Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (6 page)

“Hey.” He gentled his voice and waited for Todd to meet his gaze in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about that, champ. I guess I’m not used to this heat yet, and it can make me cranky. We’ll get back to our pizza routine real soon, I promise. How does that sound?”

“Fine.” At the tremulous response, Greg wished he could pull over and give his son a reassuring hug. Not going to happen during rush hour on I-270, though, so he did the next best thing. “I love you. You never forget that, okay?”

“Okay.” Todd sniffled and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his T-shirt. Usually that drew a correction, but this time Greg let it pass. “I love you too.”

The beautiful words were like balm on his soul, and the taut line of his shoulders relaxed.

Until Todd spoke again a few minutes later in a quiet, wistful tone that sent another wave of uneasiness crashing over him. “I bet that lady on the escalator is a good mom.”

Greg didn’t respond.

Instead, he once again squeezed the wheel and kept his eyes focused straight ahead. Wishing he could wipe out the past. Wishing he could pray for help.

But God wouldn’t listen to the likes of him. Not anymore. He only welcomed back
repentant
sinners.

All he could do was hope Todd’s obsession would diminish soon and that life would get back to normal.

Whatever that was these days.

As Connor tossed his suit jacket onto a chair in his office and went in search of a piece of the coffee cake Nikki had brought in yesterday, her voice wafted down the hall.

“Pregnant women aren’t supposed to lift heavy stuff.”

When that pronouncement was followed by a fit of coughing, his lips tipped up.

Dev had just gotten the big news.

Ignoring the growls in his stomach, he detoured toward his partner’s office and propped a shoulder against the doorway. Dev had sprayed soda all over the files scattered on his desk and was still hacking as Nikki shoved a fistful of paper napkins at him.

“You need me to do the Heimlich maneuver?” Connor tried to rein in his grin.

Dev waved his question aside and focused on Nikki. “You’re
pregnant
?”

“It happens.”

“Did you know about this?” Dev looked his way and swiped at the soda-speckled folders on his desk with the wad of napkins.

“I found out this morning before Cal and I left for the meeting on that executive security gig—which ran very long, by the way. I hope you left some of that coffee cake in the kitchen. I’m starving.”

Dev ignored that comment.

Not a positive sign.

After one final hack, his partner eyed Nikki. “So . . . are you doing okay? Everything’s good?”

“Everything’s great. And I was just kidding about lifting your files.”

She bent to pick up a stack from the corner of his office, but before she touched them, Dev sprang out of his chair and raced around his desk. “Wait! I’ll get them.”

“I can do it.” She grabbed the files and rose. “I’m pregnant, not incapacitated.”

He tugged the files away from her. “Fine. But I’m here now. Where do you want these?”

She cocked her head. Shrugged. “On my desk. I need to go through them and identify the contents since you never bother to label the new stuff.”

For once, Dev let the dig pass and exited in silence.

As he disappeared out the door to the reception area, Nikki winked at Connor and dropped her voice. “This could be fun.”

He chuckled. “You’re bad.”

“Aren’t I, though? But I’m good in other ways. Like digging for information.” She handed him the slip of paper in her hand. “There were fifteen Garbers in the phone book. That’s Linda’s number. I was getting ready to put it on your desk.”

A quick scan told him it was a Kirkwood-area exchange. Probably not far from their offices. “What was your pretext?”

“Build-A-Bear follow-up to verify she was satisfied with her birthday party. There were eight children at the event, three boys and five girls. The majority of them were daycare friends of her daughter, Lindsey, who’s enrolled at STL Academy all day in the summer and for aftercare during the school year. She’ll be in first grade this fall, and she dressed her bear in a pink tutu.”

Connor stared at her. “How did you manage to get all that information?”

“Like I said, I’m good. Remember that when raise time comes around.” She sent him a pointed look. “And don’t get your hopes up about the coffee cake. Dev scarfed down the last piece about an hour ago.”

As she started down the hall, the guilty party pushed through from the front—and held the door open for her.

Connor’s eyebrows rose. That was a first. Meaning interesting—and entertaining—times should be ahead.

As for the latest information Nikki had unearthed—that, too, suggested interesting possibilities. If the blond boy the Build-A-Bear clerk had mentioned happened to be the same one Kate had seen, there was a better-than-average chance he attended STL. And if surveillance verified that, finding his last name would get a whole lot easier. It could be as simple as running the plate on the car that picked him up.

Beyond that . . . things could get trickier.

But for now, he had a positive development to share with Kate.

“Big news, huh?” Dev paused outside his office.

It took a second for Connor to realize he meant Nikki news, not case news. “Yeah.”

“Hard to picture, though. Nikki with a baby . . .” Dev shook his head.

“She’s had plenty of practice being a mother since she rescued her brother from that den of iniquity she grew up in and gave him a real home.”

“True. But a baby . . . that’s a whole different ball game.”

“I have no doubt she’s up to the challenge.”

“Yeah. She does handle difficult situations—and people—well.” One side of Dev’s mouth hitched up. “Speaking of challenges . . . how goes the boy-returned-from-the-dead case?”

Connor waved the slip of paper. “I have a lead.”

“No kidding? I assumed that was dead in the water . . . forgive the less-than-tasteful pun.”

