Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (26 page)

“Oh, I will!” She hugged it to her chest and tucked one of those annoying curls behind her ear, her face softening as the last of her wariness melted away. “After Saturday, I never expected anything like this.”

At the non sequitur, he frowned. “Saturday?”

A flush rose on her cheeks, and she clutched the candy tighter—as if she was afraid he was going to snatch it back. “I shouldn’t have let that slip, I guess.” She chewed on her bottom lip and took a deep breath. “The thing is . . . I baked some homemade cinnamon rolls on Saturday morning and decided to bring a few to your house. But as I was walking up toward the door, I caught a glimpse of a girl at the window, so I turned around and left.”

Faith had been at his house?

She’d seen Darcy?

A roar filled his head.

“Mr. Hamilton?” Faith leaned forward, the color fading from her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I’m not upset.” Somehow he managed to get the words out.
Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm. If you spook her, she’ll clam up before you find out what else she might have seen.
“I was just surprised. You should have rung the bell.”

“I didn’t want to . . . interrupt.” Her fingers picked at the ribbon on the box of candy. “I thought maybe she was a girlfriend, especially after that guy stopped me on the way back to my car.”

The roar swelled.

“What guy?”

“I don’t know who he was. He said he was looking for his sister, who’d been at a party in your neighborhood the night before—maybe at your house. Didn’t he ring your bell and ask about her? He said he was going to.”

His hands started to itch, and he clenched them into fists in his lap.

“No. And I didn’t have a party Friday night. Nor do I have a girlfriend. A bunch of college kids live next door, and sometimes a couple of them stop by on Saturday morning for my hot chocolate. It’s famous in the neighborhood.” The glib words tumbled out of his mouth. He had no idea where they’d come from.

Relief smoothed the renewed tension from her features. “It just goes to show how jumping to conclusions can lead to all sorts of misunderstandings. I should have known you weren’t the wild party type. But even though I was kind of upset most of the weekend, I still said nice things about you to that consultant who came by Saturday afternoon.”

Mark’s heart stuttered as he tried to keep up with her rapid changes of subject. “What consultant?”

She lifted one shoulder. “Some guy from Chicago. He said his company was doing research on the daycare industry and they were paying people who worked in the field seventy-five bucks to answer twenty minutes’ worth of questions.”

“This guy asked about me?” The itching in his hands intensified.

“No, I was the one who brought up your name. At the end, he asked me what qualities I thought made an effective daycare
manager, and I used you as an example.” She chewed on her lip again. “I hope that was all right. I said all positive things.”

“What was the name of this company?”

She scrunched up her face. “It had letters in it . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t remember. He gave me a card, though.”

“Do you have it with you?”

“No. I think it’s in the pocket of my jeans at home. Why?”

It was hard to talk over the roar in his head.

“I’m sure Mr. Davis would be interested to know one of his employees has been interviewed for a study.”

She leaned forward, concern etching her features. “He didn’t ask anything about our center. Just general questions. I’d never say anything bad about Davis Daycare, anyway.”

“I know that.” He coaxed the corners of his lips up a fraction and gripped the arms of his chair, trying to ignore the fierce urge to scratch his hands. “He might be curious about the research they’re doing, though. Could you bring the card in tomorrow?”

“Sure.”

“Great.” He rolled his chair toward his computer. “I’ll let you get back to work now. And thank you again for the gift.”

“You’re welcome.” She rose, hugging the Godiva box as she backed away. “And thank you again for the candy. I love chocolate.”

“My pleasure. Now . . . work calls.” He gestured to his desk, hoping she didn’t notice the tremble in his fingers. “Would you shut the door as you leave?”

“Sure. Talk to you later.” She beamed at him and slipped through, closing it behind her.

The instant it clicked, Mark rose and began to pace, raking his clipped nails over the back of one hand, then the other.

Something was going on.

And it wasn’t good.

The story about the guy looking for his sister sounded fishy—especially since he’d never followed through on his conversation with Faith and rung the doorbell to ask about his supposed missing sibling.

