Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (12 page)

As Faith checked in the last batch of arriving children from her position behind the front desk, Mark entered the foyer from the hallway.

Her attention strayed.

Man, was he hot. Even the bandage on his cheek couldn’t detract from his appeal.

“Faith?” A woman’s impatient voice interrupted her dreamy musing. “Are we set?”

She dragged her gaze back to the harried young mother who was bouncing a crying one-year-old on her hip. “Sorry, Mrs. Vance. Yes. I’ve got you checked in.”

Mark paused beside the desk and scanned the morning melee. “Everything under control?”

“Copasetic.” She beamed at him, hoping he was impressed by the big word.

“Great.” He sent her a brief smile that set off a flutter in her nerve endings, then moved beside Mrs. Vance. “I’ll take Jillian back. You look like you’re in a hurry.”

The mother gladly relinquished her grip. “I have an important meeting in an hour and I still have some prep to do.”

“Well, don’t worry about this little lady.” Mark bounced the blonde cherub, who grabbed a fistful of his pressed shirt and hiccupped as she stared at him, her sobs trailing off.

Faith’s heart melted. The man had a way with children, no question about it. Despite the muscles hinted at beneath those crisp dress shirts he always wore, he was tender and loving with every child—and expected everyone on the staff to follow his example. Plus, he was clean-cut and had solid values.

Mark Hamilton was perfect husband—and father—material.

If only he’d notice her.

She watched as he disappeared down the hall, Jillian propped on his hip, smothering a sigh as she switched to autopilot and went back to work. It wasn’t as if there was that much age difference between them. Six or eight years, tops. That was nothing. And she
was smart enough for him. Wasn’t she going to night school to get her degree? Plus, she loved kids as much as he did. They would make a nice couple.

But Mark only saw her as an employee.

Moving on to the next parent, she went through the routine motions. She had to come up with a better strategy to get him to notice her on a personal level. The homemade coffeecake she’d brought a few weeks ago hadn’t worked; he’d ended up putting it in the break room to share with the staff. Maybe she could bake him some cookies, but wait until quitting time to give them to him. That might encourage him to take them home—and remind him of her once he got there.

Better yet, why not drop off some sort of treat at his house? She’d driven by there a few times when she’d had nothing better to do. Or would that be too forward?

“Faith?” At Mark’s summons, she swiveled toward the hallway that led to the back. “When you’re done out here, they could use your help in Room 3.”

“No problem.”

Once again, he rewarded her with his oh-so-appealing boy-next-door smile.

She had to get him to notice her. Some way, somehow.

And once he did, he might realize what he’d been missing. Then she’d get the happily-ever-after she’d been pining for since the day he’d interviewed her for this job ten months ago.

A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

As Laura entered the break room at the library, the muffled trill of her phone sounded from the cavernous depths of her shoulder tote.

A spurt of adrenaline set her nerves jangling, and she lost her grip on the apple in her hand. It fell with a thud and rolled across the floor.

Groping through her tote bag as she chased the wayward red
delicious, she yanked out the phone the instant her fingers closed over it, scooping up the apple at the same time. The name she’d hoped to see was displayed in caller ID.

Yes!

Another spurt of adrenaline followed as she put the phone to her ear. “Hi, Dev. Any leads?”

“Not yet, but I wanted to give you a progress report.”

“I’m all ears.” She sank into one of the molded plastic chairs, propped the phone on her shoulder, and began twisting the stem of her apple.

“I spoke with the director of the emergency shelter first thing this morning. There are two volunteers named Mark, and one of them worked over the weekend. He could be our man. The director promised to call and ask him to contact me, but I haven’t heard anything yet. If I don’t get a call, I’ll find out his name and pay him a visit.”

That must be where the pretexting would come in.

The stem of the apple came off in her hand, and she set it aside. “He still might not know anything.”

“True. But a competent PI investigates every lead. One of my partners is also at Gateway Station. Not too many buses are running yet because they’re on a limited schedule, but Darcy wasn’t on the 10:05 to Chicago that just left. There’s another one at 7:10 tonight. He’s watching every departure, though, in case she changed her destination. If he spots her, you’ll know thirty seconds after I do.”

“Is there anything else I can do besides pray?”

“Not at the moment.”

The conversation was over—but she didn’t want to hang up yet.

