Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (2 page)

She probably should hide, but she owed it to her friend to find out who had ordered the hit. Besides the other jurors and herself, who else was in danger? Would the killer go after the judge? Or Susan’s own family?

“Have my mother and brother been by to see me?”

“The nurse in charge told me they’ve visited every day since the accident.” He gripped his thighs and inhaled. “However, once we figured out someone was trying to kill you, we…” He nailed her with a hard look.

“You what?”

“In order to keep you all safe, we told your mother and brother you had died. Your cremation was two days ago.”

Every muscle locked. “Oh my God. My mom won’t be able to cope with another death. Alcohol and drugs became her two best friends after my dad passed away. She’s still in self-destructive mode.”

“I’m sorry, but we needed the killer to believe you had died so he won’t come after you.”

She swallowed hard to understand the scope of the disaster. “I guess that makes sense.” She shot her gaze around the room. She wasn’t as worried about herself, as she was about her mom and brother. Craig needed a lot of care. “Will you protect them in case the killer doesn’t believe I’m dead?”

“We’ll send a cruiser by their house every day.”

“I appreciate that.” She furrowed her brow. “All that matters is that my family stays safe.”

He inhaled sharply. “I agree. To ensure
their
safety as well as your own, the FBI would like to move you temporarily somewhere safe. It’s not protocol, but given the high-profile case, we feel you need around-the-clock protection until we catch the killer.”

Her back bristled. “I can serve my friend and the other jurors better if I stay here and help investigate. I’ll remain in hiding if that’s what I need to do.”
Without someone looking over my shoulder.

“Ain’t going to happen. I can get your Caravello case file for you and you can study it, but that’s about the extent of involvement we’ll allow.”

She sat up and winced. Crap. “I owe it to my best friend and my family to help. So either I work with you or without you. Which will it be?”

She thought she caught a quick upturn of his lip. “Together works for me, but you can’t remain in the area.”

He actually expected her to leave home, desert her mom, and run away from her life. She took a few minutes to deliberate. “If justice will be better served, I’ll push aside my needs for now, but if I move out of DC I want assurance my mother and brother will be taken care of.” She wadded the blanket in her fist. When he didn’t answer, she searched for a win-win solution. “Craig is wheelchair-bound and I’ll need to hire a home healthcare worker to help him get around. I also will have to ask my coworkers to pick up the slack at work.”

“That’s good. Think of everything you need to do, but remember, I’ll have to make the arrangements. To the rest of the world, you’re dead.”

* * * *

After two more days trying to get Susan released from the hospital, followed by an arduous drive to Florida, Stone finally pulled into the safe house complex. The journey had been tough. Listening to Susan talk about her father’s death and how she tried to make him proud made him remember all too well his childhood. He wanted to assure her all would be well, but he didn’t want to start off with a lie.

“So how do you like your new digs?” He tried to put as much pep as possible into his tone as he pointed toward the new two-story brick building with the freshly planted landscaping. He mentally thanked the man in charge of placement. The town house was a lot nicer than he’d expected, but then again, this was a top priority case.

Susan rolled down the window, and the sweet smell of cut grass rushed in. He sneezed. Damn allergies.

“Bless you.” She looked out the side window. “This looks similar to where I grew up.”

In rural Virginia, where they had a lot of horse farms. He’d studied her background, including her success at Georgetown Law and in the courtroom. She was a very impressive woman, but also one who was lonely. “I’m glad.”

Instead of the smile he’d expected, she leaned her head back against the car seat and closed her eyes. If misery had a face, it would be hers.

“Why did we have to drive all the way to Tampa?” Her pouty lips barely moved. “I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but couldn’t you have found a place in, say, North Carolina?”

He’d wondered when she’d ask. He opened the driver’s side door to take advantage of the warm cross breeze and swiveled toward her. “I wish we could have placed you somewhere closer, but we figured the farther you are from DC, the safer you and your family will be.”

She opened her eyes. “I guess the fact someone broke into my office two days ago and stole the Caravello file clinched the decision. They don’t believe I’m dead despite all your efforts. Do they?”

“Can’t be sure.”

He’d been in the business long enough to know unless they caught the killer first, the man wouldn’t stop until she was dead.

“Agent Watson?”

“Stone. Please. Until this case is solved, we can’t have neighbors hear you call me ‘agent.’ It raises questions.”

“Stone, then. If my mother and brother believed I died, why didn’t the killer?”

“We can’t be sure what he knows. One of your coworkers could have decided to do some research on your death and taken the file.”

“I can see Brian wanting to help find out who killed me.”

“Let’s not dismiss the possibility the killer could have been at your house when the car exploded. He would have seen Anne-Marie get into the car instead of you and realized he’d killed the wrong woman.” Being blunt might unsettle her, but she deserved to know the truth. “We want to err on the side of caution.”