The consultant was even fishier, despite the card the guy had given Faith. He’d check that out first thing tomorrow, once he had the name and phone number—but he had a strong suspicion it would turn out to be phony.

Because given Devlin’s confirmation yesterday that Phoenix was still on the case, he’d be willing to bet the guys who’d talked to Faith were connected to the investigation.

He was still in their sights.

Maybe they were even tailing him, watching his house.

His pulse spiked, and he froze.

Was that possible—or was he being paranoid?

No matter. He couldn’t take a chance. He’d have to adjust his plans slightly.

But the end result would be the same.

As Dev swung into her driveway, Laura stepped onto the front porch, turned her key in the lock, and started down the walk.

He opened his door and slid out, smiling as she drew close. “You must have been watching for me.”

“I was. I thought I’d save you a walk in light of your all-night surveillance stint.”

“After being cooped up for twelve hours, I don’t mind stretching my legs.” He reached for her tote bag and took her arm as they circled the Explorer. “I even bypassed the drive-through and went inside to get my double cheeseburger and fries.”

“At eight-thirty in the morning?”

“It’s dinnertime for me.”

“I guess that’s true.” He shut the door behind her, and she secured her seat belt as he retraced his steps, then slid in beside her. “Thanks again for the offer of a lift. My boss would have picked me up, but she’s got several little ones at home and it’s tough to get everyone moving early in the morning.”

“Do you need a ride home too?”

“No—but thanks for asking. The rental car place is going to drop off a car for me at the library.”

“In that case, I plan to sleep all afternoon.”

As he backed out, she studied the faint purple tinge beneath his lashes and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The all-nighters were taking a toll—and as far as she could tell, they weren’t producing much.

“So how long do you plan to continue the surveillance?”

“Tough to say. We don’t have any real evidence pointing to Hamilton’s involvement in Darcy’s disappearance, but I’m getting bad vibes about him. We’ll regroup midweek. The double set of eyes during the day is expensive, and I don’t want to waste your money if we don’t turn up some definite connection by then.”

They passed the freshly marred telephone pole at the side of the road, and she asked the question she’d been dreading since he’d inspected her garage Saturday afternoon. “Did you hear from your mechanic friend?”

“Yes. He gave your car a thorough going-over first thing this morning and called me a few minutes ago. The brake lines weren’t cut, but there was a sizeable hole in the front line—and the front brakes provide 70 percent of stopping power on a rear-wheel-drive vehicle.”

She tightened her grip on the handle of the tote bag in her lap and braced herself. “Was it a man-made hole?”

“He couldn’t confirm that. The best he’d give me was fifty-fifty.”

Some of the tension in her shoulders dissolved. “So there’s a strong possibility it truly was an accident.”

The Explorer slowed as they approached the bottom of her hill. “Strong might be pushing it.”

Her shoulders tightened again. “You still think it was deliberate?”

“The way this case has been going, let’s just say I’m suspicious. But we can’t prove it.” He looked over at her, his intent gaze lingering on the burn on her face. “How are you feeling today?”

“Still achy, but the Tylenol is helping, and the salve they gave me for this”—she gestured to the burn—“is great.”

“Did you think about calling in sick?”

“Yes, but sitting home worrying about Darcy all day wasn’t appealing. At work I’ll be forced to focus on other things for a few hours.”

“Makes sense, as long as you’re up to it.”

She angled toward him as she gathered her courage to broach the next question. “Dev . . . it’s been almost ten days since she disappeared. I did some reading about teen runaways on the Net yesterday. The stuff they can encounter is very scary. Drugs, gangs, exploitation, violence, assault, suicide . . .”

When her words trailed off, he gave her an apologetic glance. “The street isn’t a pretty place, Laura. Runaways do face a lot of dangers.”

Her tiny hope he’d downplay what she’d read deflated.

