Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (9 page)

Okay, he was beginning to see it. She was lithe and graceful, and the footwork part of fencing made sense. The aggressive part of hacking away at an opponent, however, was still giving him trouble. But no one got hurt in fencing. It was more about art and strategy and fitness. Wasn’t it?

“You’re surprised, aren’t you?” She slanted a look at him as she poured water into the top of the coffeemaker.

“Honestly? Yes. It seems kind of . . . violent.”

“For a librarian, you mean?” She didn’t wait for him to verify her assumption but leaned back against the counter and folded her arms, her posture a bit stiff. “Well, as any librarian will tell you, the old adage about never judging a book by its cover is spot-on. But it took a romance-gone-south to make me realize I was beginning to fall into the classic stereotype. So there was a positive outcome from that experience, after all.”

She turned back to the counter and busied herself with dessert preparations while he tried to figure out how to respond. Somehow he felt as if an apology was in order—but he wasn’t quite sure how to phrase it.

Half a minute of silence passed as he tried to work through the dilemma, then she swiveled back, plates of brownies in hand. “Sorry about that.”

She was apologizing to him?

“For what?”

“Jumping all over you about stereotyping me.” She set the plates on the table and went back to the counter to pour the coffee. “I’m overly sensitive to that since my experience with Rick in Nashville, and Darcy’s always saying I lead a boring life too, despite the fencing. But that’s my issue, not yours.”

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t consider you in the least boring.”

She rewarded him with a smile as she rejoined him at the table. “Thanks for that.” She picked up her spoon. “These are very warm. Better eat up before all the ice cream melts.”

He took her advice with gusto as he dived into brownie nirvana.

“This is amazing.” He mumbled the words around a mouthful of molten chocolate.

“I’m glad you like it.” She licked some ice cream off her spoon and studied him, her expression thoughtful. “You know, I’m curious about one thing. You said earlier that when people upend their lives, there’s often a broken heart involved. Might that be true for you too? I mean, you upended your life when you left the ATF to join Phoenix.”

The last bite of brownie got stuck somewhere near his windpipe, and he groped for his coffee to wash it down. He hadn’t expected her to turn the tables on him. Yet he was the one who’d started the true confessions session by asking her a lot of personal questions, and she’d been completely open with him. He couldn’t fault her for reciprocating.

But he couldn’t talk about Cat tonight.

Maybe never.

After a cautious sip of coffee, he set the mug back on the table, wrapped his fingers around it—and hoped his reticence wouldn’t offend the woman across from him. “For now, let’s just say there is a story there and focus on our priorities for tonight.”

She searched his face, then nodded, her manner more subdued. “Okay. If you’re finished with your brownie, I’ll show you Darcy’s room. You can bring your coffee along.”

As she began to rise, he reached out and laid his fingers on the back of her hand, an instinctive gesture he couldn’t have stopped if his life depended on it. She looked back at him in surprise, and he locked gazes with her. After all she’d shared, he owed her more than that abrupt response.

“The short answer is yes. But I’ve never talked about it in any
detail, even with my partners, who’ve been my best friends since our college days.”

Her blue eyes softened. “I understand. We only met yesterday, and trust takes time to build. My story was easy enough to share because it wasn’t tragic. I have a feeling yours is.”

Add intuitive to his new client’s list of attributes.

“Yeah.” The word scraped past his throat.

“Enough said.” She covered his fingers with her free hand for one too-fleeting second before gesturing to the hall. “Let me show you Darcy’s room.”

He followed, coffee mug in hand, grateful for her understanding—and wondering yet again about this woman who’d so quickly touched him in a way no one else ever had. He’d always known that someday, before he could move on with his life, before he could banish the nightmares that still plagued him, he’d have to talk through all that had happened. Only then would he be able to release the demons locked inside, to exorcise the guilt and pain. But it wasn’t a journey he’d wanted to make alone, and no one had yet come along who’d given him a reason to tap into that dark place and deal with the pain and sorrow once and for all.

Might Laura be the one, sometime down the road?

It was possible.

But for now, his focus had to be on the present, not the past or the future. He needed to bring Darcy home—ASAP.

Because the longer she stayed on the street, the greater the chance she’d hook up with the wrong kind of person and veer off her planned path.

And if that happened, tracking her down would be a lot more difficult than visiting a homeless shelter or spending a day or two hanging around a bus station.

W
ould you like to watch a movie?”

As Mark joined her in the living room, Darcy looked up from her laptop. If her computer hadn’t been loaded with a bunch of games, the day would have been a total zero. As it was, she was even getting tired of playing The Sims, and that had never happened before.

She cast a doubtful glance toward his DVD collection. “Do you have anything newer than those?”

He walked over to the cabinet and perused the titles. “The old movies and TV shows are the best. Most of what’s produced these days is trash.” He pulled out a vinyl case and held it up. “Have you ever seen
Stella Dallas
? It’s a great movie.”

“When was it made?”

“1937.”

She stared at him. “That’s like . . . ancient.”

“But the theme is timeless—a mother’s supreme self-sacrifice to give the daughter she loves a better tomorrow.” He held the case reverently, like it was made of gold or something.

