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

  “Okay. When?”

  “I’d prefer to stop at your place before I go to Nikki’s. Forty-five minutes?”

  “That’s fine.” She rose and headed toward her bedroom. The jeans with the hole in the knee and her ratty college sweatshirt with the frayed cuffs might be fine for hanging around at home alone, but she didn’t want to look like a refugee from the homeless shelter they’d visited if she was going to have company.

  “I know it’s early for dinner, but I missed lunch and I’m starving. There won’t be any chance to eat once I start rolling tonight, so if I grab a pizza on the way to your house, will you share it with me?”

  Her step faltered, and her pulse did an odd little skip as she entered the hall. His suggestion was purely practical, of course. The man had to eat, and this arrangement would save time. Still . . . it would be nice to spend a few extra minutes in his company.

  “Sure. I’ll provide the drinks.”

  “Sold. Any pizza topping you don’t like?”

  “I can do without green peppers.”

  “Duly noted. I’ll see you soon.” The line went dead.

  Pressing the off button, Laura continued down the hall.

  How about that?

  Dinner with Dev.

  But as appealing as that prospect was, she wished the circumstances were different.

  Because until Darcy was back safe and sound, the worry in her heart didn’t leave nearly enough room for fanciful thoughts about a handsome PI.

  Mark stirred the pot of soup on the stove and backed up slightly to study Darcy, who was seated on the couch in the living room playing a game on her laptop. She’d dispensed with the heavy-handed makeup she’d worn when she’d shown up that first night in the shelter and looked the way she should—fresh, young, unsullied.

  He intended to keep her that way too. She had great potential, despite the mistakes she’d made with pot and alcohol. It was just as he’d told her earlier—the trick was to catch people in time. Before they reached the point of no return. If you did that, you could save them.

  That’s why he’d failed with the others.

  And with Lil.

  His hand spasmed, and he tightened his grip on the spoon. He’d tried so hard to help her turn her life around. He’d begged. Pleaded. Done his best to please her. But in the end, he’d failed her. She’d gone over the edge.

  Just as the others had after her.

  “Mark?”

  The soft, tentative voice pulled him back to the present. Setting the spoon aside, he looked up. Darcy stood in the doorway, watching him warily. She must still be spooked from his reaction this morning when she’d startled him. That had to be remedied. He didn’t want her to be afraid of him.

  He wanted just the opposite.

  But first, he needed her to feel safe. Otherwise, with Star gone, she might suggest going back to the homeless shelter.

  Smiling, he leaned back against the counter and tried for a relaxed, unintimidating posture. “Sorry. I was lost in thought. Did you ask a question?”

  “I wanted to know if I could help with dinner.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but the soup’s about ready and the bread is in the oven. You could set the table, though.”

  “Okay.” She crossed the room toward the utensil drawer.

  “Wait!” The word came out too harsh, and he softened his tone. “Did you wash your hands?”

  Her gaze darted from her own hands to his and back again. “An hour ago. I’ll do it again, though.”

  “Great. No sense spreading germs around during the flu season.”

  He watched as she scrubbed her hands. Not long enough to meet his standards—but she’d learn.

  As she went about her task, he picked up the spoon and gave the hearty vegetable soup another stir. Some people might call his concern about cleanliness a fetish or an obsession, but they were wrong. It was just sensible hygiene. And volunteering in the shelter these past two winters had made him more conscious than ever of the importance of staying clean.

  Mouth compressed, he swallowed past his revulsion. Some of the street people who showed up there were disgusting. That’s why he’d only agreed to take registration desk duty, which left him free to walk a wide berth around the dirtiest guests and seek out those who caught his eye. Nevertheless, it had been an unpleasant task.

  But if everything worked out as he hoped, he wouldn’t have to go back to that place again. It would have served its purpose by leading him to Darcy.

  She could be his path to redemption.

