Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (3 page)

Dev played with his pen. The simple answer was yes. Runaways faced threats on numerous fronts—drugs, gangs, alcohol, assault, to name a few. And the danger intensified the longer they stayed away, especially if they were wandering the streets. Theft—and worse crimes—could fast become a way of life as money ran low and desperation set in. Seventy-five percent of runaways who remained on the street for more than two weeks found themselves in big trouble.

But as he looked into Laura’s anxious face, he couldn’t bring himself to share that disheartening statistic. There would be plenty of time to bring it up later, if his initial steps to find Darcy proved fruitless.

“Not necessarily. Given the weather, she may have holed up somewhere with a friend you don’t know about, waiting for a break in the storm.”

“I hope that’s true.”

He did too—but he wouldn’t lay odds on it after all the stuff he’d seen.

Before she could press him for further reassurance, he stood and moved to his desk. After retrieving a client contact form from a drawer, he passed it to her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d fill this out for our records. We always do a brief background check on new clients to help ensure our services aren’t being used for some illegal end.”

She skimmed the form, sufficiently distracted by his request to
drop her previous line of questioning. “I guess that makes sense. We haven’t talked about fees yet, either.”

“We work on an hourly basis for most cases.” He quoted her the hefty amount; she didn’t blink.

“Whatever it takes.” She reached for the pen he’d left on the table. “When Darcy’s dad died, he left us equal shares in his and Mom’s estate. I can’t think of a better use for some of that money than finding Darcy.”

She bent to her task, and Dev returned to his desk. The window rattled as a gust of wind shook the glass, and he looked out. The winter storm the weather gurus had said would bypass St. Louis had instead launched a frontal attack, beginning Friday night with sleet. Steady freezing rain the past two days had coated the streets and the tree branches, weighing down the limbs of the pine outside his office window. The needled boughs were bending, trying to hold up under the strain, but if the assault continued, they’d eventually reach a breaking point—as most things did under pressure.

For the second time in an hour, the bad memories edged into his consciousness, trying to scale the wall he’d erected. Shoving them back, he focused on the slim woman at his office table instead. She’d slipped on a pair of glasses and was bent over the form, faint furrows of concentration marring her brow. Her studious air, simple makeup, and understated attire were in marked contrast to the double-pierced ears and world-here-I-come attitude that had come through loud and clear in the second photo of Darcy.

No wonder they’d clashed.

But despite their differences, it was obvious Laura cared deeply about the younger girl’s welfare. The faint smudges below her lashes, the creases at the corners of her eyes, and her taut posture spelled worry in capital letters.

And it wasn’t misplaced.

Girls like Darcy were easy prey for the wrong kind of people, New York street savvy notwithstanding.

A flicker of movement at the door caught his attention, and he
looked over as Nikki gestured to him. Leaving Laura to her task, he slipped into the hall and closed the door behind him.

“You could have told me she came here at your recommendation.”

“You’re complaining because I brought in business?” Nikki arched an eyebrow, then shrugged. “I didn’t know if she’d follow through—and what difference does it make, anyway?”

“I might need to talk to Danny, since he obviously knows the missing girl.”

“Not well. He’s smitten, but near as I can tell, your client’s sister has been ignoring him. It was all one way.”

“Still, he could have some piece of information that might be helpful.”

“Fine. I’ll tell him you might be in touch—which will make his day. He’s had a strong case of hero worship since he stayed with you while Steve and I were on our honeymoon. Go figure.” She rolled her eyes, then gestured to the window behind him. “It’s starting to snow, and the weatherpeople are predicting ten inches by tonight. Despite their bad call on the ice, I’m apt to believe them on this, given the accumulating evidence. If you don’t need me, I’d like to head home. I can do the monthly billing from there.”

“What about the files in the corner of my office? I thought you were going to get to those today. The pile’s about to topple.”

She gave him a disgruntled look. “The pile’s always about to topple. The faster I file them, the faster the stack grows. The world won’t end if they have to wait a day or two.”