“Good point.” She tightened her fists.

Not only a classic beauty but smart, too. This independent woman was nothing like the scared, desperate victims he normally protected. Her constant questions and challenges kept him alert. He liked that. Even under the toughest of circumstances, she fought to gain control while maintaining her dignity. No doubt about it, Susan Chapman was one tough woman. And sexy, too, with her slim waist and impossibly long legs.

He cleared his throat, annoyed where his mind had drifted, and pulled the key from the ignition. “The sooner you’re settled, the less suspicion we’ll bring to our doorstep.” He jumped out.

After he removed the luggage from the trunk, he followed her up the brick walkway to the front door, her head held high. He just wished she didn’t have to sway her hips in such an enticing manner. A man with less control would have her in bed in a DC minute.

She turned around and caught his gaze for a moment before stepping inside. He couldn’t decide if she blamed him for her situation or was angry at the killer. Either way, her feisty attitude would help her adjust to the rough days ahead.

She stopped in the middle of the foyer and surveyed the open kitchen and living room. She ran her uninjured hand on the shiny granite counter top, and her shoulders relaxed. The upscale place seemed to meet with her approval. Good. One less hurdle to jump.

He placed the luggage in the foyer. Light from the large living room window filled the spacious area. The overstuffed chairs across from the leather sofa looked comfortable.

“Wait here. I’m going to check out the upstairs.” The two-bedroom town house took all of five minutes to search. He jogged downstairs toward the entrance. “All clear.”

She blew out a breath. “Thank God.”

Susan shuffled over to the dark brown sofa and plopped down on the end cushion. She grabbed a blue pillow to her chest and drew her knees close. Much of her shoulder-length blonde hair had escaped the ponytail holder, and her coloring was too gray for his liking, but there was a definite challenge sparking in her eyes. He wanted to tell her things would get better, but the right words wouldn’t form.

She raised a bandaged arm, winced, and lowered her hand to her lap. Her jaw tightened. Susan’s life would never be the same even after the criminal was brought to justice.

She looked over at him. “I want to start rehab right away. I hate hurting every time I move.”

He appreciated her aggressive, back-to-business attitude. “I’ll look into a center tomorrow. How does that sound?”

“Good. So what do I do about money?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of everything. Your hardest job is to remember you are no longer Susan Chapman. She’s dead. You are now—”

She looked up. “I know. Taylor Daniels. A woman with a whole lot of problems who needs a really good plan. Right now, I have no family, no money, and no job.”

He could tell her he knew all about growing up without a family and having no money, but now wasn’t the time to swap sad stories with her. “It comes with wanting to stay alive.”

The usual platitude left a bitter taste in his mouth despite the statement’s truth. Having to rip people out of their lives headed his “this sucks” list. Yet he continued to do it time and again because in the end he helped keep people safe.

He strode over to the comfy-looking beige chair and sat opposite her. The lines tightened around her focused blue eyes. If he knew of a way to soften the tension rippling across Susan’s face, he would. The way she drummed her fingers on the sofa’s arm and squeezed the life out of the pillow reminded him of his grandmother. Gram was all piss and vinegar at not being able to beat cancer. In the end, she lost the battle, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.

During the Caravello trial, he’d watched a few of the proceedings and witnessed Susan’s tough prosecutor style. He hoped with her determination to find answers, she wouldn’t remember seeing him at that trial nor learn why he’d asked for this assignment. The resulting questions would definitely hurt his ability to protect her.

His job was to make sure she stayed safe, but something inside lured him into wanting to make her recovery easier. “You want something to drink?”
Or something to punch?

Her eyes flew open. “No.” She swallowed hard as if she were trying to deal with the enormity of her situation. “But, thank you anyway.”

To give her time to come to grips with her new life, he picked up a
Tampa Bay
magazine from the glass coffee table and flipped though the glossy pages, but he couldn’t focus on the contents. When he glanced up a moment later, her eyes were closed, her breath ragged.

He got up to get a glass of water for himself. Halfway across the kitchen, his cell rang. The caller ID flashed Harrison Lowry’s name on the screen, and his muscles tensed. “Stone.”

“We’ve had another incident,” his superior said.

He steeled his body and walked over to the open bar, his back to Susan. He lowered his voice. “Hit me.”

“Janet Starkey was found murdered this afternoon. That makes five dead jurors.”

He slid onto one of the stools and shot a glance at Susan. She twisted toward him and pinned him with her probing stare.

He dragged a hand down his unshaven chin. “Wasn’t she under our protection?”

“Yup.”

“Which means—”

“No one’s safe anymore.”