted he was seeing the racks of wine stored there. Rather, his gaze seemed aimed on the past. So much so, he didn’t notice when she slipped her spoon back onto the table and set aside the remainder of her mousse.

  “Another agent and I were assigned to infiltrate a new gang operating in the Southwest. The job was supposed to last about a year, and our mission was to befriend them, get inside the organization, and see what they were up to. I won’t go into the details of how we got inside, but let’s just say it involved lots of black hair dye for me and the faked murder of a rival start-up gang member.”

  He picked up his glass of water. After taking a long sip, he refocused on the shadowy wall. “The group was every bit as bad as we suspected. During the nine months we were inside, we saw it all—drugs, gun trafficking, violence, intimidation, extortion. We lived in seedy trailer parks, watched people zone out on meth, saw enough needles and heroin to last a lifetime. There was zero glamour in the work, despite what you see on TV. But Cat and I believed we could bring the bad guys to justice and that the world would be better because of our sacrifices.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’ve never met anyone more passionate about their work than she was.”

  She?

  A wave of shock rippled through Laura as she digested that news. “Your partner was a woman?”

  He seemed to pull himself back from some faraway place. “Yes. Catalina. She was Hispanic, and she knew her way around the streets of Phoenix. I speak fluent Spanish and looked the part once I finished with the dye and some temporary tattoos, but she’s the main reason we got into the group. I posed as her boyfriend, which allowed both of us to avoid any . . . personal involvement with gang members.”

  Laura began to get a glimmer of where this was headed. “But you didn’t manage to avoid personal involvement with each other.”

  “No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed again, and he cleared his throat. “Living in forced proximity, playing the part of lovers in public . . .” He gave a stiff shrug. “Somewhere along the way, the line between acting and real life faded. We fell in love. Cat handled it better than I did. She was able to separate personal feelings from professional duties, but for me, it was a struggle. I started to worry about her too much—and that was our undoing. What happened in the end was totally my fault.” His voice choked, and he took another sip of water.

  Laura’s fingers clenched the napkin in her lap. Was it possible the consummate professional sitting across from her had slipped and made a mistake that put someone at risk?

  Maybe.

  When you loved someone—spouse, parent, child . . . sister—and they were in danger, fear could cloud your judgment. Her own turmoil over Darcy had taught her that. That’s why she’d been relieved to have an impartial, clear-thinking pro handling the case.

  Yet mistakes could happen on both sides, couldn’t they? Especially in a high-risk undercover assignment. Was Dev shouldering all the blame for a situation that might have had multiple causes?

  “You once told me I was being too hard on myself about Darcy.” She spoke quietly, choosing her words with care. “Do you think the same might be true in your case?”

  “No.” His jaw hardened, and his lips flattened into an unforgiving line. “I wish it was. I was the one who stepped over the line. I wanted Cat out of the assignment, despite the fact we were getting close to wrapping things up. We had a huge argument about it, and she refused to back down no matter how hard I pushed. She’d seen her own brother die of an overdose after getting involved with a similar gang, and I suspect she looked upon this assignment as a way to avenge his death—though she never admitted that. The disagreement strained our relationship and compromised our communication. And when you aren’t in sync in a situation like that, people die.”

  He stopped—but Laura knew where the story would end, even if he decided not to con
tinue. Knew, also, that he’d borne a heavy burden of guilt every single day since the tragedy that had taken the life of his partner . . . and the woman he’d loved.

  As he lifted the glass of water once more, the sight of the ever-so-slight tremble in his fingers tightened her throat. Without thinking, she leaned forward and placed her hand on his as he set the glass down.

  He dropped his chin and concentrated on her fingers as he finished the story.

  “Three weeks after our argument, the takedown opportunity we’d been waiting for came up. A major transaction with some European gunrunners was scheduled. It was a tailor-made scenario for the Bureau and our other law enforcement partners to move in and make multiple arrests. We had enough evidence on that group to send dozens of them to prison for a very long time. But nothing went according to plan.” He expelled a long breath and wiped a hand down his face.

  When he continued, his words were steadier, but they were more clinical and devoid of emotion. “For whatever reason, the gang leader got suspicious and backed out of the meeting at the very last minute. He sent me and one of his right-hand men instead. I was worried, but there was no way I could get a message at that point to my contacts without arousing further suspicion. I hoped I was wrong—and I hoped Cat would pick up on the bad vibes and find a way to alert our people things might have gone south. But I wasn’t—and she didn’t. If we’d been sticking tighter together, though, she’d have been with me when the gang leader backed out. Her guard would have been up, and the outcome might have been very different.”

  He twined his fingers with hers, holding on tight as if he needed an anchor to get through this final part. “We did end up making a lot of arrests that day, even though the gang had scattered. I managed to avoid the bullets that were flying—but they got Cat. They shot her up with heroin and left her locked in a bathroom in a dumpy trailer they sometimes used for meetings. She died of an overdose, just like her brother . . . except his heroin was self-administered.”

  Laura closed her eyes, squeezing back tears as Dev clung to her hand. What could she say that would let him know how much her heart ached for him? That would console and comfort him? That would mitigate his guilt and sorrow and the burden he’d shouldered for five and a half long years?

  No words came to mind except the ones she uttered, which were trite and lame. “I’m so sorry, Dev.”

  He looked at her with eyes as bleak as the winter landscape outside. “So am I.”

  Desperately she searched for something—anything—else she could say to ease his burden of grief and guilt.

  “A lot of those people were prosecuted though, right?” It was the sole consolation she could think to offer. “Some good came out of the bad, didn’t it?”

  A muscle in his cheek clenched. “Very little. The ATF and US Attorneys’ Office got into a dispute over evidence, and the majority of the serious charges were dropped. Only a couple of the gang members were tried for RICO violations. So in the end, Cat died for nothing.”