“Fine. I’ll hold down the fort alone today.”

“Not quite.” She nodded toward the closed door.

“My client will be leaving shortly.”

“Maybe you can stall her.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

Nikki grinned but remained silent.

He blew out an exasperated breath. “She’s my client, Nikki.”

“So? Moira was Cal’s client, and they ended up getting married.”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah? How?”

“Look, just because you walked down the aisle a few months ago and are still the glowing bride doesn’t mean everyone has the same goal.” He shot her his most intimidating ATF-agent glare.

It didn’t work.

So what else was new?

“Suit yourself. However, your eyes did light up when she walked through the door.” Nikki sashayed back down the hall, throwing one final comment over her shoulder. “But she may not be the one. I can’t imagine you getting with a librarian.”

Librarian?

He gaped at Nikki’s retreating back. Based on his usual choice of dates, she was right. That would be a stretch.

Still processing that latest bit of news, he pushed back through the door.

Laura stood as he reentered, handing him the form as he joined her. A quick glance at the place-of-employment question confirmed her profession. She worked at one of the St. Louis County Library branches.

“So what are the next steps?”

He looked at her. She removed her reading glasses, and those big blue eyes fixed on him. The faint sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose was cute too. Not that he’d darkened the door of many libraries, but she didn’t fit his stereotype of a . . .

“Mr. Devlin?”

Her uncertain tone registered, and he shifted gears. Next steps. Right.

He cleared his throat. “Just make it Dev, okay? We’re not into formalities around here. My next step is to get the contact information for Brianna’s parents and give them a call, see if they can exert a little pressure on their daughter for information. I’ll also look into the Greyhound bus possibility. Any idea how she might have gotten downtown to the station?”

“No, but being a New Yorker, she’s adept at public transportation.”

“Then we’ll assume she took a bus or cab or found her way to a Metrolink station. With the city shut down since late Friday, she might not have made it out of town yet. That works to our advantage.”

“Is there anything more I can do to help?”

“Let me do some preliminary digging and I’ll get back to you on that. But please call if you come across anything that might offer us some other clues.” He plucked a card out of the holder on his desk and handed it over. “Use my cell number. I always have my BlackBerry with me.”

She took the card, and as her cold fingers brushed his, he had to fight a sudden urge to warm her hands in his.

Get a grip, Devlin. She’s a client—and not your type, anyway.

“Thanks.” She slipped the card in the pocket of her black slacks.

“I’ll show you out.” He followed down the hall to the reception area, retrieved her calf-length wool coat from the rack, and held it as she slipped her arms inside. “Let me walk you to your car.”

She eyed his dress shoes as she tugged a knit hat over her hair and wrapped a muffler around her neck. “Thanks, but I’m right in front . . . and better dressed for the weather.”

No argument there. Her footwear was designed for practicality, as were the insulated gloves she pulled out of a pocket. Both would serve her well in the swirling snow that was already obliterating the landscape. As it was, he’d be lucky to make it to his own car without slipping on the ice and breaking an arm.

Today’s attire wasn’t the finest example of his planning skills.

“Good point. I’ll walk you to the door instead.”

She accepted that offer with a nod. Circling behind Nikki’s desk, he pressed the release button on the floor with his foot before joining her at the entrance.

“You have quite a security setup here.”

“It pays to be cautious. The bad guys aren’t always happy with
the results of our work.” He grasped the handle on the door. “Be careful driving home.”

“I will.” She tucked her muffler closer as she prepared to plunge into the swirling snow. “Wherever Darcy is, I hope she’s warm and safe.”

“Hold that thought.”

She sent him a quick smile in response.

But as he watched her carefully navigate the icy sidewalk, clinging to her late-model red Civic for support as she rounded the hood, his own lips flattened. More often than not, teen runaways got into trouble—especially ones who thought they had street smarts. Minor delinquency and a brush with pot and alcohol wouldn’t prepare a girl like Darcy for the gritty rawness of the life she’d escaped to, where one out of three runaways were lured into prostitution within forty-eight hours.

