Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (8 page)

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?

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.

A
s 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.”

It would have if he’d done one, per standard operating procedure. But he’d been too focused on the case since she’d come to the office yesterday to think about it, and since Nikki hadn’t been there the task had gone undelegated.

Besides, as he’d told Laura yesterday, background checks were more to verify legitimacy—and there was no question in his mind she was legit.

“No time for that yet.” He grabbed a third piece of pizza. “So where else have you lived?”

“I took a job in Charleston after college. Nice town, but very small library. After three years, I was ready for a new challenge. My next stop was Nashville. That was a pleasant job.”

The sudden melancholy in her voice piqued his interest. “Why didn’t you stay?”

She lifted one shoulder and took another piece of pizza. “It was time for a change of scene. Mom and Dad and I lived in St. Louis for two years when I was a kid and I had fond memories of the city, so when I heard about an opening here, I went for it. It was a smart career move. I think I have a decent shot at the next branch manager slot that opens.”

He homed in on her first sentence, sensing a story. “Why did you need a change of scene?”

Instead of answering immediately, she weighed the slice of pizza in her hand, as if weighing her response as well. “Let’s just call it personal reasons.” She bit into the pizza.

He cocked his head and pursed his lips, keeping his tone conversational. “My guess? A romance gone bad.”

She stopped chewing. “Why would you think that?”

“When people upend their lives, there’s often a broken heart or two in the rubble.”

A few moments of silence passed while she resumed chewing, then swallowed. “My heart was bruised, not broken.”

So he’d guessed right. A failed romance had been at least part of the impetus for her move. But if Laura turned out to be half as
strong, intelligent, caring, and principled as their short acquaintance suggested she was, the guy she’d been involved with had been an idiot for dumping her—or for letting her get away.

Which was it?

“But my ego took a battering.”

Her tacked-on admission gave him his answer. She’d been dumped.

He took another swig of soda. “May I ask what happened?”

“Since when do you ask permission to ask questions?” She finished off her piece of pizza without breaking eye contact.

“Touché.” He raised his soda can in salute, relieved she hadn’t taken offense at his nosiness. “So are you going to answer?”

“Depends. Why do you want to know?”

Dicey question. Her answer had nothing to do with the case, so he couldn’t hide behind that justification. Besides, he’d already used it last night after he’d probed about her background, and he wasn’t certain she’d bought it then. Tempered honesty might be the best option.

“I’m a curious guy. I ask questions for a living. If something—or someone—intrigues me, I investigate.”

He half expected her to laugh and counter with some flirty, pert remark as most of the women he socialized with would have. Instead, she grew serious and used a finger to gather together the crumbs on her empty plate.

“He said the life I led was too boring and routine.” Irony twisted her mouth as she brushed off her finger. “This from a man whose idea of a thrilling date was miniature golf followed by an action movie and Chinese takeout. But after I thought about it, I realized he had a point. Once we broke up and I moved here, I decided to spice things up.”

“Now I’m really curious. What did you do?”

“Besides buying a red car?”

“Yeah.”

Her expression grew speculative. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“I promise.”

“Wait here.”

She scooted her chair back and disappeared down the hall.

Dev popped the last bite of pizza in his mouth and picked up his soda. What might someone like Laura do to add some zing to her life? Take a gourmet cooking class? Join a bird-watching group? Go rollerblading?

He tipped back his soda can, took a swig—and almost choked when she came up behind him and laid a blade with a hilt across his plate.

Coughing, he groped for his napkin as he stared at the dangerous-looking object. “That’s a sword.”

“No. It’s a saber.”

Saber. His brain started clicking. “You took up fencing?”

She sat back in her chair, bright spots of color in her cheeks. “I know. It’s kind of an odd hobby, isn’t it? I don’t tell many people about it.”

He looked back at the saber and tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his librarian client who liked a quiet life participated in a combat sport.

It wasn’t computing.

“I took it up right after I moved here. I’ve always enjoyed watching the Olympic fencing matches. There’s a lot of footwork, so I thought I could tie into the ballet training I had as a child. As it turns out, I’m not half bad—and I get a real rush when I win a bout. Plus, the physical action is a great way to relieve stress.”

He ran a finger down the flexible steel rod that served as a blade while he processed all that.

“Careful.” She moved the saber to the far side of the table. “It’s not sharp, but because it continually knocks against other blades, it develops splinters. I try to keep it smooth, but sometimes I miss a few. Your finger, however, will find them. And trust me, it’s no fun digging out slivers of steel. Been there, done that. So . . . are you ready for those brownies now? And how about some coffee to go with them?”

“Yes to both.”

She rose and walked over to the counter, reaching up to retrieve mugs, leaning down to scoop up an errant coffee filter as it floated toward the floor, swiveling toward the refrigerator to remove a tub of ice cream.