Darcy tried not to roll her eyes.

B-O-R-I-N-G!

She had to be diplomatic, though. He was feeding and housing her, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But she didn’t want to watch a movie that was probably in black-and-white, either. Maybe it didn’t even have sound.

“Um . . . do you have anything like . . . a little more recent?”

He gave her that disapproving scowl she was beginning to recognize and turned back to his collection. “How about an episode of
Little House on the Prairie
? That ran from the early seventies to the early eighties. Or would you rather watch
The Waltons
? That was on for ten years, starting in the seventies.”

Both were older than she was. And she doubted whether Mark had been born yet, either, when those programs aired. He couldn’t be more than thirty, if he was that old. Why would a guy that age want to watch such old stuff?

“Darcy?” He angled back toward her, a touch of impatience in his inflection.

“
Little House on the Prairie
.” What did it matter? They were both prehistoric.

He withdrew the case, flipped it open, and settled the disc in the player. Then he took a seat on the other side of the couch and sped through the menu as if he’d viewed it many times.

“You’ll like this one.” He pressed play and the program started.

For the next two hours, as he ran two episodes back-to-back, she divided her attention between her computer game and the programs. The low-action shows moved slow, but the stories were okay. And they had a feel-good quality that was kind of nice. But it was weird to watch a TV program that didn’t have any four-letter words or violence or high-tech special effects.

“So what did you think?” As the credits wound down for the second episode, Mark leaned over, grabbed the remote from the coffee table, and pressed the off button.

Those were the first words he’d said since the programs began, which was fine with her. But the way his attention had been riveted on the screen, almost like he wished he could climb inside and be part of the story, had been a little odd. He was really into this old stuff.

Darcy closed her laptop and tried to be both tactful and truthful. It was a stretch. “They were different than what I usually watch.”

“Did you think they were better?”

She shifted under the intensity of his gaze and dispensed with honesty to give him what she knew he wanted to hear. “Yeah. I guess.”

“I’m glad.” He flashed her a smile, then rose and stretched. “I’m going to turn in early tonight, since my minivacation is about to come to an end. I have to be up at the crack of dawn to open the daycare center. Would you like to join me in a glass of wine before we call it a night?”

She did a double take. He was offering her alcohol? Didn’t he remember she was only sixteen?

Then again, he’d let Star drink wine, and she was underage too.

But after those two drinking incidents back home in New York that had left her nauseous and headachy the next day—no thanks.

“Could I have hot chocolate instead?”

“Sure.” He beamed at her like she’d just offered him primo tickets to a sold-out concert. “I think I’ll have that too. It’s perfect for a cold night.”

As he headed toward the kitchen, her stomach rumbled. Foraging instincts kicking in, she trailed after him. She hadn’t seen any snacks in the cabinets, but he might stash that kind of stuff somewhere else. “Do you have any cookies or chips or anything?”

“Still hungry?” He pulled the milk out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter.

“A little.” That was an understatement. Tasty as the soup and bread had been, they hadn’t filled her up.

“I don’t keep a lot of snack food on hand, but there might be some cookies in the basement. My cabinet space in here is limited, so I store extra supplies down there.” He poured the milk into two mugs, replaced the jug in the refrigerator, and crossed to a door on the side of the kitchen. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

He disappeared, and a few moments later she wandered over to crack the door and peek down. The only illumination was supplied by the light traveling down the steps from the kitchen, but
it was obvious despite the dimness that all the work on the house had taken place above the stairs. The unfinished basement appeared to be empty, and it looked old and antiquated enough to have a dirt floor, given the age of the houses around here. Did it? She peered into the shadowy depths. Too dark to tell—but now she was curious.

Grasping the rail, she descended the first two wooden steps, bent down, and squinted at the floor. Nope. It wasn’t dirt. Someone had poured concrete at one time, though it was stained and dark now. So much for her theory.

Just as she started to rise, she caught the outline of a familiar shape leaning against the wall to her right.

Was that a guitar case?

As she peered into the obscuring gloom, a swath of light suddenly illuminated the object.

Yes, it was a guitar case.

Star’s guitar case.

She recognized the worn NYC sticker on the front.

“What are you doing down here?”

All at once the basement went dim again as Mark’s accusatory voice and the slam of a door jerked her attention his direction.

He rushed toward the stairs from the opposite side of the basement, no more than a shadowy figure in the murky light, as she scrambled back up to the kitchen.

“I-I wondered if the floor was dirt, since this is s-such an old building.” She scurried back toward the table as he took the stairs two at a time, a package of Oreos in his hand.

As he emerged into the light of the kitchen, cheeks flushed, he slammed the door shut behind him. Although his mouth was tight and his face looked pinched, when he spoke his voice sounded normal, like they were still talking about the movie or the weather.

“It’s not safe down there. Stay out, okay? The floor’s not dirt, but it’s uneven, and some of the beams are low. You might hit your head.
I only use it for storage and my washer and dryer.” He deposited the cookies on the table and proceeded to measure out the cocoa.

She rubbed her suddenly chilled arms and kept her distance. “Why is Star’s guitar down there?”

A beat of silence ticked by.

