Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (16 page)

Once in the hall, she paused and gave her pulse a chance to moderate. That had gone well. Mark seemed to appreciate the gift, and he’d paid her a personal compliment. He thought she was considerate. That was a promising start.

Saturday morning, she’d implement part two. And before she was through, Mark Hamilton would know how interested she was in him.

As she walked back toward her room assignment for the day, her spirits took a decided uptick. Maybe her romantic notions about Mark weren’t pie-in-the-sky after all. He’d been receptive a few minutes ago. Perhaps he would be on Saturday too. She had other ideas to get him to notice her as well—and she’d try them all, if necessary.

After that, the ball would be in his court.

And if she was lucky, he’d decide to play.

Dev started to reach for the phone on his desk. Turned back to his computer. Aimed another look at the phone.

“What’s with you?” Nikki grunted and stood, a large stack of files in her arms. The pile had dwindled while he’d driven down to Soulard to pay a visit to Mark Hamilton’s house, and she was still hard at it. “Do you know how many times you’ve gone through that routine in the past ten minutes?”

There was nothing wrong with their office manager’s observation skills. She had eyes like an eagle.

“What’s it to you?”

She cocked her head and ignored his question. “This new indecisive mode is different. Must be related to your librarian.”

Yeah, she was way too observant.

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.” He swung away and focused on his computer screen, hoping she’d let it drop.

Fat chance.

“That means I’m right.” She rested a hip on the edge of his desk, apparently in no hurry to leave. “You know, since it’s your birthday, I doubt anyone would give you a lot of trouble for fudging the rules a tad and inviting her out for a drink.”

“Not on the agenda.”

“Then have dinner with us. Danny would love it, and I could tolerate your presence for one night.”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “That’s the most backhanded invitation I’ve ever received.”

“Take it or leave it.” She stood, shifted the files to her other arm, and cleared her throat. “But seriously, you’d be welcome. We have plenty of food, and birthdays should be celebrated with people who care.”

He caught the fleeting melancholy that passed over her eyes, reminding him that once upon a time, in the abusive home she’d exchanged for life on the street at fifteen, birthdays had passed unnoticed. And that despite her sassy attitude, she still carried scars from those days. It was a tribute to her perseverance that she’d created a better life not only for herself but for her younger brother.

Mollified, he smiled at her. “I appreciate the thought, but I have to work tonight.”

For a few seconds she studied him, as if assessing the truth of that statement. Then she shrugged, her usual impertinent demeanor back in place. “Fine.” She moseyed over to the door, where she turned. “But do yourself a favor. Call the lady and end your birthday with a few pleasant moments.”

As she disappeared down the hall, Dev leaned back in his chair and eyed the phone. Socializing with clients was verboten—but could he bend the rules a touch? After all, hadn’t he been doing that all along, by inviting Laura to go with him to the shelter?

Maybe.

And his work plans for tonight did involve a return visit to Mark Hamilton’s, where he hoped to catch the man at home, since no one had answered the door today. He’d handle the questioning alone, but what could it hurt to have Laura ride along? There wasn’t much chance he’d spend more than ten minutes with the man, tops. Then the two of them could stop for coffee, if she was willing. Besides, he owed her an update. Rachel hadn’t heard from Darcy today, nor had the teen shown at the station. He was about to throw in the towel on Greyhound, and she needed to know that too.

Besides, it was his birthday, as Nikki had pointed out.

Once more he scooted toward the phone, reached for it—and didn’t pull back.

Mark opened the back door of his house, stepped inside, and set the locks behind him. After depositing his briefcase on the bare top of the built-in desk, he dropped Faith’s offering beside it.

His lip curled in disgust as he regarded the smiley-face pattern on the gift bag. He’d begun to suspect she had a crush on him, and this clinched it. The last thing he needed was another female complication in his life. He had his hands full with Darcy—and Darcy was all that mattered.

On the other hand, he didn’t want to hurt Faith’s feelings. She was an excellent, reliable, flexible worker who was always willing to fill in wherever needed when they were short-staffed—a frequent occurrence. What had happened to people’s work ethic, anyway? These days, they just up and quit with no notice, despite the bad economy. He couldn’t afford to lose an employee as conscientious as Faith.