She moistened her lips and steeled herself. “One article I read said a third of the teens who don’t return within forty-eight hours are lured into prostitution, and within two weeks 75 percent are involved in theft, drugs, or pornography.” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “You’ve spent a lot of time on the street. What do you think the odds are Darcy’s still okay?”

His jaw hardened, and he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. As he swung onto the main road and accelerated, he kept his face in profile instead of looking at her.

Bad sign.

“I think we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” His tone was careful, reasoned, matter-of-fact. “The stats are daunting—but not everyone becomes a statistic. Darcy might be headstrong and too cocky, but from everything you’ve said over the past week, she’s bright and basically a good kid. She might be fine and coming to her senses as we speak. For all we know, you’ll either get a call one of these days from her saying she’s had a change of heart and wants to come home, or she’ll just show up at your house.”

Laura desperately wanted to believe that.

“You’re not saying that to placate me, are you?”

This time he did look at her. “No. I’ve seen it happen before. It’s a possibility. But in our business, we always operate under the
worst assumptions. That keeps our investigation focused and helps us maintain a sense of urgency.”

She scrutinized him, searching for any sign of deceit, but found none. As far as she knew, he’d been honest with her all along. There was no reason to think he’d change course at this point. If he believed there was a chance Darcy could reappear on her own, there was—however slim.

Settling back in the seat, she cradled her wrist as they drove through the snow-covered landscape. The roads were clear now, except for a few icy patches on side streets, and Dev made excellent time to the library. He also managed to elicit a few smiles from her with stories about his childhood—a purposeful distraction, she knew, but she appreciated the effort in light of his obvious fatigue.

As he pulled up in front of the main entrance and came around to open her door, he took her hand . . . and held onto it once she slid out.

Lifting her chin, she gave him a surprised look.

“We’re working this as hard as we can, Laura.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“Something will break soon.”

“I’m holding on to that thought.”

With a final squeeze, he released her fingers. “I’ll call you later, after I catch up on sleep, and give you an update. In the meantime, try not to worry too much.”

“I can try.”

She watched while he took his place behind the wheel again and pulled away from the curb. Sixty seconds later, as the Explorer disappeared into traffic and she turned toward the library, she resolved to do her best to live up to her promise.

But until Darcy showed up at her door, or called to say she was okay, or Dev tracked her down, she had a feeling that keeping her worry at bay was going to be a losing battle no matter how hard she tried.

C
CD Consulting. All lines are busy at the moment. Please leave your name, number, and a brief message and we’ll return your call as soon as possible.”

A beep sounded on the toll-free number.

So the company had an active business line.

Could it be legit after all?

Jack Ferguson’s business card in hand, Mark hung up, swung around to his computer, and Googled the company.

Nothing came up in Chicago with the firm’s name, and there was no address on the business card.

CCD Consulting was a fake, as he’d suspected . . . meaning Darcy’s sister had to be dealt with ASAP. Once she was out of the picture and the PIs were no longer being paid, they’d drop the case. The police would step in to investigate her disappearance, but with their stretched resources and no relatives clamoring for action, they weren’t going to stay on it long without any leads.

And there wouldn’t be any. He’d make certain of that. Long before the spring thaw set in next month, the case would be as cold as the piles of ice on his lawn. Laura Griffith would be just another missing person on the police department’s long list.

Plus, after spending most of yesterday refining his contingency plan, he knew how to make her disappear. Fast.

A soft knock sounded on his door, and Faith stuck her head inside.

The very person he wanted to see.

“Did you find the . . . oh.” Her gaze homed in on the CCD card in his hand. “I guess you did. Was it helpful?”

“Yes. Very.” He set it on his desk and motioned her in, then folded his hands to disguise the tremble in his fingers. “Would you close the door for a minute?”

She sent him an uncertain look but did as he asked.

“I know you have work to do and I won’t keep you, but I wanted to ask if you’d like to stop by my place tonight and try some of that famous hot chocolate I mentioned yesterday.”

Her eyes widened. “Seriously?”

