Unleashed (7 page)

He shoved the thought out of his head and forced himself to get a grip. He was a man, totally in control of himself and his libido. It would take more than a glimpse of a naked ex-girlfriend to send him over the edge.

Danny told himself he was immune as she slid the shorts down her legs, revealing that round, perfect ass and a tidy black patch of curls at the apex of her thighs. He forced his breathing to slow as she tugged her hair out of its ponytail, the motion making her back arch and her tits jut out like she was waiting for a lover to come suck on them.

He let out a slow, silent breath as she moved out of sight into the bathroom and he heard the sound of the shower. This was his chance to get out of here, while she was occupied and any noise he made was muffled by the shower. And not a second too soon, he thought as his cock throbbed thickly, insistently, against the fly of his cargo pants. One more second and he was afraid the damn thing was going to bust through the zipper, and to hell with his supposedly ironclad self-control.

He waited several seconds before pushing the drapes aside and grabbing his bag to make a run for it.

The phone rang, cutting like a blade through the silence and Danny had just enough time to duck behind the arm chair before Caroline hurried into the bedroom to grab the handset. She’d thrown on a short cotton robe that barely covered her ass and was belted so loosely the vee dropped nearly to her navel.

She was so fucking hot she should have been illegal.

He hunkered down to wait, holding every cell immobile as he listened to her conversation and prayed she’d get off the phone quick.

“You didn’t need to call,” she said to whoever was on the other line as she perched on the side of the bed. After a pause, “Really, it wasn’t that big of a deal. I just spaced out and stepped into the parking lot without looking. It’s a scraped knee, nothing to write home about.”

Danny squinted and for the first time noticed the angry red scrape that started on the side of her left calf and decorated the front of her kneecap.

“You’d be upset too if you almost got nailed by a Range Rover.”

His heart tripped a beat. She’d nearly been run over?

Caroline swallowed hard and looked up at the ceiling. Her eyelids fluttered, almost like she was holding back tears. “When I got done with my workout there was a note in my locker.” A pause. “Yes, one of those notes….

“Because I knew she’d flip out and want to call the cops and make a big scene when we both know damn well it won’t do any good.”

She leaned her head forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. He felt a weird squeezing sensation when he heard her sniff and and swallow hard. Caroline was not a crier. In the six years they’d been together he’d seen her cry maybe four times. And every time it had made Danny’s stomach knot and his hands shake with the need to make it stop.

He wiped his hands on his pants and watched her nod as though the person on the other end could see her. “I’m so scared,” she said finally. “What about Kate and Mikey? What about you? What if whoever’s doing this comes after people I care about?”

Nausea twisted in Danny’s gut as he listened, remembering how he’d implied she’d written the notes herself. Her fear was real. The threat was real. And he’d blown her off like everyone else.

She reached for her gym bag, offering a mouthwatering display of a silky shoulder and the top of her breast as she pulled it closer. She pulled a piece of paper from a side pocket. “It’s like the other ones. A warning and a threat. I guess they’re afraid I’m going to find the real murderer.” She shook her head. “If only they knew how far I am from the truth.” She let out a humorless laugh. “No, Gemini was a bust. Their caseload is too heavy, they said. Guess my high school connection wasn’t enough.”

Danny frowned, trying to ignore the pang of guilt as he processed her side of the conversation. Had she told whoever she was talking to about the supposed connection she’d found between James Medford and Anne Taggart? It didn’t sound like it.

She rang off with an admonishment not to worry and an assurance she could take care of herself. She put the phone in its cradle and raked her hands through her hair. With a curse, she reached out and snatched the paper from the bed, crumpled it in a ball and hurled it into the wastebasket next to the bed before spinning on her bare heel and stomping back into the bathroom.

He didn’t hesitate. Without making a sound he darted from behind the chair, paused at the wastebasket to fish out the note, and moved silently down the stairs. He slipped out the side door and told Moreno to meet him two blocks up. He slipped into the passenger seat of the Lexus and pulled out the ball of paper he’d extracted from Caroline’s wastebasket. An icy current ran through his veins as he read the typed words on the plain white paper.

