A Twist of Betrayal (3 page)

The robber’s words registered at the same time.

“You think I’m letting you go, sweetcakes? No way. Not when all this was for you.”

He struck her with the gun he held and pulled her into the van.

The blow to her nose was like a thousand fireworks going off in her head at the same time—a huge burst of light that left her dazed with enough pain she thought he’d cracked her skull. Her last coherent thought was
Dan! Dan! You’ve always kept me safe. Where are you? I need you.
Then she felt as if she floated. She heard voices yelling, but could make out no words before they faded to silence.

Justine couldn’t fight the darkness or the deep sense of doom that swallowed her. Like smoke, she felt herself swirl away with an unending sense of motion complete with a rumble of vibration beneath her. It took her to a place where only a dream could touch her.

Chapter 2

Six Years Ago

“Damn!”

The sound of the siren from the police car behind her sent a sick feeling to the pit of Justine’s stomach. She looked into the rear view mirror and let out a huff. She did not need this. Not today. Clifford Thompson, her boss, had been reluctant to let her try this case alone. Now she was going to be late for it. What a day for her alarm to not go off. She pulled over to the shoulder of the highway and stared out the windshield at the rain, hoping it wouldn’t freeze.

She didn’t recognize the cop who approached her window. He must be new. She read his nametag.
D. Franklin
, and wondered why the name sounded familiar.

Justine rolled down her window and let in the cold January wind and raindrops. Then she looked up into his eyes.

His eyes were gray, a smoky color of deep silver. For a long moment, she wasn’t sure if she were looking into the eyes of a gently-trained Siberian husky she would like to invite inside out of the cold, or a wolf determined to find his own way inside. He didn’t smile. It took her a moment to realize he’d asked her for her license and registration.

“Here you are, Officer Franklin,” she said.

He looked at her license. “Are you aware you were speeding?”

What could she say? To fess up would make her look as if she intentionally broke the law. She thought it was worse to play dumb and act as if she didn’t know. Lying wasn’t an option, not when she looked into this man’s eyes.

“I’m very sorry, Officer. I didn’t intend to speed,” she said, not directly answering his question. That, at least was the truth.

He looked so hard at her through the rain that he didn’t seem to notice. Justine again thought of a wolf. Her heart raced as she also realized he saw right through her play of words.

“That’s good news, Ms. Albright.” His voice held no hint of emotion. “Why are you in such a hurry when the roads are slick with freezing rain?”

“I’m late for work. I have my first—”

“I’ll be back in a moment,” he interrupted as if he had no time for anything she might try and use as an excuse, despite the fact he’d asked.

He left, taking her license and registration with him and climbed back into his patrol car. Justine watched him through the rain in her mirror and wondered his age. His eyes revealed experience, but his build was strong and muscular. She guessed he had to be a bit older than she, between twenty-five and thirty.

“Who the hell cares how old he is?” she muttered out loud, talking to the mirror. “Or that he’s good looking? He’s probably back there writing out a ticket I don’t need.” Impatiently, she tapped her fingers on the steering wheel.

The cop climbed out of his car once again and approached her window.

“Here you are, ma’am,” he said as he handed her registration back to her. Then he handed her a clipboard. “Sign this please, at the bottom after the X.”

“A ticket?” she stared. “You’re giving me a ticket?”

“You were speeding.”

“Yes, but—” There was nothing she could think to say, and she hated that she was speechless. If it happened here, could it happen in the courtroom? Justine wondered if he gave her the ticket because he’d put her name into his computer and found out who her boss was, but she was afraid to come right out and ask.

“This is my first offense. What happened to a warning?” she tried. Justine thought if she was going to defend others and keep them out of trouble, she should be able to defend herself, but for her life she couldn’t think of any words of defense just then.

“There’s no rule that says every first offense gets a warning.” Officer Franklin’s gray eyes took her in, reminding her again of a wolf that was attempting to devour her.

“What about my license?” she asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice. She hoped the cold rain ran down the back of his shirt.

