Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (7 page)

Yeah, it was. How come he couldn’t be dark Irish, like Connor, or perennially tanned Irish, like Cal?

Nothing to do but bluff it through.

He lifted one shoulder, feigning nonchalance. “My client is an attractive woman.”

“I hear she’s also a librarian.”

“So?”

“Not your usual type.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Our perceptive office manager says you’re smitten.”

Nikki’s latte was toast.

“I just met this woman yesterday.” His reply came out between gritted teeth. “And Nikki’s had romance on the brain since she fell for her new husband.”

“Maybe. But she pegged Cal and Moira early on too.”

He was out of here.

“You want to let me through? I’ve got work to do.” He feinted toward the door.

Connor didn’t budge. “I think Nikki’s on to something.”

Dev moved close. In-your-face close. He and his two partners might be college buddies. They might share an Irish heritage. They might work as a well-oiled team and trust their lives to each other on the job.

But personal topics were off-limits—romance in particular. Even if he was the one who’d led the teasing brigade when Cal started to fall for Moira.

“You want to back off on this?”

“No.”

He grabbed Connor’s arm, and the black liquid in the other man’s mug once again sloshed dangerously close to the rim. “Then you’ll be wearing your coffee.”

They stared at each other for a moment—until Connor’s lips twitched. “Fine. Have it your way. We won’t talk about the hot librarian.”

Dev released his arm.

Straightening his cable-knit sweater, Connor pushed off from the door and strolled down the hall. But he paused after a few steps to toss a parting remark over his shoulder.

“You know, if you’d joked about it instead of getting mad, you might have convinced me you weren’t interested. Score one for Nikki.”

Dev grabbed a spoon off the counter to hurl after him, but Connor ducked in his office, leaving the plastic missive to bounce off the wall.

“More evidence.” A laugh lurked beneath the muffled comment that came from inside Connor’s office. “You’re hanging yourself, buddy.”

Heaving a sigh, Dev ignored him and headed for his own office. He had better things to do than engage in a verbal sparring match.

Especially one he wouldn’t win.

Slouched on the sofa in Mark’s living room, Darcy aimed the remote at the TV and flipped through the channels. There wasn’t much selection, since her host didn’t have cable. How backward was that? Everyone had cable these days. But Mark had said he wasn’t a TV watcher, so he could be trying to save a few bucks.

His lack of wifi, however, was a different story. Talk about prehistoric. And using his smartphone as a modem for his laptop? According to him, it worked great . . . but what a pain.

“Anything interesting on TV?”

As Mark strolled into the room and deposited a bowl of Hershey’s Kisses on the coffee table in front of her, she pressed the off button and reached for a chocolate candy.

“No. The networks are only showing boring talk shows and the local stations are still focused on the storm. Sounds like it might start to let up sometime tonight.” She peeled the silver paper off the chocolate, wadded it into a tiny ball, and set it on the coffee table.

Mark leaned down to retrieve it, and she stared at his fingers. They’d seemed a little red at breakfast, but now they looked almost raw. Must be all that hand washing. The man sure had a fetish about cleanliness.

Then again, the spotless condition of his house was far better than the questionable hygiene at the shelter.

As if aware of her scrutiny, Mark retracted his hand and shoved it in the pocket of his jeans. “I’m going to see if I can make some headway on the sidewalk.”

Shoveling snow wasn’t high on her list of favorite pastimes, but it beat mind-numbing boredom.

“Would you like some help? It would be nice to get some fresh air after being cooped up for the past few days.” She started to rise.

“No, thanks. I only have one shovel.”

So much for that idea.

She sank back onto the couch as he went to retrieve his coat from the closet. It was only one o’clock, and the whole empty afternoon stretched ahead of her. Yuck.

On the other hand, with Mark occupied outside she’d have some quiet time to rethink her options. He’d been way too distracting for the past few hours, asking her every few minutes if she wanted anything to eat or drink, straightening the CDs in the cabinet, vacuuming the area rug under the dining table, adjusting crooked pictures, picking up specs of dirt from the floor.