“Why not? I have a nice fireplace, it’s cold outside—can you think of a better way to spend an evening?”

From her expression, you’d think she’d won the lottery. “No. That sounds wonderful! What time would you like me to come?”

“How about seven-thirty?”

“I’ll be there.”

He conjured up a smile. “And I’ll have the hot chocolate waiting.” As she started to turn away, he spoke again, as if it was an afterthought. “Oh . . . it’ll be better if you park on the street behind me and cut between the houses. The frat boys next door have a lot of drinking parties, and they damaged a car parked in front of my house over the weekend. I wouldn’t want that to happen to yours. If you’ll call me on your cell when you arrive, I’ll escort you over.”

Her eyes lit up. “Thank you for that offer. It’s hard to find a gentleman these days. Your mother must have raised you right.”

His smile turned so brittle he was afraid his lips would crack. “I’m sure she’d appreciate you saying that.” He gestured to his desk. “Sorry to rush things, but I’m snowed today.”

“That’s okay. We have tonight to look forward to.” Her smile held a hint of suggestiveness as she slipped through the door and closed it behind her.

His mouth flattened in disgust. This charade couldn’t be over fast enough to suit him.

On the other hand, he’d found a way to take advantage of her silly schoolgirl crush. How else would he have managed to implement his plan? It wasn’t as if he had any buddies he could use. Making and maintaining friends took a lot of effort. Plus, they expected you to share your opinions, your feelings, your history. And girlfriends were worse, from everything he’d heard. They wanted to know every little thing about a guy—including his secrets.

Not going to happen.

Even when he did find the right girl . . . the one who would redeem him . . . he didn’t intend to share any of those things with her. His past would truly be past then, and it would never rear its ugly head again.

In the meantime, his pseudo, one-night girlfriend was more than sufficient for his needs.

And tomorrow, after Faith had served her purpose? It would be back to business as usual for both of them.

Even if dealing with the fallout from her side wasn’t going to be fun.

Dev stretched, yawned, and looked over at the bedside clock.

Had he really been out for seven hours?

Amazing.

He’d hoped for five at best, with the Costa Rica trip heating up and a new insurance fraud case on the docket. Either Connor had done double duty this afternoon at the office or he’d slept through the ringing phone. In any case, the extra sleep would help set him up for another long, cold night. That, plus a double-sized thermos of coffee and some soup.

Stifling another yawn, he swung his legs to the floor, grabbed his BlackBerry off the nightstand, and tapped in Cal’s number.

His partner answered on the first ring. “Tell me you’re planning to relieve me early so I can eat dinner with Moira.”

“Don’t push it, buddy.” He rose and stretched. Man, these long
sedentary surveillance gigs were a pain. One of these days soon, he was going to have to squeeze in a workout or his fitness routine would be shot. “You already owe me for my magnanimous offer to take all the night shifts as a concession to your newlywed status. My body clock is going to be out of whack for weeks.”

“It was a noble gesture, and you have my undying gratitude. Moira’s too. In fact, she’s talking about inviting you to the house for a home-cooked meal after this is all over as a thank-you.”

“Yeah?” He padded toward the bathroom, following the path of clothes he’d shed en route to bed after his all-nighter. “If she makes that pot roast she cooked for our company Christmas party, I’ll consider the sacrifice worthwhile and the debt fully paid.”

“I’ll pass your menu request along.”

“Anything going on down there?” He picked up the worn jeans from the floor and gave them a cursory inspection. They’d last another day.

“Nope. I followed him home from work. He didn’t stop anywhere. No fast-food place, no grocery store, no bar for a quick beer. Does this guy have a life?”

“I’m beginning to wonder. He hasn’t left the house since we began surveillance, except to go to work. Have you talked to Dale?”

“Yeah. About twenty minutes ago, as we did the handoff at the corner. He said there was zero activity at the house all day and no sign of the girl.”

