Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (23 page)

What was he going to do if she didn’t come through for him? He had no other way to find out why Kate Marshall had Todd’s picture.

But he had to assume the worst.

Shoving his fingers through his hair, he began to pace. If
things got dicey, he had two options. Run—or eliminate the threat.

Better be prepared for both.

He strode down the hall to his bedroom, flipped on the light, and locked the door. After removing the small key from the top drawer of his dresser, he crossed to the closet and retrieved the heavy fireproof storage box from the highest shelf. Once he’d set it on the bed, he inserted the key.

For several seconds he sat unmoving, his hand resting on the top. He hadn’t opened this box in three years. Nor had he planned to so soon after moving to St. Louis.

But neither had he expected to face a threat like the one now looming over him.

Could this be God’s way of punishing him for what he’d done?

As that unbidden thought singed his conscience, remorse cloaked him, as suffocating as the St. Louis humidity. Not for what he’d done that day on the bay but for making an innocent woman suffer.

An instant later, however, he flung off the shroud of regret. Why should he be the only one left to grieve? He’d lost a wife and son; she’d lost a husband and son. Fair was fair. If God didn’t like it, tough. Since the Almighty had ignored his desperate pleas for help, he didn’t owe him a thing. And he wasn’t about to give up the life and the son he’d worked so hard to reclaim.

Clamping his teeth together, he opened the lid.

The birth certificate Emilio’s contact had provided three years ago for Todd was on top, and he ran his finger over the raised state seal. The forger had done a great job on the document, as well as on the bogus adoption paperwork clipped behind it. Lucky thing he’d offered the head of the lawn crew that had cut his grass in better days a side job digging out some dead bushes. Luckier still that they’d shared a few too many beers after the man finished the job. Otherwise Emilio would never
have spilled his guts during a moment of homesickness and admitted he was an illegal alien.

Greg set the paperwork on the bed. He’d never intended to rat the guy out; a man as ambitious as Emilio, supporting a host of relatives back home, deserved to make a few bucks under the radar. Still, after Greg promised to keep his secret, the man had been overwhelmed with gratitude and sworn he’d be forever in his debt.

That debt might soon be repaid in full if he called in all his chits.

Wiping his palms on the denim fabric of his jeans, he reached back into the box and withdrew the Colt .45 and the silencer. The weapon felt odd in his hand. Foreign. No surprise, since he’d only fired it on his one visit to the range as he prepared for that fateful day on the bay. It had been his insurance policy if things had gone wrong.

It was still his insurance policy.

He tightened his fingers around the grip. Pointed the stainless steel barrel toward the top of the dresser, at the baseball cap he’d worn that day on the escalator. Pulled the trigger.

The quiet click echoed in the room.

No bullets.

But he had those too.

From the bottom of the box, he withdrew an eight-round magazine. Positioned it under the handle. Pushed it up, into place.

The bullets added weight to the gun . . . and to his shoulders. He’d never wanted it to come down to this.

But if anyone tried to take Todd away from him, he wouldn’t hesitate to aim this weapon straight at their heart—and pull the trigger.

T
hree-ten.

Kate glanced from her watch to her phone. Her four o’clock had just cancelled, and she had an unscheduled hour between three and four. There was plenty to do in her office to fill up the time—like finish the grant paperwork that had been staring at her for two weeks.

But she’d rather spend a few hours on this Tuesday afternoon hanging out with Connor. Might he be receptive to an offer of company during his surveillance at Sanders’s house tonight? Or was that too pushy?

She drummed her fingers on her desk. He’d been clear about wanting to keep things professional between them, but the case was winding down—and this wouldn’t be like a date or anything.

To ask or not to ask?

When no clear answer emerged, she bypassed the mental gymnastics, picked up the phone, and tapped in his cell number. Worst case, he’d say no thanks.

“Sullivan.”

The distracted greeting wasn’t what she’d hoped for.

“Hi. It’s Kate. You sound busy.”

“Not too busy for you.” His voice warmed. “Sorry if I was
a little curt. It’s been a bear of a day, and I grabbed the phone without checking caller ID. A messy case came in this morning, and we’re all scrambling to gather intel. What’s up?”

The man doesn’t have time for
frivolous suggestions, Kate. Say you just wanted an update and
let him get back to work.

But different words came out. “I was wondering if you’d like some company during your surveillance at Sanders’s house tonight.”

Silence.

She cringed and closed her eyes as dead air hung between them. Time to backtrack.

“Listen, I . . .”

“If you . . .”

When their words overlapped, they both stopped—but he jumped back in first.