And she’d thought Laura was a neat freak just because her half
sister asked her to do simple stuff like toss her empty soda cans in the recycling bin and hang up her coat after she got home from school.

If Mark disappeared for an hour, it would also give her a respite from his questions about school and boyfriends—if only!—and the brief forays into pot and truancy and alcohol she’d confessed to him that first night in the shelter, when she’d been desperate for a sympathetic ear.

She wasn’t as desperate anymore.

He stopped beside the couch on his way to the back door. “Everything okay?”

Enough already!

“Yeah. Fine. Just going a little stir-crazy.”

“I hear you. But the city will be up and running tomorrow, if the weatherpeople are right. Which means I’ll have to go back to work and you can get on with your life. If you want to take a few more days to think about your plans, though, you’re welcome to stay here. I have plenty of space, and you’ll have the place to yourself during the day.”

If Star was still around, that would be a tempting offer. But staying here alone?

Maybe not the best idea.

He spoke as if he’d read her mind. “In case you didn’t notice, there’s a lock on the inside of the guest-room door.”

She squirmed on the couch, guilt tugging on her conscience. How could she harbor any suspicious thoughts after he’d gone above and beyond to be nice to her and Star? At least he didn’t seem offended by her wariness. On the contrary. For whatever reason, his expression was more pleased than put out.

Nevertheless, she felt obliged to make amends. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything.”

“Hey—no apology needed. Prudence is wise. It keeps people from making mistakes.” He continued toward the rear door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Stay out of trouble.” With a grin, he disappeared outside.

She took another Hershey’s Kiss from the bowl on the coffee table and flopped back against the cushions, surveying the décor in the room. Minimalist, Mark had told her and Star last night. That about summed up the sparse furnishings. The high-ceilinged first floor contained only the low-slung white couch where she sat, a modern-looking beige upholstered chair Mark had occupied last night, the canvas director’s chair Star had chosen, a coffee table with a chrome base and glass top, plus a couple of lamps.

The only other furniture was the dinette set where they’d eaten their meals, adjacent to the kitchen. All the walls were empty except for two posters featuring abstract art, and other than a couple of small, geometric-patterned throw rugs in neutral colors, the hardwood floors were bare. A lone green, leafy plant in the corner next to the entertainment center that housed the TV and other electronic equipment, along with Mark’s CD and DVD collection, added the only touch of warmth.

If this was minimalist, he could keep it. The whole place was boring and impersonal, like nobody really lived here. There were no touches that gave a hint of personality, like at Mom and Dad’s or Laura’s. Not a single souvenir from a vacation or family photo or framed award.

She played with the strip of paper sticking out of the Hershey’s Kiss. It had been nice of Laura to display the first-place award she’d gotten for that art-class project last fall. She’d framed the prize-winning collage too, and put both in the hall. It wouldn’t have killed her to say thank-you, admit she’d been touched. Except she hadn’t exactly had the best attitude four months ago.

Or even four days ago.

Would it be any better if she went back?

Unsure of that answer, she put the question aside for the moment and wandered over to the entertainment center. Maybe she could find a movie for later, in case Mark started hovering again.

After peeling the silver paper off the candy, she opened the cabinet, bent down to examine the DVDs—and almost laughed out loud as she read the first few titles.

Leave It to Beaver
?

Father Knows Best
?

It’s a Wonderful Life
?

Was this a joke? All of those were prehistoric. For sure too old to have been part of Mark’s childhood. He seemed younger than Laura, and those were well before even her half sister’s time. If her father hadn’t mentioned the old TV shows a few times, she’d have been clueless.

Plus, all the DVDs were alphabetized by title. She examined the CDs on an adjacent shelf. Same there. Even Laura wasn’t that particular, and she was a librarian.