  He changed position slightly so he could watch her. She was folding the napkins and setting the utensils out, her long blonde hair swinging around her face. The color and length would have to change too. Hair like that was one of the things that had led to Lil’s downfall.

  Darcy leaned over to straighten a knife, and her waist-skimming top separated from her low-rise jeans in the back, revealing an expanse of skin. His lip curled in distaste. The clothes would have to change as well.

  But there would be time for those kinds of cosmetic improvements later.

  First, he had to convince her to stay another night or two. Just to make certain she was the one.

  Ladling the soup into bowls beside the stove, he gestured toward the oven with his free hand. “Why don’t you get the bread out too? There’s a cutting board in the cabinet to the right of the sink and knives at the end of the counter. You can put the bread in that.” He gestured to a small wicker basket beside the knife rack.

  She withdrew the board and set it on the counter, then moved to the oven, opened the door, and gave an appreciate whiff. “Wow. That smells great. And it looks homemade.”

  “It is, but don’t be too impressed—I have a bread machine, so there’s no skill involved. All you have to do is follow the directions. I usually bake several loaves at once and pull them out of the freezer as I need them.”

  “The only homemade bread I ever had, fresh out of the oven, was at Laura’s. She made some at Christmas. It was amazing.”

  Mark frowned. Was there a slight wistful note in Darcy’s voice? Every other time she’d spoken about her half sister, he’d gotten the impression neither had liked their living arrangements. That despite their blood tie, they’d been little more than strangers with no real feelings for each other.

  Or had he misread her?

  He hoped not. He needed a girl no one loved. A girl who wouldn’t be missed, who was on a downward spiral and in need of saving.

  “Are four pieces enough?”

  At Darcy’s question, he went back to ladling up the soup. “Yes. We can always cut more if we need it.”

  She carried the basket to the table and took her place as he served up the soup.

  Sliding into his chair, he gestured to her bowl. “Dig in.”

  After casting a doubtful look at the thick soup, she dipped her spoon in and took a tentative taste. Her expression cleared at once. “Mmm. This is really good. I guess it was worth all those hours you spent chopping in the kitchen today. Is this an old family recipe? Like a dish your mother used to make or something?”

  His lips twisted at that ludicrous image. He’d been lucky if she’d opened a can of soup, let alone made it from scratch. “No. She wasn’t much of a cook.”

  “My mom wasn’t, either.” She helped herself to a piece of the whole wheat bread.

  “How about your sister? Does she like to cook?”

  Darcy slathered the bread with butter, negating the whole-grain health benefits. He tried not to cringe. “She knows how, but she makes a lot of stuff I don’t like. Lots of times I just stick a frozen pizza in the oven. Then I get a lecture about eating healthier. It’s one more thing we disagree about. No wonder we argue all the time.” She rolled her eyes and dug back into the soup.

  “Are you sure she won’t miss you, though?” Mark swiped a sparing dab of butter across his own bread, noting a brief flicker of emotion in her eyes at his question. Doubt, perhaps?

&nb
sp; She masked it too quickly for him to be certain. “She’ll feel guilty. Like she failed at being a guardian. Laura’s one of those people with an overdeveloped guilt complex, you know? But I’d always planned to leave the minute I turned eighteen, and she knew that. I’m sure she’ll be glad to have her quiet life back a few months sooner than expected. I doubt she’ll waste a whole lot of time or effort looking for me.”

  That was what he’d hoped to hear.

  “So you still intend to head for Chicago?” He kept the question casual and conversational.

  “I guess.” This time there was no mistaking the ripple of uncertainty that swept over her features. “I don’t have anywhere else to go. But I might think about it for another day or two. It’s not like the buses are running yet anyway.”

  She’d given him the ideal opening.

  “Did you decide if you wanted to stay here tonight? Or would you rather I take you back to the shelter?”

  Twin creases appeared on her brow as she played with her soup. “It’s a lot nicer here.”

  “And there’s a lock on the bedroom door, remember. Plus, I’ll be at work tomorrow. That will give you a chance to think about your options.”