And while the blizzard might delay her departure and keep her close to home for a couple of extra days, that scenario had a downside he hadn’t shared with his client. Darcy had limited funds and few friends in St. Louis. With her plans thwarted by the crippling storm, she’d need to seek temporary shelter somewhere until traffic started flowing again.

He just hoped she didn’t take refuge in the wrong place.

N
othing had gone according to plan.

Blanket draped over her shoulders, Darcy huddled on the cot, back propped against the wall in the church basement where she’d tossed and turned for the past two nights.

She was supposed to be in Chicago by now, settled in with Brianna’s friend at the apartment the aspiring actress shared with three other girls, and looking for a job.

Instead, she was spending her days seeking warmth in fast-food joints and her nights in a homeless shelter.

This wasn’t at all what she’d envisioned when she’d walked out the door of Laura’s house three days ago.

A shudder rippled through her as she surveyed the rows of cots. Most of the makeshift beds were empty now that daylight was peeking through the small windows at the top of the walls, but a slight stench hovered in the air from the dozens of unwashed bodies that had occupied them. The long table at one end of the room, where she’d grabbed a stale doughnut for breakfast, had also been cleared. Volunteers were straightening up the facility in preparation for another onslaught of homeless later tonight, since the storm showed no signs of abating.

Too bad she hadn’t picked a more opportune time to leave.

But who’d have guessed the meteorologists would miss the mark by such a wide margin? And how could she have known Greyhound
would shut down operations after two of their buses got stranded in the blizzard west of town? The behind-schedule local buses hadn’t helped, either. After her second transfer dumped her out near the Civic Center, she’d slipped and slid her way to Gateway Station—only to discover she’d missed the last Chicago-bound Greyhound by fifteen minutes.

Darcy heaved a sigh.

Total bummer.

But going back to Laura’s with her tail between her legs wasn’t an option. Even after spending Friday night scrunched in a hard chair in the station while she waited for word on schedules—and having her hat and gloves stolen when she dozed off for a few minutes. Even after the last two nights in this place.

Groping beneath the cot, she verified her backpack was still there. And she’d slept with her purse, so that was safe too—not that there was much of value inside. She wasn’t dumb enough to put her cash there. Every dollar, along with her bus ticket, had gone into the money belt hidden under her clothes. Although she’d almost accepted the discount hotel vouchers Greyhound had offered to stranded travelers, she was glad she hadn’t succumbed to temptation. She needed to preserve her cash until she made it to Chicago and found a job.

“You ready to go?”

At the question, Darcy looked over at the lanky young woman on the adjacent cot. Lucky thing she’d run into the almost-eighteen-year-old at the bus terminal. After being on her own close to two years, Star knew her way around the system. If it hadn’t been for her, Darcy would have been afraid to go with the two older ladies who’d shown up at the station claiming they were part of a winter outreach team and offering to give them food and a bed for the night in an emergency shelter. They’d seemed respectable, but you never knew.

Star, however, had told her she’d run into do-gooders like them in other cities and had convinced her they were legit. She’d been right. Everything had worked out okay.

“Yeah. I guess.” Darcy pulled the blanket from around her shoulders, tugged her backpack from beneath the cot, and stood.

“I asked around.” Star shifted the strap of her guitar case into a different position on her shoulder. “I thought someone might know of a squat where we could hang out today, but no luck. I guess we’ll crash at the Burger King down the street until they toss us out. There aren’t any malls nearby.”

“Okay. But what’s a squat?” Darcy had learned a lot of new words over the past two days while hanging out with Star. Spanging was begging. Busking was playing an instrument for money. Star did a lot of the latter, and she was talented, based on the sample Darcy had heard at the station after they hooked up. Talented enough to make it in Nashville, where she was headed now, since neither Chicago or New York had panned out. But squat was a new one.