Let your husband RIP unless you want to end up like him
.

“What’s that?” Moreno asked, nodding at the sheet of paper.

Danny read it out loud. “She told whoever was on the phone she found it in her gym locker.”

“So we’re not the only ones watching her.”

Danny nodded in agreement as protective instincts he didn’t know he had anymore swelled in his chest. Someone was threatening a woman—
his woman
—a sinister voice insisted, and every instinct in him screamed for him to go back to her house, shove her in the car, and hide her away somewhere safe until he could figure out who was behind the threats.

No
. Caroline wasn’t his woman, not even close. And even if he changed his mind and took her case—and that was still a big if—it was all about finding out who was responsible for his mother’s death. Whatever Caroline wanted from him came a distant second.

Still, he couldn’t get over the sound of her tears, the almost palpable fear coming off her in waves. The Caroline he’d known wasn’t a fearful person, didn’t back down from a challenge. Now she lived in near seclusion, hiding in her house, not even bothering to report a threatening note to the police because she was so convinced no one would help her.

And didn’t you just prove her right, Danny boy?

His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, his guilty conscience growing when he saw his brother Ethan’s number on the display. His brother, who had no idea where Danny was or why.

“You’re not gonna believe this,” Ethan said without preamble. “You know how we couldn’t figure out the deed transfers for the cabin near where Mom was found?”

“Yeah?”

“Toni’s had Kara working on it, and she’s like a pit bull.” Kara Kramer was the daughter of one of their former clients. When she’d gone missing the previous summer, Ethan had been hired by Kara’s father to track her down, while Toni had been hired by Kara’s mother to work on the case. After Toni and Ethan rescued her from her kidnappers and saved her from a truly sick fate, Kara had started helping around the office after school. To Danny’s surprise, she wasn’t the complete waste of space he feared—far from it. Instead she’d proven to be wily and tenacious, never giving up on a research assignment until she found the answer they needed. Toni was tutoring her in the fine art of cyber investigation and the girl was becoming downright dangerous.

“Anyway, she finally came up with a name: Barbara Sanford.”

“Why should that mean anything to me?”

“Because Barbara Sanford was James Medford’s former mother-in-law. Her daughter Susan was James’s first wife.”

“There’s no reason to call off the deal,” Marshall Black said as he leaned on his elbows. “My clients are ready, they understand the terms.”

“We have another buyer in Portland. I think it would be safer right now, with everything going on.”

“Nothing is going on,” Marshall slammed his palm against the mahogany surface of his desk. “We can handle this.” Marshall had stumbled across James Medford’s lucrative side business two and a half years ago. He’d been working late and found inconsistent paperwork that James forgot to shred. James had been shocked when, instead of being horrified, Marshall had insisted on being let in. Since then Marshall had proven his worth to the organization by discreetly recruiting new clients. It pissed him off that they still questioned his ability to handle his part of the business. But he didn’t let any of that irritation show in his voice. He ended the call, still without commitment that his clients would receive their delivery as promised.

“Fuck,” he said, nothing more than a tight whisper. Gwen, his legal assistant, immediately appeared in the doorway. “Is there a problem, Mr. Black?” she inquired, eyes narrowed suspiciously. She hadn’t liked it when she’d been transferred to Marshall after James Medford’s death, any more than she’d liked it when she’d had to move Marshall into James’s office before, as she put it, the body had even started to stink.

He flashed Gwen a fake smile and and okay sign which turned into the middle finger at her retreating back. Meddling bitch. Marshall had to be careful around her, even going so far as to get a cell phone she didn’t know about so he could make calls without her going through the bills to see who he was talking to.

In the part of the business he’d learned from James Medford and taken over since his death, confidentiality was paramount. And God forbid Gwen, the nosy paralegal, should ever find out.

Though it would give Marshall the excuse he needed to get rid of her once and for all.