“I can forgive the pun. Eating the last of the coffee cake . . . not so much. That was going to be my lunch.”

“At four o’clock?”

“The two-hour meeting ran five hours. The CEO’s been getting death threats in the wake of recent union negotiations and wants to beef up in-house security for an upcoming trip to some of his facilities. Get ready to clear your calendar in mid-August. It’s going to be a three-man job. As for my case—it isn’t dead yet. I’ll fill you in as soon as I know more. In the meantime, I need to update my client.”

“Not exactly hardship duty . . . especially if you do it in person.” Dev elbowed him as he brushed by into his office.

Connor let the jibe pass—because he agreed. Too bad this was business that could be handled over the phone.
Would
be handled over the phone with any other client. So to keep things professional, he’d deliver the update from his desk.

On the bright side, however, if things progressed on this case, there’d be plenty of opportunities to see Kate again.

And if they hit a dead end . . . maybe he’d find a reason to see her, anyway.

Kate closed the notebook on her lap, capped her pen, and smiled at the young woman seated across from her in the role-play corner of her office. “You did great, Sarah. Excellent eye contact, positive body language and facial expressions, and articulate answers. You’ve been practicing.”

“Every day.” Sarah Lange started to tuck her hair behind her ear, caught herself, and rested her elbows on the arms of her chair instead, keeping her posture relaxed and open. “I’m trying to pay attention to every detail. I want this job.”

“I know.” And not just for the money. After years of putting up with abuse from the husband she’d finally divorced, she could also use an infusion of self-esteem. “I think you have an excellent chance of getting it too. You’ve come a long way in the past eight weeks, and you have all the right qualifications.”

“I’m not aiming too high, am I?” The words were laced with trepidation.

“Absolutely not.” Kate kept her tone gentle but firm. “Art history might not be the most marketable college degree, but you’ve been a docent at the art museum for two years and you were the office manager for an art supply business.”

“The art museum was a volunteer job, and the manager position was a long time ago.” She lowered her voice and glanced at the four-year-old cherub playing with her doll in the opposite corner of the office. “Before . . . Steve.”

At least she didn’t flinch when she said his name anymore. Now, an undercurrent of anger colored the words. Better than fear, but she still had a ways to go. As did her too-silent daughter.

“Volunteer work counts, and you have outstanding references from both the art museum and your previous job, even though that was eight years ago. The gallery manager would be lucky to get you as his administrative assistant.” Kate had said all those things before, but with Sarah’s interview scheduled for nine tomorrow morning, it couldn’t hurt to repeat them again as a confidence booster.

“I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you. You not only coached me through all these practice interviews, you also polished up my résumé and found me this great lead. I just hope it works out.”

“I have every confidence it will.”

Sarah stood and reached for her purse. “Thanks again for squeezing me in for an emergency session today. I’m sorry I kept you so late.”

“No worries. I’m often here far later than this.” Kate rose, and while Sarah collected her belongings, she crossed to the little girl and dropped down beside her. “I like your dolly’s dress today, Isabel. Yellow is such a happy color. It reminds me of sunshine.”

The girl looked up at her with wide eyes that had seen too
much, her expression solemn. “I had a yellow dress once too. But it got torn, and my daddy threw it away.”

Kate’s throat constricted. Thank God Sarah had sought counseling for both of them.

“Come on, honey. It’s time for dinner. Why don’t we stop at Panera and you can get some of that macaroni and cheese you love? How does that sound?”

The girl’s face brightened as she took Sarah’s hand, but an undercurrent of apprehension colored her words. “Will you stay with me, Mommy?”

“Of course.” Sarah sent Kate a worried look as she hugged her daughter.

Kate gave her client’s arm a reassuring squeeze, a silent reminder that the clinginess would pass and counseling would help. But it would require patience. Damage to the psyche often took far longer to heal than damage to the body. She’d learned that in school, saw it demonstrated every day in the clients she served, and had experienced it firsthand. Loss, abuse, fear, anger, grief—they all took a heavy toll.

She followed the mother and daughter to the door. At six o’clock, the small suite was silent, the staff and volunteers gone, the individual offices dark. “Will you call me as soon as the interview is over?”

“The minute I walk out the door.” Sarah held out her hand. “And no matter what happens with this job, thank you for making me feel competent, capable, and respected again.”

“You’re all those things . . . and more. Now you two have a nice dinner—and make time for some hugs tonight.”

She watched them walk away hand in hand, then shut the door and wandered back to her office. It was late, but why hurry to leave? It wasn’t as if she had anything exciting planned for the evening. Review some budget paperwork. Prep for another role-play tomorrow. Finish the presentation on New Start she’d
be delivering on Friday at a women’s club luncheon. There were no hugs on
her
agenda.

Fighting back a wave of melancholy, she straightened her shoulders, pulled her purse out of her desk drawer, retrieved her keys, and fished for her cell. She was through with pity parties. Once had been enough.

Cell in hand, she scrolled through voice mail. Only one new message, from four-ten. Not long after she’d started her session with Sarah.

She keyed in her access code and pressed the phone to her ear.

“Kate, Connor Sullivan. I have some news. Give me a call on my cell when you have a minute.” He recited the number, and she grabbed a pen to jot it down.