“If you don’t think you’ll be bored, that would be great. Conversation instead of music would be a nice change of pace. Best of all, Dev’s covering for me until six-thirty while I finish up here and run home to change and grab some food, so it won’t be a long gig. Lights-out at the Sanderses’ house is always around ten. Why don’t I pick you up at six?”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to get in your way.”

“Do I sound uncertain?”

Not in the least.

“Okay.”

“Dress cool.”

“And don’t drink a lot of water. I remember the drill.”

“Watch for the carpet cleaning van.”

“How many signs do you guys have?”

“You name the business, we probably have the sign. See you soon.”

As the line went dead, she smiled.

An evening with Connor.

A vast improvement over her usual Tuesday night.

Slinging her purse over her shoulder, she gathered up her things and flipped off the light in her office.

When she entered the lobby, Nancy’s eyebrows rose. “What’s up?”

“I’m cutting out early.”

“I can see that. Are you sick?”

“No. But I’m done with my appointments for the day, and . . . an unexpected opportunity came up for this evening.”

The woman considered her. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that hot guy who stopped by the office a few days ago, would it?”

Kate felt a flush creep over her cheeks.

“Never mind.” Nancy sent her a smug grin. “I’d play hooky for a guy like that too.”

“I didn’t say he was the reason I’m leaving early.”

“You didn’t have to.” Nancy waved a hand. “Just have fun.”

She didn’t respond.

Fun was pushing it.

But she did intend to enjoy her evening in the company of a certain handsome PI.

Diane pulled the car close to the curb in front of Greg’s house, set the brake . . . and hesitated.

Was she making a mistake, paying him an unexpected visit? Would it have been better to call?

No. She needed to see his reaction when she told him about her visit with Kate. That was the only way she’d have any chance of discovering the truth—and she had to get to the bottom of this mystery. It was driving her nuts. She’d replayed her meeting with the counselor multiple times over the past twenty-four hours, and there was no doubt in her mind the woman was legit.
The trauma she’d suffered was real, and her offer of a round-the-clock friendly ear had been sincere.

Meaning there had to be a logical reason why there was a picture of Todd on her desk—one she hoped Greg would shed some light on after she gave him a report on her visit.

As she approached the front door, the muffled sound of the TV in the living room seeped through the walls. Good. They were finished eating, since Greg reserved mealtimes for conversation, not cartoons. Those were an after-dinner treat. Her timing was perfect, just as she’d hoped.

Heart tripping into fast-forward, she pressed the bell.

Through the door, she could hear the sound of running feet. Five seconds later the knob twisted and she was face-to-face with a beaming Todd.

“Hi, Diane!”

At his enthusiastic greeting, her spirits rose a notch. At least one member of the family was happy to see her.

“Hey, Todd.” Over his shoulder she caught a glimpse of pieces of the erector set strewn across the living room floor. “Looks like you’re enjoying your birthday present.”

“Yeah. It’s awesome! You want to come in and see the crane Dad and me made?”

As he issued the invitation, Greg rounded the corner from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He came to an abrupt halt when he spotted her, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. The smile he finally managed, accompanied by a hi, was more a stretch of the lips than a genuine welcome.

Her stomach bottomed out.

“Can I show her what we built, Dad?”

“Sure.”

Todd grabbed her hand and led her toward the living room, chattering nonstop. Greg remained in the background while she did her best to enthuse over the crane, but he stepped
in when Todd asked her if she wanted to help him build a skyscraper.

“Maybe later, champ. Diane and I are going to visit while you finish watching the cartoons.”

Heaving a sigh, he plopped back on his stomach in front of the TV set.

As they entered the kitchen, Greg continued toward the counter and tuned the radio to a music station, then ramped up the volume. “What can I get you to drink?”

He was setting the stage for a private discussion. Masking their conversation.

Not a bad idea. Todd didn’t need to hear about the woman who kept his picture on her desk.

“Just water, thanks.”

She looked around while he filled a glass. An empty cardboard box that had contained frozen chicken nuggets lay on the counter, along with a burnt-around-the-edges French fry and a bottle of ketchup. No vegetables in sight, other than the charred fry. Not the healthiest meal for a growing boy or a hardworking man. If this was her family, they’d be eating nutritious homemade fare every night.

But it wasn’t her family—and according to her support group, it was far too soon to be even thinking about committing to someone new. She needed to take care of herself and get her act together before she assumed responsibility for anyone else’s welfare.

That was sound advice.

But why was it so much easier to agree with when she was surrounded by her support group rather than sitting in a homey kitchen with a man who’d seemed like a dream come true until a couple of weeks ago?

“Are you sure that’s all you want?” Greg set her water on the table and sat at a right angle to her.

“Yes.” She eyed the bottle of beer in his hand. “Did you skip your predinner drink?”

