Monroe, Melody S. - Verdict (Siren Publishing Classic) (3 page)

She narrowed her eyes. “Not only did he what? Tell me.”

He caught her gaze and held it as if deciding how much information to spill. “The man hit her once, then backed up and ran over her again.”

That horrific image seared into her brain. She shot a glance at the front door and tightened her hold on the pillow. “How did the Caravello family find her?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.”

So he did believe someone in the mob boss’ family was involved. “Do we need to move again?” She hated how her voice wobbled, considering how she prided herself on being strong.

Stone’s shoulders relaxed. “Not yet. As long as I’m around, you should be safe.”

She didn’t like the “should be” part.

“Remember, we’re not one hundred percent certain the killer knows you’re alive.” He jumped up. “Let’s look around and get you settled.”

From his rigid body and hard, focused eyes, he had also been affected by the tragic news. While the avoidance tactic wouldn’t work on her, for now, she wouldn’t argue. As she reached up to slip off her bulky cardigan, her muscles rebelled. “Ouch.”

Stone was at her side in an instant. “Let me help you.”

“I can do it.” Damn body. She lifted the lapel and stopped to catch her breath.

“You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know.”

Her father had taught her to rely only on herself, but given what she’d been through, she’d make an exception. “Thanks.” She turned her back and let him ease the sleeves down her arms. At his tender touch, an involuntary tingle shimmied up her spine. “I can take it from here.” She slowly stood and pasted on a smile, hoping the bandage across her cheek hid the heat in her face.

He cleared his throat. “Pick a room and I’ll bring up your suitcase.”

So he’d noticed the spark his touch had brought. “Sure.”

Stone had told her one of the FBI female agents had purchased a few essentials for her. No telling what the woman had chosen, but Susan hoped the clothing would be the easy-on-easy-off type. Getting periodic help from the attractive bodyguard wouldn’t be so bad, except ever since her father’s death and her recent divorce, she’d felt a little angry toward men.

She trudged up the wooden stairs to the second floor, and had to stop twice to catch her breath before she entered the first available room. It didn’t matter what the rest of the town house had to offer, a bedroom was a bedroom. The muted beige and green décor and coordinating ocean watercolor pictures above the white wrought iron bed gave off a spa-like atmosphere. The bowl of potpourri on top of the pine dresser helped reduce the smell of fresh paint. While the combined space was only half the size of her bedroom at home, the plush carpet, attached bath, and handpicked accessories eased the tension which came from being forced into this unwanted situation.

Stone set down her suitcase. “Need anything else?”

“Just some quiet time.”

“You got it.”

He disappeared, and her sense of security plummeted. Before she undressed, she locked the bedroom door and closed the drapes to the window that opened out to the wooded backyard. Not that her safeguards would stop anyone who was determined to kill her from succeeding, but the more caution she used, the better.

She couldn’t wait to get clean, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to wash her hair when every time she raised her arms her chest throbbed. No way she’d ask the sexy bodyguard to help. Ah, no. That would only add more complications to her already out-of-control life.

She hadn’t had a hot shower since the explosion. Her luck, the hotel they’d stayed at on the way south had a broken hot water heater. Examining her wounds when she was exhausted hadn’t made sense at the time, but she couldn’t avoid the inevitable any longer and stepped into the bathroom. The reflection staring back startled her. She looked worse than she had in the hospital. She tore off the ponytail holder, but the effect was the same. Her strands hung in greasy clumps to her shoulders despite the nurse’s attempt to wash her hair. With hesitant fingers, she peeled away the bandage on her chest. She sucked in a breath at the large wound. Circles of red ringed the area, but the wound was neatly closed. Sucking up her courage, Susan lifted the bandage from across her cheek.

“Dear God.”

A wide gouge created an inflamed line from her eye to her mouth. Her personal protector was sexier than sin, and she looked like roadkill. Not that it mattered since she hadn’t come to Florida to find her soul mate, but still.

Get clean.
She turned on the shower to heat the water, then opened the medicine cabinet to see what the FBI had stocked. Next to the toothpaste, toothbrush, and Band-Aids sat a pair of six-inch scissors. Perfect. Her karate teacher always preached surprise was the best form of defense, so just in case the murderer caught Stone off guard, she brought the potential weapon into the shower.

After she finished washing, she toweled dry and combed her hair. Now she needed something suitable to put on. A heavy shirt and a pair of boring gray sweatpants seemed the only option since she was unable to hook a bra, and once again, Stone would be of no help.

Facing the full-length mirror in the bedroom, she sighed. Could she look any worse? If the situation hadn’t been so serious, she would have laughed at her frumpy attire. In DC, she never went out without makeup or with her hair uncombed.

After she pulled on her comfortable sneakers, she pawed through her luggage for the bandages the hospital had provided—twice, in fact, but came up empty. She figured she’d left the package in the car and headed downstairs to search.

When she reached the bottom step, Stone’s full lips spread into a slow smile. He dragged his gaze from her wet hair to her clunky sneakers. “You look a lot better.”

The man was blind. She quickly covered the stitches on her cheek. “I feel better, but I need to find my bandages. I can’t go out in public looking like Frankenstein. I’ll scare people.”

* * * *

He winked at her and some of the tension drained from her face. “You’re anything but a monster.” His cell rang and he held up a finger. The pretty lady might think she’s a sight, but to him, she was hot. “Watson.”

“It’s me. Peter.”

“Christ.” He lowered his voice. “I gotta keep it short. We can’t chance a trace.”

His gaze shot automatically to Susan. She didn’t need to hear this conversation. She’d never understand why a Caravello would contact him.