“It’s held by the state until you appear in court,” he explained evenly.

Justine fought the urge to swear. “Do you have any idea who I am?” she began. “I work in the Pub—”

“I don’t care who you are,” he interrupted. “Or where you work.”

His words, as well as his interruption were enough to make her fume.

“No one is above the law here,” he finished.

She wasn’t going to win. Justine knew that. The ticket was already written. There was no un-writing it, and arguing with him further would only make her later.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that, Officer,” she snapped. “I’m glad to hear that you are here to keep the citizens of Landston safe from criminals.” She took the pen he held and angrily scribbled her name across the line at the bottom of the ticket. The thought that perhaps Clifford could make this ticket go away passed through her mind. Just as quickly, she thought she’d probably be better off not telling Clifford about it at all. She handed the clipboard back to him.

He tore off the ticket and handed her the middle pink copy through the window.

Justine was aware of the warmth of his hand when his fingers brushed hers. “Thank you, Officer,” she forced out sweetly.

“Don’t let me stop you for speeding again,” he warned.

“I won’t,” she promised.

Officer D. Franklin looked down at her through the window and openly studied her. Justine grew warm at the way his gaze took her in. “People think we pull them over for speeding because we enjoy giving tickets.”

“Funny,” she said. “I was thinking the same thing.”

He ignored her input. “What we don’t enjoy is having to pry someone out of a totaled car because they were going too fast to avoid an accident.”

She stared at him for a long time, his change of tone filling her with uncertainty. “I understand,” Justine replied. What she didn’t understand was the reason his tone softened during the explanation. Was he thinking about the possibility of having to pry
her
out of a wrecked car?

“I’d rather you were late for work, Ms. Albright, but safe.”

“I understand,” she said again. “Thank you.” His features softened with his voice, and Justine suddenly found herself staring at him. The coat he wore did nothing to hide the muscles of his arms and shoulders. His hat didn’t hide his sharp features or his cropped dark hair. And for the first time that winter, Justine was glad the sun wasn’t shining. She knew if it had been, he would have hidden the deep gray of his eyes behind a pair of shades.

That need to call him in out of the rain was strong again. He could just climb into the front seat with her, and she could share the coffee she’d put into her portable thermal cup. Rain blew in through her open window and a drop touched her cheek, reminding her of its presence on the shoulder of her coat. Her first case must have turned her brain to mush for thinking something so stupid as to inviting him in for coffee. He had, after all, just given her a ticket.

“I promise to be very careful,” she said.

“Good,” he said. He leaned closer to the open window, and Justine thought she caught a scent of aftershave mixed the leather of his jacket. Underneath it all was the clean scent of man.

“Have dinner with me,” he said suddenly.

Justine stared at him for a long moment, unsure if she’d really heard what she thought she’d heard. Then she blinked at him. “What?”

“Have dinner with me.”

“Do you always ask women out to dinner after you’ve given them a ticket?” she asked without thinking.

“No,” Officer D. Franklin answered. “I’ve never asked a woman out after I’ve pulled her over.”

Justine saw truth in his eyes. “I don’t even know your name aside from Officer Franklin.”

“Daniel, but all my friends call me Dan.”

“Can I call you Dan?” she asked, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. The man just gave her a ticket, for crying out loud. She was going to have to pay the state money she’d rather put into saving for a future house. But she was suddenly wondering if she was qualified to call him the same thing as his friends considering she’d just met him.

“I think so,” he replied slowly.

Justine couldn’t help but smile. “Does my answer in any way affect the ticket you gave me?”

Dan shook his head. “I already gave it to you. I can’t change it.”

“Oh, well, I would still say yes.”

His eyes twinkled now. “Can I call you or meet you somewhere later?”

“The Silver Goblet? At six?” she suggested. She took a deep breath and still couldn’t believe she agreed to meet him. She blamed it on the case, the case to which she was already late, the case that had kept her up half the night with worry.

She hoped the familiarity of it would calm her unexpected reaction to this man.