  “Yeah. That’s true. I guess I’ll stay. Thanks.”

  The knot in his stomach relaxed. “Great. Now tell me about New York. I’ve never been there.”

  He only half listened as she enthused about her former home, thinking instead about his plans for later in the evening . . . and tomorrow night. Everything was ready.

  And unless Darcy said or did something to change his mind in the next twenty-four hours, she would be the chosen one.

  7

  As the aroma of pepperoni wafted his way from the passenger seat, Dev stopped the Explorer in front of Laura’s house, set the brake, and turned off the engine.

  A chill settled over the vehicle at once.

  An omen?

  Could be.

  Resting his hands on top of the wheel, he looked at the glow coming from Laura’s windows. It was as inviting as it had been last night—the very reason he’d caved and suggested they share dinner. But it was a tactical error. He was used to eating alone and on the run. It would have been smarter and more efficient to snag a drive-through burger . . . assuming he could have found a fast-food place that was open. The whole city still seemed to be in lockdown.

  He blew out a breath and raked his fingers through his hair. What was with him, anyway? He never socialized with clients. Oh, sure, he had dinner with them when necessary to discuss business—but this wasn’t a business dinner, no matter how hard he might try to convince himself it was. It was a chance to spend more time with Laura. Period.

  The temperature in the SUV continued to drop, and he zipped his jacket all the way up to ward off the cold seeping through the Thinsulate outer material and the wool sweater below. Too bad he couldn’t as easily protect himself from whatever spell Laura had cast on him.

  What was it about her that intrigued—and attracted—him? As Connor had noted, she wasn’t his usual share-a-few-laughs-and-forget-the-next-day type. No loose, flowing blonde hair. No flirty manner. No sophisticated makeup. No four-inch heels and flashy clothes.

  On the contrary. Laura Griffith was the white-picket-fence, raise-a-family, grow-old-together type.

  She was the type a guy married.

  His stomach bottomed out.

  Now there was a scary thought.

  Even scarier than the undercover storefront sting operation that had gone bad in his ATF days, when a convicted-felon-turned-gun-trafficker had paid the store an unfriendly visit with a few of his cohorts. Dev had escaped with his life—barely—by diving behind the counter.

  Laura didn’t pose a threat to his physical safety. No worries there.

  His heart, however, could be at serious risk.

  A shadow moved behind the shade in the window near the front door. Paused. Hovered. She must have been watching for him, waiting to open the door when he approached—and was now wondering why it was taking him so long to make the trek to her front porch.

  It was too late for escape.

  So he’d go with Plan B: ingest the pizza as quickly as possible and get down to business.

  Grabbing the box with one hand, he pushed the door open with the other, cringed as a blast of cold air instantly numbed his face, and circled the car. Her front walk was more accessible tonight, meaning she must have made another attempt to shovel it today. With the snow beginning to slacken, they might be able to dig out of this in the next day or two. But inconvenient as the blizzard had been, it had kept Darcy in town. That was a plus—or not, depending on where she’d sought refuge.

  No need to worry Laura with possible dire scenarios, though. If fate was kind, Darcy would show at the shelter tonight, safe and sound. Or they’d pick her up at the station once the buses began running again. Between him and Connor and the retired detective he’d recruited in Cal’s absence, they should be able to wrap this up within twenty-four hours—unless Darcy had gotten herself into trouble.

  But he wasn’t going there yet.

  The door opened as he approached, and Laura peeked around the edge. “I thought I saw you pull up.”

  “Sorry I’m later than I said. It took longer than I expected to get here.” He stomped the snow off his boots and hefted the pizza. “This was part of the problem. The first two places I tried were closed. The third was barely open. It was staffed by one college kid who lived close enough to walk to work.”

  She moved aside as he entered in a rush of cold air and a swirl of snow. “I’m sorry you had such a hard time. I could have made omelets or a stir-fry and saved you the trouble.”