“I’ll be right back to help with the bandages,” he told her as he headed outside. The crisp, clean Florida air was a nice change from Virginia’s bitter cold. He sat on the stoop, his back to the front door, peering down the empty road.

“I need your help.” The roar of background traffic on the other end made it difficult to hear Peter’s voice.

“What’s going on?”

Peter Caravello was the last person he expected to call, especially given the circumstances. Retract that. Peter’s older brother, James, who took over the family’s illegal business would have been the absolute last person to make contact.

“The fucking FBI, no offense to you, came to my house. Good thing I wasn’t home. My housekeeper answered, and they said they were looking for me. In fact, they had a goddamn search warrant. She said they mentioned the name Janet Starkey.”

“Shit.” Stone unclenched his jaw. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool February breeze. “Juror number five.”

“Who?”

“Four of the twelve people on your father’s jury were recently found dead. Janet would be number five.” He probably shouldn’t have released that information, but if Peter were guilty, he’d already know those facts.

“Holy shit. And they think I had something to do with the murders?”

“You tell me.”

“You know I run a clean business. I’m not my father or my brother. You gotta help me.”

A car slowed in front of the town house, and a man stared hard at him before moving on. Stone tensed. They were supposed to be one of the first to stay in the newly built complex. As a precaution, he noted the Georgia license plate number.

“I can make some phone calls, but that’s all,” Stone said. “If the Bureau ever learns I even know you, I’d get canned.”

He’d asked for this assignment because he understood Peter’s brother better than anyone, and knowing the killer’s mindset gave him the edge in protecting Susan. If he hadn’t had such good intel, his boss would have assigned a female officer to the case, and Stone wasn’t sure she could have gotten the job done.

“They won’t hear it from me,” Peter promised. “Can you dig around to see what they have on me?” A car horn blasted in the background. “Look, I gotta go. I think someone’s tailing me. I need to lose ’em.”

Before Stone had a chance to ask more questions, Peter disconnected just as the front door creaked open.

“Who was that?” Susan asked.

He tossed her a look of what he hoped was steely confidence. “No one you need to be concerned with.”

She shielded her eyes against the sun’s glare. “I just made some tea. Want some?”

“Sure.” The less the neighbors saw of her, the better. He hopped up from the stoop and followed her into the kitchen.

She poured the hot brew into a mug. “Here.” She dumped four packets of sugar into her drink.

“Try putting some tea with that sugar.”

She scrunched up nose. “So who called?”

From her rigid stance, the bulldog prosecutor just wouldn’t let go. If he told her Peter had phoned, she’d really get scared, be royally pissed, or both. “A friend.”

Her shoulders softened a little. “Not your boss telling you another juror had died?”

So that’s what was worrying her. Understandable. “No.”

“Then why did you have to go outside to talk?”

Perceptive. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Her blue eyes darkened. “I didn’t get to be where I am by letting someone stonewall me. Who
really
called?” She ran her fingers along the hem of her sweatshirt.

She would never trust him if he spilled the beans, but lying wasn’t his style. He shoved off the stool and strode to the refrigerator. “I’m famished. What do you say I make us a bite to eat?” He pulled open the fridge door and tried to act as if the luncheon meats were some gourmet treat.

“Like I’m going to fall for your stall tactics?”

He closed the refrigerator door and slid next to her. “Stop worrying. No one died.”

She pinched her mouth tight. “Yet.”

“You’re perfectly safe with an FBI agent watching over you.” He touched her arm, sending heat to all the wrong places.

She pulled out of his grasp. “Try telling that to Janet Starkey’s family. Someone got to her, which means someone could get to me.” She gulped down her tea and puckered her mouth.

“I won’t let that happen.”

She pulled her lips back. “I have a lot of information about this case, and you agreed we’d work together.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic, but he wasn’t sure she could handle the truth about Peter. However, he respected her intellect, and just maybe, she could make sense of the situation.

“Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Chapter Three

“So who was it?” Susan leaned closer. Why did the man have to smell so good?

His jaw tightened. “Peter Caravello.”

Her elbow slipped off the counter. “That scum sucker called you?” Her pulse jumped, and her mind shot to a dark place.

“That’s why I didn’t want you to know. You’d draw the wrong conclusion.”

“Do you even realize what this means?” Her blood rushed through her veins at warp speed at the betrayal.

“Calm down.” He reached over to take her arm, but she jerked it away.

“Easy for you to say. You get a call from a guy whose father was executed for murder, and I’m supposed to calm down? What if he’s the one killing these jurors? What if he’s the one out to kill
me
?” She waved a hand. “Caravello probably knows exactly where to find me now.”

“Peter has no idea where you are. In fact, he doesn’t even know I’m protecting you.”

“Right.” She could have sworn he puffed out his already massive chest.

“I don’t know what to say to make you believe I’m telling the truth.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “Peter is not like his father.”

Was this guy for real?
“Like I haven’t heard that argument a hundred times before in court.”

Being near Stone disoriented her. She needed time to think, so she shoved off the stool. The wooden chair clattered to the tile floor. Tough. In the living room, she sat on the far end of the couch and drew the protective blue pillow to her chest, looking away from the kitchen area, away from Stone. She’d have run outside and banged on a neighbor’s door if she believed she could escape.

He followed her into the living room. Great. His mere presence caused her to lose focus, to doubt her facts.

“You don’t understand.” His tone came out colder than the Virginia winter.

Why couldn’t he take a hint and leave her alone? “You keep saying that.” She finally faced him. “So explain it to me. You must be chummy with Peter if you know so much about him.”