“She must be a hermit too.” He detoured to the closet and rooted through the sweaters dumped in a pile on the floor. If things ever calmed down, he was going to have to do some serious straightening up around here. Laura would think he was a slob if she saw his apartment in its present state.

“Hey . . . you still there?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I got distracted for a sec.” He snagged a sweater.

“Would the distraction’s name be Laura?”

He stifled a sigh. Sometimes the cons of working with longtime friends who knew you well outweighed the pros.

“I’ll take the fifth.”

Cal’s chuckle came over the line. “That’s what I thought. Maybe you’ll get lucky and there’ll be a break tonight so you can wrap up this case.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice? See you in a couple of hours.”

As he tossed the phone on the bed and shoved his legs into the jeans, Dev hoped his partner was right.

But the way things were going, he’d most likely put in another long, cold night with nothing to show for it.

As the key rattled in the lock, Darcy jerked and raised her head from her drawn-up knees. For a moment the room swam. No surprise there in light of her meager menu over the past two days, since Mark had begun feeding her again. A scrambled egg, slice of toast, apple, bowl of soup, half a turkey sandwich, and two Gatorades might be enough for one day, but spread out over almost five? They’d barely put a dent in her hunger.

On the other hand, if he was trying to starve her to death, why was he feeding her at all?

The door opened and he crossed the room, a plate in his hand. On his previous visits, he’d neither looked at her nor spoken. This one was no different. He set the food on the floor at the outer limits of her reach and retreated, pulling the door closed behind him.

As the lock clicked into place and the room fell silent, Darcy stared at the plate.

Was that a
cheeseburger
?

Despite the weakness in her legs and a relentless pounding in her temples, she crawled toward it, extended her hand to grasp the edge of the plate, and pulled it toward her.

It wasn’t a mirage. The savory aroma wafting up to her nose confirmed the burger was real.

Yet as her salivary glands kicked into overdrive, so did her apprehension.

Why this sudden feast after her sparse diet of the previous five days?

The answer eluded her—but her brain hadn’t been working at 100 percent for the past two or three days. Putting some substantial food in her stomach would kick it back into gear. At least her worries about being poisoned had diminished. He’d had plenty of chances to spike her food with some lethal toxin if that had been his plan.

She picked up the burger, took a bite—and closed her eyes.

Nirvana.

Her survival instincts clamored for her to scarf it down, but she forced herself to eat slowly. Hadn’t she read somewhere once that if you’d been on a fast, a heavy meal was a no-no? And a burger qualified as heavy. It might shock her stomach.

Not eating it, however, wasn’t an option.

As she devoured it one tiny bite at a time, Darcy felt strength seeping back into her limbs—and the clarity of her thinking also began to improve.

But that had a downside.

Because as she washed the last bite down with some slurps of water from the bathroom sink, a terrifying explanation for the hearty dinner suddenly occurred to her.

Perhaps, like a prisoner on death row, she’d just been served her last meal.

If she swallowed more than another mouthful or two of Mark’s famous hot chocolate, Faith was going to lose her dinner.

“Do you like it?”

She pretended to take another sip as she debated how to answer her host’s question. If she lied and said yes, he might offer her more. But if she told the truth, she might jinx their very first date. Better to go with noncommittal.

Cradling the oversized mug in her hands, she leaned back on the
couch. “I’ve never had anything quite like it. Do I detect a slight cherry flavor?”

His eyes widened slightly. “You must have amazing taste buds to pick that up. The cherry-flavored syrup I use is very subtle.”

The words were complimentary . . . but he didn’t look pleased she’d identified his secret ingredient. Most people probably wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint it. But overindulging on chocolate-covered cherries the Christmas Eve when she was ten—and puking all night—had left her with an acute ability to detect even a drop of the detested flavor. And it never failed to turn her stomach.

No way did she intend to share that piece of her history, however.

“I’ve been able to pick up cherry flavor ever since I was a kid. One of those freaky idiosyncrasies, I guess. I can see why this is famous in the neighborhood.” She lifted the mug to her lips and faked another sip, trying not to gag.