But he sure didn’t want her pursuing him, either.

That, however, was a dilemma for another day. He was home now, and he had an agenda for the evening. All day he’d been trying to think of some way to demonstrate to Darcy that he didn’t
mean her any harm. She needed to understand that he had plans for her, that she had happier days to look forward to.

And he’d come up with an inspired idea as he drove home.

He stopped at the sink, turned on the faucet, and sudsed his hands. After a thorough rinse, he evaluated them under the light.

Faith was right. They were a lot worse than usual. That was due in part to the washing he did at work to keep germs at bay, but more because of the washing he’d been doing at home since Darcy had come into his life. The same thing had happened with Angela and Denise too, but their stays had been short. Darcy, however, would be here for the long term if everything went as he hoped—meaning his hands could become an ongoing issue.

He sudsed up again, casting a glance at the desk. The lotion Faith had given him was high-end stuff. He’d tried plenty of products like that over the years. Once, when he’d gotten a raise, he’d even splurged and bought a bottle of the very product Faith had bought him. But he couldn’t afford it on a regular basis—and neither could she.

As long as she’d given it to him, though, why not use it? He didn’t want his hands to raise questions, and he’d noticed several of the aides at work today giving them the once-over. This stuff would help minimize the redness and cracking.

After drying his hands, he crossed to the desk, pulled the lotion from the bag, and removed the cap. He put a dab on each palm and rubbed it in, liking the silky feel. Taking his time, he headed for the stairs to the second level.

He’d give the lotion a few minutes to soak in.

And then he’d pay Darcy a visit with his little surprise.

T
hat’s it, up ahead on the left. The one with the iron fence in front.”

As Dev pointed out Mark Hamilton’s row house, Laura leaned forward in the front seat of the Explorer. “There are lights on.”

“A positive sign.” Dev slowed, as if he intended to pull up to the curb, then suddenly picked up speed and passed the house.

Laura shot him a surprised look. “What’s wrong?”

“Maybe nothing. But there’s a woman sitting in a blue Ford Focus across the street who seems to be watching Hamilton’s house.”

Craning her neck, Laura looked through the back window. Even with the moonlight reflecting off the snow, she had no idea how Dev had spotted a person in a dark car.

The man was a total pro.

“Do you think that’s important?”

“Not likely. She could be looking for an address, or she might have spotted a stray dog and is waiting for the coast to clear before she heads for her own house. On the other hand, I’ve learned never to make assumptions in this business. We’ll give her a few minutes and drive by again.”

Laura settled back in her seat as he turned at the corner. “What if she’s there when we come back?”

“We wait her out—unless you need to be somewhere. I don’t want to monopolize your evening.”

“It’s only six o’clock—and finding Darcy is my top priority. Besides, other than putting in some practice time on my fencing, I have no plans for the night. But I bet you do.” A guy like Dev probably had a black book an inch thick. He might not be over the tragic romance in his past, but she doubted he was averse to female companionship. “These kinds of assignments must play havoc with your social life.”

“Sometimes. But I didn’t have plans for tonight, either.”

His prompt reply was good news—for her, anyway.

He swung around another corner, and she gripped the armrest as they skidded slightly on a slick spot.

“Steady.” His hand shot out to rest on her knee. “We’re fine.”

He might be, but she wasn’t. Not with the warmth of his fingers seeping through the denim fabric of her jeans and shooting straight to her heart. Nevertheless, she preferred that to the chill left behind when he retracted his hand.

Dev circled a few more blocks, then once more turned onto Hamilton’s street, flipping open the storage compartment between their seats. “There’s a notebook and pencil in there. If she’s still parked in front of the house, I’ll read her license as we drive by. Would you jot it down?”

“Sure.” She dug around for the pad of paper and the pencil.

Half a minute later, he recited the letters and numbers as they passed the woman’s car. After pulling into an empty spot by the curb a few cars ahead of her, he flipped off his lights but left the engine running and the heater cranked up.

“Was she still watching the house?” Laura twisted in her seat, but the shadows of the night continued to hide the woman from her view.

“Intently.” Dev’s gaze was fixed on his rearview mirror, and he adjusted it from inside for a better view.

“That’s kind of odd, isn’t it?”