He twisted off the cap. His complexion, already ruddy from all the hours he spent in the sun, went a shade darker. “No. It was just a hot one today.”

As he took a long pull, she sipped her water. One beer a day, that was his rule—or so he’d told her not long after they’d met. He hadn’t given her a reason for it, but she’d gotten the feeling he’d overindulged at one time and now kept himself on a tight leash.

His lapse tonight was yet one more sign things were out of whack.

Setting her water back on the table, she folded her hands. Might as well get right to the point. “I went to see Kate Marshall yesterday.”

He leaned closer and lowered his voice, his eyes intent. “Did she tell you anything about the picture?”

“No. But I found out a lot of other interesting stuff.”

Instead of taking another swig of the beer, he put the bottle on the table and sent her a guarded look. “Like what?”

She told him everything Kate had shared with her—ending with the information about her son.

Diane watched him as she spoke, trying to gauge his reaction—but it was impossible. His expression remained neutral. No flicker of emotion betrayed his thoughts, nor did he speak. If he saw the parallels between Todd and Kate’s son, he gave no indication of it.

She’d have to broach the subject herself.

Wrapping her hands around the sweaty glass, she put the question on the table. “Don’t you think it’s odd that her son would be about Todd’s age?”

“It is kind of strange.” He finished off his beer in several long swallows.

“Here’s another weird thing. Kate’s hair is the same color as Todd’s—which is also the same color hair the woman on the escalator had in his dream. Remember? I told you about it the day I came to stay with him when he was sick.”

Instead of responding, he stood and started to pace.

Now she was getting a reaction.

“Maybe this woman saw him the day we went to the mall for the Build-A-Bear party.” He spoke slowly as he prowled around the kitchen, as if he was trying to work through the bizarre coincidences himself. “That’s all I can think of. Where else would she have seen him? Todd and I never lived in New York.”

Diane tipped her head. “How did you know she was from New York?”

He stopped, and his face went blank. “You must have mentioned it while you were telling me her story.”

Had she?

Not that she recalled.

But she’d been so focused on watching his reaction, perhaps it had slipped out and she’d forgotten. How else would he know where Kate had lived?

Greg stopped behind his chair and gripped the back, his demeanor grim. “It sounds to me like she spotted Todd, saw the resemblance, and now thinks he’s her son. Maybe she’s been stalking him. Maybe she snapped a picture and doctored it up to look like a studio shot. If she was in bad enough shape to get hooked on Valium, she could still be having delusions of some kind.”

“I don’t think so. That was three years ago.” Diane pulled a paper napkin from the holder and sopped up the ring of moisture from her glass. “She seems totally normal.”

“So did you, when you were married to Rich. No one suspected you were abused. In public, you kept up a good front. But he did a number on you . . . and obviously the drowning did a
number on this woman if she had to resort to drugs. For all we know, she might still need them to sleep at night.”

“No.” Diane shook her head. “She said she’d beaten the addiction, and I believe her.”

“People can slip back into old habits. It happens.”

She slanted a glance at the empty beer bottle on the table. “Not Kate. I have a feeling the main thing she battles now is loneliness. I gather she’s pretty much all alone in the world.”

“Then how do you explain what’s going on here?”

His intense gaze bored into her, and she suppressed a shiver. “I don’t know.”

He continued to stare at her for a moment. At last he resumed pacing, agitation seeping from his pores. “I don’t like any of this. Plus, we don’t know for sure how she got that picture of Todd.”

There were a
lot
of things they didn’t know. Like why Todd had freaked on the lake that day.

She kept that thought to herself, however. She had a feeling he’d pass it off, continue to disavow any connection between the two boys.

But more and more, she had a feeling there was a link—and Greg had to be doing the same math she’d done yesterday. He was a smart man. He had to know things weren’t adding up.

Conclusion? He was either in denial—or he was hiding something.

She weighed both possibilities in silence as he continued to pace but came up with no answers. Or none she was willing to consider.

When he sat again at the table, his neutral expression was back—but there was a look in his eyes she’d never seen before. It was equal parts distress, panic, steely determination . . . and some other emotion she couldn’t identify.

Whatever it was, though, it scared her. As did the soul-deep detachment in their depths.

A wave of panic swept over her, so startling in its intensity she vaulted to her feet.

She needed to escape from this place.

Now.

“I have to get going.”

As she unhooked her purse from the back of the chair, Greg stood too. “I appreciate your efforts to find out more about the photo.”

She slung the purse over her shoulder and edged toward the door. “I was there anyway.”

“Are you going back?”

“Yes. Next week.”

He followed her. “It might be better if you keep this conversation between the two of us until I figure out what’s going on.”

“I guess it might.” She moved into the hall, toward the door. “Bye, Todd.”