She grasped at the first thing that came to mind. “By the way, a missing persons detective called this morning. Mike Butler. He wanted to see if I’d heard anything from Darcy. I mentioned your involvement, and he seemed happy I’d put a PI on the case. He gave Phoenix high marks.”

“We’ve dealt with him before. He and Cal worked together on
quite a few cases. Most of the goodwill we have from the police is because of the years my partner spent on the force. He was well liked and well respected.”

“Actually, this guy mentioned you by name and referenced a couple of the cases you told me about on our drive home from the shelter the first night. He was quite complimentary.”

“Don’t put too much stock in that.” Dev’s tone was dismissive. “Few of our cases are one-man jobs. We work as a team, so the team gets credit.”

A man without an ego. Nice.

“So what’s next on your agenda for today?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she closed her eyes and shook her head.
Let the man go, Laura. This isn’t a social conversation. He has work to do.

But if he was in a hurry, he gave no indication of it.

“While I wait for Mark to return the call, I’ve got some intel to dig up on a shady guy who skipped the country. Our business client wants him brought to justice without a lot of publicity. I have a feeling I’ll be putting my passport to use.”

“I didn’t realize you did international work.”

“If the case calls for it.”

The door to the break room opened and another staff member entered. Wiggling her fingers in greeting, she dropped into a chair at an adjacent table and started to page through a magazine while she drank a soda.

So much for privacy.

But her break time was eroding, anyway. She needed to eat her apple and let Dev get back to work.

“Thanks for keeping me in the loop. Will you call me again later with another update? I’ll be sticking close to home tonight.”

“Sure.” He hesitated, as if he wanted to say more, but instead signed off with a “talk to you soon.”

The line went dead, and Laura slipped the phone back in her tote bag, then picked up her apple. She ran her finger over the depressed spot where it had hit the floor. The flesh underneath was
soft already. Soon the bruise would spread under the skin, invisible to the eye—kind of like the effects of a failed romance.

It wasn’t Rick she had in mind, however. Yes, she’d been disappointed when her relationship fell apart, and her ego had smarted. Yet in hindsight, they hadn’t been the best match. He’d been pleasant and attractive, and there’d been a little zing between them. But it had been nothing like the zing she felt with Dev after only a few days.

And that could be dangerous.

Because the Phoenix PI had a tragic romance in his past—one painful enough to make it an off-limits topic. He might not be in the market for another bout with Cupid. And if she let herself get carried away, her heart could end up like the apple in her hand—with a soft spot that hid a great big bruise underneath.

I
nch by inch, Darcy dragged herself back to consciousness from another deep sleep. Strange. Even after she’d gotten slammed by the flu last year and was wiped out for a month, she hadn’t experienced this kind of mind-numbing morning fatigue. It had been the same yesterday. Could spending a few sleepless nights at the bus station and the homeless shelter have been that draining?

Hard to believe.

But facts didn’t lie, and convincing her brain to engage and her limbs to cooperate was a huge chore. What other explanation could there be?

It didn’t matter, though. She was in no hurry to get up. The only thing on her agenda today was to make a decision about what she wanted to do—and more and more she was leaning toward going back to Laura’s. In less than two years, if she stayed the course, she could head off to college and be on her own, anyway—assuming she buckled down and got her grades in shape. Especially geometry. Danny Martin could help her there, though. He might be a Midwest hick, but he wasn’t hard on the eyes and he aced every math test.

She readjusted her pillow and snuggled farther into her cocoon of warmth as she turned to the other looming issue. Was it fair to disrupt Laura’s life as she’d disrupted her dad’s—and risk more bad consequences and stomach-clenching guilt?

Truth be told, however, a lot of the outcome was under her con
trol. All she had to do was follow the house rules—which weren’t all that burdensome. Laura wasn’t anywhere near as fussy about tidiness as Mark was. And it wouldn’t hurt to get rid of the chip on her shoulder, either. After all, if it wasn’t for Laura, she’d have ended up in some foster home. Who knows what disaster might have awaited her there?

Darcy yawned, blinking at the blurry numbers on her watch until they came into focus. Was it really past ten? She’d slept for twelve hours? Sheesh. She wouldn’t have to sleep again for a week once she went home, after all the hours she’d racked up here.