  The lady cooked too. One more reason not to let things get too cozy. His father had always claimed he’d been roped in by his wife’s skills in the kitchen—and her great legs. Dev had a feeling Laura had great legs too, though they’d been hidden by trim slacks or jeans in all their encounters.

  “It was no trouble.” He handed her the box, shrugged out of his coat, and draped it over the back of a wing chair.

  “I can hang that up for you.”

  “Don’t bother. I won’t be here long. Why don’t we eat first, then I’ll go through Darcy’s room?”

  “Okay. I’ve got everything ready.”

  As she led the way to the kitchen, he did a quick inspection. Gas flames burned in the fireplace against the far wall, and a floral-patterned couch was bookended by small tables topped with matching crystal lamps. A glass bowl of candy and what looked like an antique music box rested on the mahogany coffee table. Twin wing chairs in a muted rose color faced the couch. Floor-to-ceiling shelves on either side of the fireplace held books, framed photos, and decorative items. The mantel featured a pair of matching silver candlesticks, one on each end, and a bowl of pinecones in the center. The effect was balanced and restful.

  The pale yellow kitchen was just as pleasant. A polished oak table for four occupied one corner, and pot holders hung on hooks below an array of cooking implements on a peg board beside the stove. There was no clutter, but a built-in desk on one side of the room appeared to be well used, with neat piles of bills and other mail that needed attention, and a mixing bowl, measuring cup, and spatula had been left in a dish rack on the counter.

  As his hostess slid the pizza box onto the table, he completed his survey by sizing her up too. Her oversized Nordic-style sweater only hinted at the curves beneath, but her snug black leggings left little to the imagination.

  Yep. Great legs.

  “What would you like to drink?”

  He yanked his gaze up as she turned. “Uh . . . whatever you have is fine.”

  “Diet Coke?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have a seat while I take the brownies out of the oven.”

  He stared at her. “You baked brownies?”

  She shrugged and grabbed a pot holder. “It was the least I could do after you provided dinner.”

  When she
opened the oven, the aroma of chocolate overpowered the smell of the pepperoni, and his salivary glands went into overdrive.

  Homemade brownies.

  Wow.

  Tonight’s dessert would be quite an upgrade from his usual Twinkie.

  By the time she removed them from the oven, set the pan on a cooling rack, put the pot holders back on their pegs, and poured their sodas, he’d taken a seat at the table and was back in control.

  Sort of.

  He flipped open the pizza box and slid it in her direction. She took a piece; he took two.

  Silence fell in the kitchen as he scarfed down the first piece. He caught her watching him when he picked up his second slice.

  “You weren’t kidding about being hungry.”

  “I never kid about important things like food.”

  She smiled. Full out.

  He stopped eating.

  Man, she had a great smile. Warm, genuine, straightforward—and charming. Why in the world hadn’t some guy marched her down the aisle by now?

  “What’s wrong?” She sent him a puzzled look.

  “Nothing.” He thought fast, ad-libbing as he went. “I’m just a little distracted. I’ve been sorting through what we know so far on this case and planning my strategy for tonight.” He took a swig of soda and changed the subject. “By the way, I reviewed your client contact form today and noticed you were born in Dallas. How did you end up in St. Louis?”

  She picked a mushroom off her pizza and popped it in her mouth. “I’ve actually lived in a lot of places. My dad was in sales, and he got transferred every couple of years. For Mom, all the moving around was exciting, but it was too disruptive for me. We were never in one place long enough for me to make many friends—and the few friendships I did form didn’t last after we left town. That’s another reason I love books. They filled in the lonely gaps in my life.”

  The notion of Laura as a forlorn, friendless little girl exerted an odd tug on his heart. He ignored it and moved on.

  “So once you got out of college, you settled in St. Louis?”

  “No.” She regarded him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip, her eyes twinkling. “I’d have thought whatever background check you did on me would have turned that up.”