No wonder Mark wasn’t married. Living with a guy who always wanted everything organized and clean and perfect would be really gnarly.

Was he as fussy about his closets too?

She peeked into the coat closet. Yep, neat as a pin. Same with the pantry in the kitchen. Every can was lined up in military fashion, rows straight, labels facing forward.

Maybe Laura’s housekeeping rules hadn’t been that extreme after all.

For one thing, she’d never bugged her much about picking the clothes up off the floor in her room. Most of the time she let her do what she wanted in her own space. Laura had cringed a bit at the request to paint the walls purple, but in the end she’d bought the supplies and pitched right in. She’d even gone along with the idea of a silver metallic border.

In hindsight, it really hadn’t been so bad at her sister’s.

But it was embarrassing to slink back with your tail between your legs. Besides, Laura would probably ground her until she was eighteen for pulling this running-away stunt. And they did fight a lot, just as she and her dad had—and look where that had led. He’d died of a heart attack. Laura was too young for that, but maybe she’d get an ulcer or high blood pressure or some other bad thing people her age could get from stress. She didn’t want to have to deal with guilt over that too.

On the other hand, going through with her plan to escape to Chicago was becoming less and less appealing.

She slid onto a stool, rested her elbow on the kitchen counter, and propped her chin in her palm. This decision deserved some careful thought. She didn’t want to rush into anything, make a choice she’d regret. It might be better to spend one more night here—with the door locked, just to be safe. She could weigh all the pros and cons today, sleep on them tonight, then think things through one more time while Mark was at work tomorrow and she had the place to herself.

Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

And since she’d already been gone for three days, what could it hurt to wait twenty-four more hours?

L
aura wiped her palms on her slacks. Picked up the portable phone from the kitchen counter. Hesitated. Set it back in its holder.

All for the third time.

This was nuts.

If Dev had any news to report, he’d call. His job was to find Darcy, not hold her hand . . . even if she could use a little hand-holding.

And Dev’s hand would do oh-so-nicely.

Okay. Stop. This is pathetic. You’re a strong person and you’re coping just fine on your own. Just suck it in.

Pep talk ringing in her mind, Laura turned away and walked toward the living room—only to have the phone ring before she got three steps.

Pulse lurching, she dashed back and snatched it up, scanning caller ID.

It wasn’t the number she’d hoped to see.

Reining in her disappointment, she put the phone to her ear. If nothing else, chatting with her boss, who also happened to be her best friend in town, would take her mind off her missing sister and the handsome PI who was looking for her. “Hi, Erin.”

“Any sign of her?”

“Not yet.”

“I’m sorry, Laura. I hoped she’d gotten some sense and come home on her own by now. How are you holding up?”

Laura paced from the counter to the window and back again as she answered, trying to walk off some of her restless energy. “I’ve had better days. I think I’m going stir-crazy.”

“Try being cooped up with four kids under the age of twelve and you can eliminate stir from that complaint. Which makes me happy to report we’re planning to reopen most of the branches tomorrow. If the meteorologists are right, the snow will stop around midnight. That will give the plows a chance to get the main roads clear before rush hour. But we’ll open an hour later than usual. If you need to take a few days off for this family emergency, though, that’s not a problem. You’ve hardly used any vacation in the three years you’ve been with us.”

“I appreciate the offer, but there’s not much for me to do. My PI is on top of things, and work will help distract me.”

“You’re sure this guy’s on the up-and-up? He doesn’t drink cheap whiskey and smoke like a fiend and get his kicks using high-powered binoculars to spy on private activities?”

Laura smothered a laugh. “You’ve been reading too many gumshoe novels. This isn’t a sleazeball operation. Dev was an ATF agent in his prior life, and his partners are all former law enforcement too.”

“I guess that sounds legit. So . . . with a name like Dev, could your guy be Irish?”

“I’d say that’s a fair bet. His name’s James Devlin, he has dark auburn hair, and his coffee mug has shamrocks on it.”