The room tipped when she stood, but she was starting to get used to that. A hot shower should take care of any lingering fuzziness. Then she’d call Rachel in Chicago to let her know of her change in plans, and phone Laura to ask for a ride home. Her half sister would be at the library today, assuming it was open, but she could hang here until the end of the workday. Knowing Mark, he’d offer to drive her home, but she’d already imposed too much. At the very least she’d have to write him a thank-you note for his hospitality, perhaps even dig into her small cash reserve for a gift certificate to Starbucks.

The house was silent as she traversed the hall. As usual, the door beside the bathroom was closed, and she gave it a curious glance. Mark’s room was at the other end of the short passageway, also behind a closed door. Was this another guest room?

She reached for the knob. Hesitated. Was it snooping to look behind a closed door? Yeah, it was. But what could it hurt to take a quick peek? It had to just be an office or storage room or another bedroom.

Twisting her wrist, she pushed the door open—and found herself staring at a small but well-equipped gym. Regular exercise and a healthy diet. No wonder her host was in such great shape. Too bad he had such a phobia about neatness and a fixation on old movies and videos. Otherwise, he’d be quite a catch for some woman his age.

Oh, well. Not her problem.

She closed the door and continued toward the shower. Once the haziness in her brain dissipated, she’d grab a bite to eat, make her calls—and get ready to go home.

Mark checked the clock on his office wall, tapped the applications he was reviewing into a neat stack, and stood. It was early for lunch, and in general he never left the premises until the day was over, but he’d been jittery all morning and people were beginning to notice. Especially Faith, who had the annoying habit of watching him whenever they were in the same room.

Leaving for a short time might raise a few eyebrows, but he’d make it through the afternoon much better if he confirmed everything was okay at the house. Now that he’d decided Darcy was the one, he didn’t want to risk having her take off on him.

After sliding the applications into a folder, he snagged his coat off the tree in the corner of his office, exited into the hall—and almost ran into Faith hovering outside his door.

She backed up, hand to her throat, and gave a shaky laugh. “Sorry about that. I was just stopping by to see if I could bring you back anything for lunch. I know you usually eat in, but I’m going to Panera in half an hour and I’d be happy to pick you up a sandwich or some soup.” She seemed to notice the coat over his arm for the first time. “Oh. I guess you were going out, anyway.”

“I have an errand to run.” He slid his arms into the sleeves. “I shouldn’t be gone more than forty-five minutes. Would you let Vicky know?”

Having Faith pass on his plans would be easier than dealing with the assistant manager in person—not that she’d ask a lot of questions. She did what the job required and kept to herself . . . a great combination. Faith could learn from her on the mind-your-own-business front.

Still, nobody beat the young woman across from him for
diligence, reliability, and hard work. She always went the extra mile, and nothing he asked of her was too much trouble. If she didn’t have such stellar attributes, he’d have let her go months ago and liberated himself from the constant scrutiny.

“Sure, I’ll tell her.” She backed up, giving him room to exit. Barely.

“Thanks.” He brushed past her and headed for the exit—only to be flagged down by a newer employee.

“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Hamilton, but one of our children is sick.”

He detoured into the room to lay a hand against the four-year-old’s forehead, examine her flushed face, and listen to a recitation of her other symptoms. “Call the contact person in her file. She’s burning up. We don’t need to expose the other children to the flu or strep, and both have been going around.”

As he began to rise, the little girl clung to his arm and whimpered.

“The kids sure do take to you.” The aide patted the girl’s head. “I’ll go make that call.”

He was stuck. Walking out on a child who needed him wasn’t an option. He’d have to defer his trip home until the mother or father arrived.

Cuddling the toddler in one arm, he tugged out his phone. Might as well use the delay to check his voice mail—not that there’d be much. There never was. On the few occasions he forgot to run through his messages at night, he never had a backlog. Sometimes there were none for several days in a row.

Phone in hand, he scrolled through the calls. There was only one new one, from the director of the homeless shelter. The man must want to talk about his availability for next weekend. Mark deleted the message.

The little girl in his arms whimpered again, and he stroked her head. “Your mommy will be here soon, honey.”

He slipped the phone back in his pocket. Later, he’d take the
man’s name off his contact list—because he was never going back to the shelter.

It had served its purpose.

Where in the world was Mark’s phone?