  There was no response to that—nor did Dev seem to expect one.

  He took a sip of coffee and carefully set the cup back on the saucer. “I took a leave of absence after the case fell apart, and six months later, when Cal approached me about opening Phoenix, I chucked the ATF and all the protocol garbage and endless red tape. That was five years ago, and I’ve never looked back—until tonight.”

  As he locked gazes with her, Laura searched his eyes. Past the pain, past the regret, past the self-recrimination, she saw a tiny glimmer of . . . hope? Longing? A plea for understanding?

  Whatever it was, she knew her response had to be spot-on. That what she said in the next few seconds could have a huge impact on both of their futures.

  Please, Lord . . . give me the right words.

  Leaning closer, she placed her free hand atop their joined fingers. “I haven’t known you very long, but my sense is that you’re a man of integrity and character, and that any culpability you bear for what happened to your partner has been atoned for by the burden of guilt and grief you’ve carried all these years. The other thing to remember is that God doesn’t expect perfection. All he asks is that we learn from our mistakes and try to do better in the future. He forgives us far more easily than we often forgive ourselves. He also heals the brokenhearted and saves those whose spirit is crushed.”

  “Psalms.”

  Laura blinked. Somehow, she hadn’t expected Dev to have a close enough acquaintance with the Bible to be able to identify an ad-libbed passage.

  “I can quote an applicable verse from Isaiah too. ‘Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not.’ I searched for consolation for a long time, in a lot of places.”

  His knowledge of Scripture was impressive. But his weary inflection suggested the good book had given him little comfort.

  “Your forays into the Bible didn’t help, though, did they?” She kept her tone gentle and nonjudgmental.

  “The truth? No. I grew up in a faith-filled home, and my belief in God has never wavered. That’s why I turned to his book in those dark days. But I’ve seen the worst the world has to offer, and I’ve come to believe God may have given up on the human race and walked away in disgust. To be honest, I wouldn’t blame him if he did. We’ve made a royal mess of things.”

  “I felt like that a lot too, during the year Mom and I lived in the tenement.”

  “But you don’t anymore.”

  She heard the query underneath his statement.

  “No. When things got really bad back then, I tried to remember what my father had always told me whenever I got mad at God or complained he wasn’t paying attention to my prayers. He said the tougher things got, the harder I had to look to see God. But if I did look hard, I’d find him.”

  Dev’s expression grew skeptical. “Even in a tenement?”

  “That’s what I thought at first too, but you know what? It worked. Bad as things were there, I did see God. In the woman at the corner grocery store who always saved me the out-of-date Hostess cupcakes because she knew I didn’t have the money to buy fresh ones. In the librarian at school who went out of her way to find special books for me so I could escape to a different world through the pages of a story instead of through the drugs that were rampant in our neighborhood. In the janitor of our building, who hung around when the school bus dropped me off to make sure none of the bigger kids harassed me in the hall.”

  She studied the lean fingers twined with hers. “Much as I didn’t want to admit it at the time, I saw him in my mother too. I might have been mad at her, but I knew she loved me. She went without dinner a lot of nights so I’d have enough to eat.”

  A few beats of silence passed as Dev regarded her. “That’s an interesting take on how to find God.”

  She gave him a small smile. “Sometimes he’s most evident in small gestures of kindness. And those gestures can be found even in the worst situations.”

  The waiter reappeared and discreetly slipped the bill on the table. Laura reached for it, but her companion beat her.

  “Please . . . let me cover this, Dev. Consider it a birthday present.”

  “No way.” He dug his credit card out of his wallet and handed it to the waiter. “You’ve already given me the best possible present.” He touched her hand again for a brief moment, then sent her a rueful look. “But I’m afraid I reneged on my promise about getting you home early. It will be close to nine before I drop you off.”

  “My fencing practice can wait until tomorrow night.”

  “Not the most romantic activity for Valentine’s Day.”

  That’s right. Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day. But even without Darcy’s disappearance, it would have been a day like any other for her, as usual. Even last year’s celebration had been less than memorable. Rick had taken her to a crowded restaurant where they’d had to shout to be heard and the fixed-price menu had tasted like banquet fare. Being home alone would be better—unless she happened to have a date with
a man like the one across from her.

  But that wasn’t going to happen this year.

  She summoned up a smile. “That’s not a holiday most guys remember without prompting.”

  The half-hitch grin he gave her produced a distracting dimple in one cheek. “They do if their birthday is the day before and their mother baked them a heart-shaped cake every year, complete with pink icing and curlicues.” He signed the slip the waiter slid in front of him and pocketed the receipt. “By the time I was twelve, I’d had it and asked for a cake shaped like a football instead. I don’t think Mom ever forgave me. She didn’t have any girls to fuss over, and the timing of my birthday gave her an excuse to do froufrou stuff.”

  Laura chuckled and picked up her purse. “I think the football suited you better.”

  “Much. Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  They retrieved their coats, and within a few minutes were on their way back to her house. He kept the conversation light during the drive, only growing serious again when he walked her to her door.

  While she fitted the key in the lock, he angled toward her, the warm glow from the porch light bronzing his skin. “Thanks for a memorable birthday.”

  Slipping the key back in her purse, she faced him. “Thanks for trusting me with your story.”

  As Dev looked at her, the distant, plaintive whistle of a train sounded. A crisp breeze whispered past her cheeks, bringing with it the tangy scent of his aftershave. A tiny fleck of crust from the apple cobbler clung to his jaw, and without thinking she reached up to brush it off, the stubble of his nine o’clock shadow scratchy against her fingertips.

  The instant her fingers connected with his skin, a spark of electricity zipped through her—and based on the sudden darkening of his eyes, the phenomenon wasn’t one-sided.