“Sounds good. I’ll be there.” He said nothing for a while. He merely stood outside her car in the cold rain, his gaze holding hers.

Despite the ticket, Justine could have spent the day with him, but this case was important, and the judge wouldn’t be happy she was late. She had to break the spell he easily wove when he looked into her eyes. “I have to go.”

“Be careful, the roads are slick, and if the temperature drops as predicted, you may have to ice skate to The Silver Goblet,” he said, and then she was free to drive away.

All the way to work, Justine mentally debated. He was a cop. She had worked with them enough to know that cops thought they knew everything. She didn’t need to date a cop.

At the same time, she told herself it didn’t matter that he was a cop. It was only dinner. He was nice, even if he did just give her a ticket. Besides, he sounded more concerned about her well-being than the money she would be paying to the state. She could handle him. She could handle one dinner, one night out. After her first day in court alone, she may even need it.

A few minutes later, Justine reached her office for a meeting with Clifford before the day in court.

“Where the hell have you been? You’re late,” Clifford hounded her. “And do you really plan to go before Judge Sandors with wet hair?”

“I think the judge will understand since it’s raining,” she said. “Everyone will probably have wet hair.”

Justine hadn’t noticed how much rain had come in through her open car window. And she couldn’t help but smile.

“What the hell’s so funny?” Clifford hounded more, seeing her smile. “Do you want to win this case, or not?”

“Oh, I have every intention of winning,” she replied. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about a certain police officer and his endless gray eyes…

Chapter 3

Justine fought waking. In her dream of Dan, despite the cold, January rain, she was warm and safe. Even then she’d felt loved somehow. Thinking about it now, she knew Dan had always loved her. She just couldn’t always see it. Perhaps it was the gray fire she saw in Dan’s eyes as he leaned down and asked her to dinner. Perhaps it was the worry she heard in his voice when he talked about her safety. Perhaps it was the way he told her to be safe.

Her dream of Dan was lost somewhere in the deep places of her mind as she opened her eyes to bright sunlight and the pain in her face from where she’d been hit.

The fog of her mind lifted in an instant, and Justine remembered just how she’d come to be with the stranger next to her. Her nose bled from where he’d hit her with his gun. She tasted blood on her lips, felt the sticky warmth of it on her chin and down her neck. She looked across the car seat at her kidnapper and wondered what to do.

He drove with one hand on the wheel and held his gun in the other hand, constantly moving his gaze from the highway before them to the rear-view mirror. He obviously expected the police to follow. Justine was terrified to try and stop this man, to go up against the gun he held ready.

Not that she’d have much of a chance anyway. She looked down to find he’d handcuffed her wrists.

She stared at the gun for a long time. His hand shook as he held it.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She swallowed down the bile in her throat. She now knew that hell was not hot. Hell was cold, and she had somehow been thrust into it with little chance of escape. She looked at the bearded man driving, and she shivered. She remembered he said his entire robbery was nothing more than a charade for her, and she had to clench her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

He stopped suddenly, and Justine was thrown forward in the seat. Her heart skipped.
What now?
Her entire head hurt as if someone were in there pounding away at her skull. More pain came to her arm as she slammed against the dash board. Instinctively, she placed her hand on her baby to offer what comfort she could in order to protect it.

“We’re going to wait right here for a few minutes and let those cops who were following us pass right on by,” he said.

Seconds ticked by silently in rhythm with Justine’s heart. “Listen, why don’t you just—” she tried, her words were slightly mumbled because her lips felt like they were beginning to swell, too. Her mouth movement added to the pain already there.

He pointed the gun at her and stopped any further words. “Shut up,” he ordered.

He was obviously nervous. The option of letting her out of the car, free and clear and unharmed was the only good option she could think of. And she doubted he would do that.

She did as he said, pressing herself against the passenger door in an attempt to make herself invisible. It was impossible, of course. The door handle bit into her back, and the thought of reaching for it nagged at her thoughts. She could open the door while he stared out the windshield, and for a brief moment, she really considered trying it. But try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself she was quicker than a bullet—especially with her hands bound.