“She asked me to keep it for her until she decides whether she’s going to stay for a while or move on to Nashville. She didn’t want to take it out in the blizzard.” He set the mugs in the microwave and pressed the beverage button before he turned to her. “With somebody like Star, there are no guarantees. She might not show up for it for weeks, and I didn’t want it cluttering up my house.”

The part about clutter she could buy. Mark hated untidiness and dirt more than anyone she’d ever met.

But the part about the guitar didn’t quite ring true. Star loved it. At the shelter, she’d slept with it beside her, and it was never more than an arm’s reach away when she was awake. That guitar was her most treasured possession—and her ticket to fame.

On the other hand, hauling it around in a blizzard wasn’t ideal. What if she fell on the ice and damaged it?

“I found some Oreos. I remember you mentioning at the shelter they were one of your favorite treats. It’s a lot of chocolate on top of that”—he gestured to the mugs rotating in the microwave—“but hey . . . you can splurge if you want.”

He sent her a smile, and she did her best to return it. Why get freaked about this? Star had probably just done the smart thing and left her guitar where she knew it would be safe. Maybe she’d even come back for it tomorrow, while Mark was at work. That would be nice. He might not approve of some of the things she’d done, but Darcy liked her despite her mistakes.

As the microwave beeped, she picked up the cookies.

“Grab a plate and take them in the living room. It’s more comfortable in there—and I’ll splurge and turn on the fireplace. I don’t use it often, with the price of gas, but we’ll celebrate the end of the blizzard.”

He was offering to let her eat in the living room after almost
having apoplexy when she’d taken an apple from the bowl on the counter and headed toward the couch earlier in the day?

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be right in.”

Maybe he wasn’t as rigid as she’d thought.

She took out a dessert plate, helped herself to four cookies, and reclaimed her seat on the sofa. After spreading a paper napkin on her lap to catch any stray crumbs, she dived into the cookies.

When he joined her three minutes later, cocoa in hand, he set her mug on the coffee table and turned on the fireplace. Instantly the room felt more cozy.

“I should use that more often.” He settled into the chair he’d sat in last night, sipping his cocoa.

“We had one at our house in New York. Dad used it almost every night.” She didn’t mention the one at Laura’s that was often lit too. Every time she brought up her half sister, he got agitated. “So what time do you have to leave for work tomorrow?”

“Too early—but on the positive side, it’s only ten minutes away. We open at seven, but I always get there by six-thirty to make sure everything’s ready for the day. Sometimes I stay until six, when the center closes, but if everything is running smoothly, I try to cut out about four.”

“That’s still a pretty long day.” She finished off her third cookie and washed it down with a swig of hot chocolate. The man did make an excellent cup of cocoa, with whipped cream on top and everything.

“I don’t mind. It’s important for young children to have conscientious, loving care.”

“How did you get into that line of work, anyway? It’s kind of different for a guy.” She chewed on her last cookie, feeling more relaxed now with the crackling fire, the warm drink, her favorite comfort snack. The same snack Laura had always kept on hand for her.

A twinge of guilt tugged at her. She’d told Mark earlier that
Laura wouldn’t waste a lot of time or effort looking for her, but she wasn’t certain that was true. Her half sister was the type who took responsibilities—like a new ward—seriously. While she might have preferred her previous quiet life, she’d tried her best to open the lines of communication. If the two of them remained strangers, it was her doing, not Laura’s.

“Darcy?”

She refocused on Mark. “What?”

“You asked how I got into my line of work, but then you zoned out on me.”

“Sorry. I’m kind of tired. Tell me again.”

He lifted one shoulder. “Not much to tell. With so many working parents, it seemed like a promising field. And I like kids. They’re fresh and innocent and hold such promise.” He sipped his hot chocolate and yawned. “I’m getting tired too.”

Darcy finished off her drink, set the mug on the coffee table, and glanced at her watch. “I don’t usually go to bed before ten, but I think I might turn in.”

“I’m right behind you. If you want to go on up, I’ll put the mugs and plate in the dishwasher.”

“Sounds like a plan.” She stood, grasping the arm of the sofa as the floor shifted a hair. Wow. She was more tired than she’d thought. The stress of the past few days and her restless nights at the shelter must be catching up with her.

Mark rose too. “I expect I’ll be gone tomorrow when you get up, but there are eggs and cereal and bagels in the kitchen for breakfast, plus some turkey if you want a sandwich at lunch.”

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Sweet dreams.”

As he disappeared into the kitchen, mugs in hand, Darcy made a beeline for the stairs. Tomorrow’s menu was the last thing on her mind. All she wanted to do was sleep.

After giving her teeth a quick brush, she eyed the shower. Nope. That would have to wait until morning.

Back in her bedroom, she locked the door, kicked off her shoes, and literally fell into bed.

Ten seconds later, she was dead to the world.

“We’ve talked with all the women. Let’s try that group over there.” Dev gestured to a small cluster of male homeless-shelter guests gathered around a coffeepot and helping themselves to cookies.

“Okay.” Photos of Darcy in hand, Laura followed him across the room, weaving among the cots—and trying to figure out how she’d ended up back in his Explorer, once more trekking through the storm.