“Interesting, at least. I’ll check her out later.”

“You have access to car license data?”

“Yes.” He remained focused on the rearview mirror. “Licensed PIs can get into REJIS—the Regional Justice Information Service. It’s the same system patrol officers use for traffic stops. We have legal entrée to almost everything law enforcement does, except the FBI’s National Crime Information Center.” He shifted in his seat to alter his line of sight. “She’s leaving.”

A sudden arc of headlights followed his comment, and a few seconds later the Focus rolled by on the snow-packed road. She caught only a quick glimpse of the driver’s curly black hair and pixie profile before the young woman turned their direction to look back at Hamilton’s house. Laura shrank back in her seat, but Dev touched her arm.

“Don’t worry. The dark windows make us invisible.”

“Oh.” She straightened up. “A tool of the trade?”

“A critical tool.” He did a fast sweep of the deserted street. “I won’t be long. I’d prefer to shut the engine off so we don’t attract attention. Will you get too cold?”

She held up her gloves, then slipped them on. “Thermal. I’ll be fine.”

“Lock the doors after I get out. This isn’t the safest neighborhood. If you have any problem at all, don’t hesitate to lay on the horn.”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Let’s see what Hamilton has to say.” He exited the vehicle, waiting beside the door until she hit the locks. Once they clicked, he gave her a thumbs-up and walked down the street, turning in at the short iron fence. From her vantage point, she could watch through the side windows as he crossed the front lawn, climbed the three steps to the small stoop, and pressed the bell.

After thirty seconds, he pressed the bell again.

Still no response.

That was odd, since lights on both floors were lit.

After a full minute passed, Dev retraced his steps down the path, left through the iron gate, and slid in beside her once she released the locks.

“It seems Mr. Hamilton isn’t in the mood for company.” He rested his hands on the wheel, the light from the street lamp casting the twin crevices in his brow into sharp relief.

“Maybe he just leaves a lot of lights on for security when he isn’t home.”

“He’s home. Or someone is. I could hear a muffled sound, like a heavy pot dropping on the floor, after the doorbell rang the first time.”

“If his wife is there alone, she might not open the door for strangers. As you pointed out, it’s not the best neighborhood.”

“That’s possible. But he hasn’t returned my calls, either. I’ll run some background on him tonight when I get home and have Nikki dig deeper tomorrow.” He put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

While Laura was glad Dev was thorough, odds were the man would be of little use to them. There was probably a valid reason he hadn’t returned calls or answered the door—one that had nothing to do with Darcy.

To make matters worse, the other leads were drying up too. As Dev had told her on the drive down, Rachel hadn’t heard from Darcy. Neither had Brianna in New York. He’d also recommended they pull surveillance from the Gateway Station after tonight. That meant Hamilton was their last hope—and he didn’t appear to be panning out.

Her spirits nose-dived, and the view of the snowy street in front of her blurred as moisture clouded her vision. She groped in her pocket for a tissue but came up empty.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” But the tremor in her response to Dev’s quiet question belied her assurance.

“Don’t give up.”

A tear spilled out of one eye and started to track down her cheek. She dug deeper in her pocket and remained silent, not trusting her traitorous voice.

“There are usually a few napkins from fast-food places in the glove compartment.” He took one hand off the wheel and released the catch for her.

So much for hiding her sudden display of emotion.

She leaned forward, reached in—and yanked her hand back with a startled exclamation.

“What’s wrong?” His tone sharpened as he pressed on the brake.

“There’s something soft and . . . sticky . . . in there.” She leaned toward the storage compartment again, keeping her hand a safe distance away from her body. “It looks like . . . a piece of cake?” Hard to tell now, since she’d mashed whatever it was and a napkin covered part of it. But when she lifted her fingers to her nose and took a sniff, she got an unmistakable whiff of sugar—as in icing.

“Oh. I forgot all about that. Sorry. I stuck it in there so it wouldn’t roll around on the backseat and get all over the upholstery.” Dev fumbled in his pocket and handed her a handkerchief. “It’s clean.”

She took it and wiped the gooey residue off her fingers. “You keep cake in your glove compartment?”

“Not usually.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “They brought me a cake at work today for my birthday, and I was taking a piece home.”