“Excellent. I feel much better.”

“That wouldn’t be because your last name is Clancy, would it?”

“Hey . . . we Irish have to stick together. So is he good-looking?”

As Laura visualized Dev’s wavy hair, jade-colored eyes, strong chin, and broad shoulders, her pulse kicked up a notch. Oh yeah.

She cleared her throat and hoped her response didn’t come out in a squeak. “Yes.”

“Married?”

“Erin—this is a business arrangement.”

“Fine—but do yourself a favor. Check for a ring next time.”

Might as well admit the truth.

“Already done. No ring. Besides, he told me he’s not married.”

“Aha! So you are interested.”

“I didn’t say that. I just said I noticed the absence of a ring. You’ve trained me well over the past three years in your concerted efforts to improve my lackluster social life.”

“You’ve never followed my advice before. If you’ve decided to now, you’re interested. Listen, once you drag Darcy back home and lock her in her room for the next year or two, why don’t you—”

At the sudden beep of call waiting, Laura interrupted her colleague. “Hold on a sec. I have a call coming in from the man in question.”

“I’m hanging up. Good luck.”

“With Dev or with the search?”

“Take your pick.”

Shaking her head, Laura switched over to Dev. Much to her chagrin, her greeting came out a bit too breathless.

Her astute PI noticed. “You sound rushed. Did I catch you in the middle of something?”

Thinking about you.

But her spoken words were different. “No. I’ve been roaming around the house for hours, waiting to hear from you. Is there any news?”

“Unfortunately, not much, even though I’ve been hard at it all day. I did hear from Rachel Matthews in Chicago. She said Darcy called and left her a message yesterday morning saying she’d been delayed by the storm and that she’d be back in touch once she was on her way. Rachel hasn’t heard from her again, so I think we can assume she’s still in St. Louis.”

“I’m surprised Rachel was that forthcoming.” A cardinal and a tiny wren jockeyed for position on the almost-empty bird feeder in the deepening dusk outside her window, and she made a mental note to refill it soon.

“She wasn’t, at first. Once I started spieling off legal lingo about penalties for contributing to the delinquency of a minor, however, she caved. Since she doesn’t know Darcy, there wasn’t much sense of allegiance. Brianna set this up and told her Darcy was almost eighteen, not sixteen-going-on-seventeen.”

“Could you trace the number for the phone Darcy used to make the call?”

“If I had it. Unfortunately, it didn’t show up in Rachel’s call log.”

“Isn’t that odd?”

“Not if you tap in the magic code that blocks caller ID. Rachel did promise to let me know immediately when she hears from Darcy and agreed to probe a little about where she was.”

“That sounds hopeful.”

“It’s one lead, anyway. I didn’t have as much luck elsewhere. No guests registered over the weekend under Darcy’s name at any of the other shelters in town, so that was a dead end. Meaning it’s back to the shelter for me tonight.”

Another foray into the blizzard? A shudder rippled through her, and she turned away from the window. “What about watching the bus station? My boss just told me the snow’s supposed to stop around midnight. When do you think Greyhound will start running again?”

“Sometime tomorrow, according to my contact at the station. I’ve worked up a surveillance schedule, and Darcy won’t get on a bus without us seeing her. The only other person I still want to talk with is our office manager’s brother, since you found his name in Darcy’s room. Nikki says he has a crush on her, but that it’s one way. If that’s the case, he may not have much to offer, but I’m going to swing by her house on the way to the shelter and see what he has to say.”

Laura slid onto a stool at the counter, suddenly weary. Her four mostly sleepless nights must be catching up with her. “Darcy’s never mentioned him. Then again, she didn’t share a whole lot with me. She spent most of her free time hunkered down in her room. I felt like I was trespassing when I searched it after she left.”

“Speaking of that—I’d like to stop by your place and take a look too. A fresh eye might catch something helpful.”

A visit from Dev? That would add one bright spot to her otherwise depressing day.

“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.