Star shook her head, her long, dark hair swinging around her face. “You really are green, aren’t you? But you’ll learn. A squat is an abandoned building. They’re okay in nice weather, but a heated place is better when it’s cold.”

“You think the buses might be running today?” Darcy hefted her backpack into position.

“Nah. It’s still snowing like crazy. My guess is we’re stuck here for another day or two. But hey . . . the food’s free, the place is warm, and the bedding is clean. Can’t ask for more than that, can you?”

Yeah, you could—but not in her present situation.

The other girl started to turn toward the exit, then paused. “Looks like your friend wants to say good-bye. I’ll fade into the background and meet you at the door.”

As Star stepped aside, Darcy caught a glimpse of Mark Hamilton walking their direction. He was hardly a friend, but they’d spent a lot of time talking the past two nights during his volunteer shift. Well, truth be told, she’d done most of the talking. He’d just listened. Nice guy too, even if he was closer to Laura’s age—and her type. The sandy-haired, clean-cut, all-American-boy look was much too boring for her taste. Give her a little dark and dangerous any day.

Still, Mark had earned a lot of brownie points by not only lending her a willing ear but letting her in that first night at the intake desk despite the fact she was underage—and putting a fake name in the registration book.

“Heading out?” He stopped beside her and smiled.

“Yeah. How come you’re still here? Won’t you be late for work?” Hadn’t he mentioned a day job at one point? Something to do with kids?

“The shelter’s shorthanded because of the weather, and the daycare center where I work is closed today. So I’ve got some spare time. Where are you off to?”

“Star suggested Burger King.”

“Not a bad idea. It’s not far from here.”

“Do you think they’ll have a pay phone?”

“Hard to say in this cellular age.” He studied her. “Are you thinking of calling your sister?”

“No. And it’s half sister, remember?” She was grateful he hadn’t pushed her to go home during their long talks—and she didn’t want him to start now. “Like I told you . . . we don’t get along. I completely disrupted her life when I showed up. Trust me, she’s glad I disappeared.”

Conscience prickling, she shifted from one foot to the other. That was a stretch. Laura did care about her. She knew that. But she was way too strict. More strict than her dad had been—and much stricter than their mom. Even if Laura’s intentions were good, rules were for kids. If she stayed, they’d keep clashing, just as she and her dad had. And look how that had ended.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, she tightened her grip on the strap of her backpack and tried to ignore the question that continually strobed across her brain: Would he still be around if she hadn’t given him so much grief?

Maybe.

Her shoulders drooped as the usual answer echoed back at her.

“Hey.” Mark touched her arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes. “It’s just been a tough couple of days.”

His features softened in sympathy. “I hear you. So who did you need to call?”

“The girl I was supposed to stay with in Chicago. I don’t know her, and she doesn’t care when I show up, but I did tell her I’d be there over the weekend. I should give her an update.”

After a brief hesitation, Mark pulled out his cell, pressed a few keys, and handed it over. “You can use my phone.”

“Are you sure?” She reached for it even as she asked the question.

“No problem.”

“I’ll keep it short.” She angled away and dug the girl’s contact information out of her money belt, then tapped in the number. After three rings, it rolled to voice mail. She was probably working an early shift at IHOP, the job that paid the bills while she waited for her acting break. “Hi, Rachel. It’s Darcy Weber. I’m stranded in St. Louis because of the blizzard, but I’ll be coming up as soon as the roads are clear. I’ll give you a call when I’m on the way. See you soon.” She handed the phone back. “Thanks.”

Mark slipped the cell back in his pocket, looked around, and lowered his voice. “Listen . . . this isn’t normal procedure, so please keep it to yourself . . . but I feel bad for you, having to stay in a place like this. It’s obvious you don’t belong in a homeless shelter. I have plenty of room at my house if you’d like to hang out there until the buses start running again. And I live in Soulard, which isn’t far.”