He turned his attention back to his phone call. “There’s no reason you should divert the deal to Portland,” he said, choosing his words carefully and keeping any trace of anxiety out of his tone, then hanging up. They couldn’t know how badly he needed the commission on this. If this deal got screwed, he’d lose everything. The condo, the Lexus. He’d have to sell his Rolex just to make grocery money.

And forget about ever having a chance with Kate Medford. From the second he’d met her at the firm’s family picnic, he’d wanted her. She was everything the stupid sluts he’d grown up with weren’t. Beautiful, well bred, educated. It had crushed Marshall when she’d slummed it with that lowlife who knocked her up, but it worked out in the end. Now Kate was adamant about being with a man who could support her, who had no need or desire for her money to shore him up while he figured his shit out.

Marshall was determined to be that man. Or at least do a damn good job of maintaining the illusion that he was that man. James hadn’t liked Marshall sniffing around his daughter, but he couldn’t say anything, not when he was even deeper into the business than Marshall was.

And now James was dead, and couldn’t say anything at all. Marshall wondered what James would think about Marshall’s attempts to comfort James’s daughter in her grief. Poor bastard was probably rolling in his grave.

But Marshall had bigger worries than what James might be thinking from the great beyond. Namely, Marshall needed to make sure he didn’t get boxed out of the business because of the latest complications.

Marshall had figured his shit out enough to make it through Harvard Law School, but the student loans weren’t going to pay themselves, not even on his generous senior associate pay. He’d already taken as much equity as he could out of the condo, and without the next few side deals going through, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself out of the hole he’d dug.

The discovery of Anne Taggart’s body had thrown a huge wrench in the works. Marshall still wasn’t entirely clear on James’s role in her disappearance and death, but he knew enough to know she’d discovered the truth about James’s moonlighting and had paid a heavy price for her snooping.

And James’s widow, Caroline, had made an appearance at Anne Taggart’s memorial service. Marshall wanted to believe it was a coincidence, but deep down he knew that wasn’t the case.

He picked up his cell phone, wrinkling his nose at the cheap plastic casing. The disposable model was purely functional, with none of the cool bells and whistles of the Motorola Marshall normally carried. But the phone had the great advantage of being untraceable. He paid in cash and threw it out when the minutes ran out, so even if anyone were inclined to snoop around his phone records, they’d never be able to tie him to the goons that procured the girls. Or to his other business partner.

His partner picked up on the second ring. “We need to finish this,” the man said without preamble.

“Can’t we give it a little more time? We just sent her another note, and she hasn’t talked to Taggart since—”

“That we know of,” the voice broke in. “That she was talking to him at all is too much of a coincidence. Hell, for all we know she found something out and already told Taggart all about it.”

“But there’s Kate to consider. Besides, there’s nothing to indicate the police have made any connection between James and Anne Taggart’s murder.”

“It’s only a matter of time,” the man said. “Caroline is too much of a risk. After what James tried to pull, we need to tie up any loose ends that might lead back to him. We should have taken care of Caroline a long time ago.”

Marshall had been hoping to avoid this, convinced Caroline’s death would only raise suspicion. It was hard enough to cover up one murder. He’d thought they had it made when the police didn’t buy the random break in and turned their attention to the soon to be ex-wife. It hadn’t taken too much effort to make sure the police’s attention stayed firmly on Caroline. That had bought them some time, but now his partner was pushing to get Caroline out of the picture for good.

“She’s been saying all along she didn’t kill James. If she turns up dead, won’t the police realize she was telling the truth?” Marshall asked.

“We need to figure out a way to make it look like an accident,” the man said, then sighed. “But how the fuck we do that, I have no idea.”

Marshall looked down at his desk, where the front section of
The San Francisco Tribune
lay partially covering his computer keyboard. The front page featured a full color picture of a small, beaming blond woman in a bright red suit, standing next to a huge African-American man dressed in a five-thousand dollar suit, accessorized with at least a million dollars’ worth of diamonds.