“Today’s your birthday?” She stared at his profile in the darkness.

“Yeah.”

“And you spent it chasing a lead on my case?”

“I often end up working on my birthday. It’s not an issue.”

“My mom wouldn’t have agreed with you. I can still hear her saying, ‘Laura, most days in life are ordinary. When special ones roll around, celebrate and make happy memories to carry you through the dull days.’” She finished wiping off her fingers, wadded the handkerchief into a small ball, and stuffed it in her pocket for later laundering. “That’s one of the few things we agreed on. I’ll always remember the elaborate cakes and clowns and ponies and face painters she used to round up for my birthdays.”

“I think I’ve outgrown that kind of stuff.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“There are other ways to celebrate—and I feel bad I kept you from enjoying any of them.”

After a slight hesitation, he responded. “How bad?”

“What do you mean?”

“Bad enough to join me for dinner so I don’t have to eat alone on my birthday?”

He was asking her to dinner?

“Unless you already ate.” He tacked on the caveat as she grappled with the surprising invitation.

“No.” There was no hesitation in
her
response.

“Then how about it? I won’t keep you out late. I have more work to do later on Hamilton. And it would make my mom happy too. When I talked to her earlier, she wasn’t pleased about my birthday plans. She’ll be glad to know I didn’t end up eating a frozen dinner and a piece of leftover cake.”

It would make my mom happy too.

That last little three-letter word perked up her spirits.

“Since I smashed the cake in question, it’s the least I can do.”

“True.” His smile was caught for an instant in the glow of a streetlight before it disappeared in the shadows. “But I get a real birthday dinner in return, so you’re actually doing me a favor.”

She gave his strong profile a quick inspection as she braced herself while he turned onto the highway entrance ramp. He thought she’d done
him
a favor?

No way.

When it came to sharing dinner, she was definitely the one on the receiving end.

Darcy gripped the back of the upholstered chair in front of her, fingers clenching the velour fabric as the key rattled in the lock. Mark had said he’d be here at six. It was now quarter past, and with every minute that had ticked by after the hour, her tension had mounted.

Would he be in a good mood or a bad mood tonight?

She cast another quick glance around the room. Everything was in its place. She’d eaten all her food. Done her two miles on the treadmill. Followed all the rules.

But maybe that wasn’t enough to keep you safe if you were dealing with a crazy person.

He pushed through the door, a long garment bag draped over his arm. “Hello, Darcy. Did you have a nice day?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” He checked the odometer on the treadmill. Gave the room a scan. Noted the laundry she’d bundled up, per his instructions. Looked in the refrigerator. “You’ve done well—and admirable behavior should be rewarded. I have a surprise for you.”

He crossed to the closet and hung the bag on the clothes rod. Smiling at her, he pulled down the zipper and carefully removed the garment inside.

It was a . . . wedding dress?

She stared at the satin and lace confection as he turned toward her and let the fabric of the skirt float down to sweep over the carpet in a graceful arc.

“Do you like it?”

Tightening her grip on the back of the chair, she tried to keep breathing. “It’s very pretty.”

“It is, isn’t it?” He straightened a fold in the skirt. “I’ve had it a long time, just waiting for the right person to come along. I think she has at last.” He fingered the lace at the neckline. “How would you like to wear this?”

A wave of revulsion shuddered through her as panic clawed at her throat. “I’m only s-sixteen.”

“Almost seventeen, according to your driver’s license. And eighteen is the magic age. A year isn’t that long to wait. It will give us time to get to know one another better.”

The breath whooshed out of her lungs.

He was going to keep her locked in this basement prison for a
year
?

“I wanted you to have something to look forward to. That’s why I showed you this. You have great promise. I never let Angela or Denise see it.”

Angela and Denise?

Her gaze flicked in the direction of the freezers on the other side of the basement.

There must be two more girls over there.

Girls who’d made a mistake—and paid for it with their life.

Just as she would.

Because the truth was, no matter how hard she tried, the longer she stayed down here, the greater the probability she’d run afoul of his rules and end up like her predecessors.

She had to figure out some way to outmaneuver him and get out of this place ASAP!

“Would you like to touch it?”

His question drew her back to the moment. Yes or no—which was the right answer?