Darcy stared at him, alarm bells clanging. Go with a man she didn’t know to his house? No way, no how. That would be just plain dumb.

As if he’d read her mind, Mark grinned. “I’m not an ax murderer, if that’s what you’re thinking, but I don’t blame you for being suspicious. We live in a crazy world. If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can invite her too.” He gestured toward Star, who was lingering by the door. “You can share the guest room. It has
twin beds and its own bath. I can’t promise you luxurious accommodations, but they beat this. And I’m not a bad cook.”

Star was invited too? That put a better spin on things. Safety in numbers and all that. And it would be so much better than this place.

Torn, Darcy chewed on her lower lip. Maybe Mark was simply being a good Samaritan. He volunteered in a homeless shelter, after all. You had to be a kind, decent person to do that, didn’t you? Plus, he was offering a home-cooked meal and a private room with a shower.

Her resolve to say no wavered.

Apparently sensing her indecision, Mark pulled out a card, jotted a phone number on the back, and handed it to her. “I’ll tell you what. Take this and give me a call later if you decide to accept. I’m sure someone will loan you a cell phone. I have a four-wheel drive, and I don’t mind picking you both up. That’s my work card, so you can see I’m gainfully employed. And FYI, I had to have a background check to work both here”—he gestured around the shelter—“and here.” He tapped the card.

Darcy read the rectangular piece of cardboard. Mark was the supervisor at the daycare facility where he worked, and there were initials after his name. She had no idea what CCP or NAC stood for, but acronyms like that meant he had some smarts. Her dad had been proud of the CPA on his business card. He’d always said those kinds of credentials added a certain prestige and legitimacy.

Tempted but wary, she tucked the card in her coat. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Sure.”

“Mark! Can you give me a hand with this table?”

With a wave, he acknowledged the older man who’d summoned him. “I’ll be there in a sec.” Then he turned back to her. “I’m not working here tonight, so if you decide to pass on my offer, I wish you luck.” He stuck his hand out.

Darcy took it, searching his eyes. She saw nothing but sincerity
in their depths. “Thanks. And thanks for talking to me these past two nights.”

“I’m glad I was here for you. It’s tough to be on your own.” He gave her fingers one more squeeze and released them. “See you around.” With a mock salute, he zigzagged through the cots in the direction of the waiting volunteer.

On the far side of the room, Star raised a hand and motioned her over. Darcy moved toward the exit, scanning the shelter. She didn’t want to spend another night—or two—here. Mark was right. She didn’t belong in a place like this, and he’d offered her an out. Better yet, he’d offered both of them an out.

She could imagine what her father would say if he knew she was thinking about accepting the man’s invitation, and Laura would blow a gasket. Her mom, on the other hand, would get it. Not that she’d approve, but with her treat-life-like-an-adventure attitude, she’d understand Darcy’s point of view. Still . . . even she might think this was foolish.

But Star had been around. She’d talked a bit to Mark too, and so far, all her advice and suggestions had been sound. As Darcy joined her at the door, she fingered the card—and made a decision.

Once they found a warm place to hunker down for a few hours, she’d get her new friend’s take on his invitation.

And she’d trust her judgment.

Marcia and Daniel Chapman.

The corners of Dev’s mouth lifted. What would he do without phone validator and the crisscross directory?

Contact information in hand for Brianna’s parents, he picked up his desk phone and tapped in their home number.

As it rang, he swiveled in his chair. For once the weatherpeople appeared to have been right. In the half hour since Laura Griffith had left, the snow had intensified. Large flakes swirled outside the window, reducing visibility to a few yards. If this kept up, he’d have
to hail a dogsled to get home—or camp out at the office. Given that the refrigerator in the break room held only six cans of soda and two pieces of curled-up pizza that had been in there for more than a week, however, the latter was not an appealing prospect.

When a woman’s voice greeted him on the other end of the line, he swung back to face his desk. “Mrs. Chapman?”