Bewildered, Darcy padded through the rooms on the main level for a second time. Maybe she’d missed it on the first go-round.

Nothing.

She’d already been through the upper floor twice too, including a quick peek into his bedroom.

The man didn’t have a phone.

But wait . . . he did have a phone jack. There, over the kitchen counter, next to a set of electrical outlets.

Weird.

Maybe he’d had it installed as part of the remodeling, in case he ever wanted to move. It wouldn’t be easy to sell a house that didn’t have a place to plug in a phone. On the other hand, with all the cells around now, people were beginning to get rid of their landlines. Apparently, Mark already had. He was ahead of the curve on that one, even if he was way behind on movies and TV shows.

But how was she supposed to call Rachel and Laura?

Darcy wandered over to the front window, still feeling unsteady. She needed to eat some breakfast. That should help. Then she’d take a walk and find a phone. There were lots of funky restaurants in Soulard, from what she recalled of the city driving tour Laura had taken her on when she’d first arrived. Mostly the excursion had been boring, but she did remember the cool Central West End, which had reminded her of some of the neighborhood enclaves in New York City, and she had a vague recollection of this area. The city hadn’t done anything to clean off Mark’s street, but the snow had stopped and she had sturdy boots. There had to be a restaurant nearby.

Plus, she was more than ready to breathe some clean, cold air. That might help jump-start her brain too.

But food first.

She wandered back into the spotless kitchen and opened the refrigerator. There was a large mug of cocoa, already mixed and waiting to be nuked. Thoughtful. A package of strawberry cream cheese to go with the promised bagels on the counter. Half a dozen eggs, still in their carton. She bypassed those; too much work. And the box of high-fiber, whole-grain cereal on the counter looked disgusting.

Balancing the cream cheese and cocoa in her hand, she moved to the L-shaped counter and deposited them. Then she toasted a bagel, gathering up stray crumbs and dropping them into the trash can beside the sink after she pulled it out of the oven. Perish the thought she should leave a speck of food on the counter.

While the cocoa heated in the microwave, she spread the cream cheese on the bagel and dived in. Despite the addition of a few Oreos, last night’s dinner of soup and bread hadn’t cut it. She was starving.

She repeated the procedure with a second bagel, scarfing it down too, before she removed the hot chocolate from the microwave and took a sip. As usual, it was excellent—though she missed the whipped cream. But another search in the refrigerator didn’t turn up a can of Reddi-wip. Oh, well. She’d have to suffer.

Smiling at the exaggeration, she toyed with the idea of sitting back at the counter while she drank the cocoa. No, better to do her hair and makeup if she was going to venture out to look for a phone. She could sip while she got ready, since Mark wasn’t around to confine her eating and drinking to the kitchen.

That was another thing she liked about Laura—her sister always let her take stuff to her room to eat. She hadn’t even gotten mad the time a can of cherry soda exploded and sprayed over everything. A few faint pink spots on her ceiling remained as a souvenir.

Yeah. Living with Laura wasn’t all that bad.

And it was a whole lot better than the way Star lived, sleeping in homeless shelters and eating other people’s garbage.

Suppressing a shudder, Darcy crossed the living room and started up the steps. It would be better at Laura’s from now on. She’d toe the line and be a model sister. In fact, doing her best not to cause waves might make up in a small way for all the grief she’d caused her dad—beginning with the imminent phone call that would include a huge apology and a promise to do better.

After grabbing her toiletries from her suitcase, she carried her hot chocolate to the bathroom and set it on the marble vanity, sipping the rich drink while she combed her hair and did her makeup.

Feeling more upbeat than she had in months, Darcy finished with a swipe of lipstick and headed back to her room, cocoa in hand. As soon as she finished the remaining half cup, she was out of here. She’d find a restaurant, borrow a phone . . . and maybe treat herself to a burger and fries before she came back here and packed up, since she wouldn’t need her stash of money.

She picked up her pace, hung a sharp right into the bedroom—and suddenly lost her balance.

Arms flailing, she dropped her toiletries case as she stumbled and groped for a handhold. Her fingers met empty air. Pitching forward, she watched in horror as the contents of the large mug spewed out in an arc and landed in a long, dark swath on the pristine white comforter.

Only after she fell to one knee did she regain her physical balance. Not so with her emotional equilibrium. The dark stain was at eye level—and it was bad.