Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (23 page)

And somewhere, some misguided girl who was about the age Lil had been when she made her first mistakes, would be too. Also thanks to him.

It wasn’t going to be Darcy—but he’d start looking again soon.

After he took care of his latest error in judgment.

Dev punched in Connor’s number as he approached Hamilton’s street. His partner picked up on the first ring. “You have a pen and paper handy? I’m a block away. I’ll read off license plates as I drive by.”

“Yeah. By the way, you just missed our friend. He came out to tackle the snow on the walk—and I do mean tackle. I’m surprised the shovel survived. The ice he was hacking at sure didn’t.”

“You picked up anger?”

“His body language spelled it in capital letters. And there were a couple of very nasty scratches on his face. I took a few tight shots of him and downloaded them to my computer. It looks like someone dragged fingernails over his cheek.”

Suspicious.

Dev swung onto Hamilton’s street and slowed as he approached the house. “Any sign of the girl?”

“No.”

“Get ready to write.”

After reading off the plate numbers for the cars near Hamilton’s house, he turned the corner and passed the white van with the magnetic Sullivan Heating and Cooling sign on the side—Connor’s home for the day.

He peered in as he drove past, but his partner was hidden behind the privacy windows tinted even darker than those in the Explorer. “I’d wave, but you wouldn’t see me.”

“I appreciate the thought, though.”

“I’m doing the alley on foot. I’ll call you after I have the numbers.”

Dev slipped the phone back into its holster and passed the alley, parking half a block away. After setting the brake, he reached for the hard hat and clipboard props on the passenger seat. Once he’d donned the hat and a pair of dark sunglasses, he slid out of the car, locked it, and took the short hike to the alley, periodically pausing to look up at the electric poles and scribble gibberish on his clipboard.

Ten minutes later, he was back in the Explorer. Once again, Connor answered on the first ring.

“I only saw one car parked anywhere close to Hamilton’s.” He recited the number and set the clipboard beside him. “I think it was parked too far away to be relevant, but it can’t hurt to run it.”

“I’ll add it to the list. The first two I ran weren’t a match. I got a twenty-year-old male and a seventy-two-year-old woman. I’ll run the rest and let you know what I find. You still thinking about asking Cal to contact Faith?”

“Unless I can figure out a way to do it myself. But I’ll wait until later to call him.”

“Smart man. So are you heading home to crash again?”

“The sooner the better. Call me if anything else interesting . . .” A double beep sounded on the line. “Gotta run. I have a call coming in. Talk to you later.”

He scanned the unfamiliar number. Take it, or let the call roll to voice mail? As he debated the question, he pulled onto Jefferson and aimed for the highway, following the same route Hamilton had taken last night. Might as well answer. It would save him having to return the call later.

He put the phone to his ear. “Devlin.”

“James Devlin?” A woman’s voice.

“Yes.”

“This is Carolyn Mitchell from St. Luke’s Hospital emergency room. A patient was brought in about forty-five minutes ago who doesn’t seem to have any next of kin available, but she mentioned your name. We found your card in her purse. Do you know a Laura Griffith?”

Dev’s pulse kicked into high gear, and he pressed harder on the accelerator. “Yes. What happened?”

“She was in a car accident.”

Dev sucked in a breath. “How bad is it?”

“The doctor’s still evaluating her.”

At the woman’s evasive answer, his lips settled into a grim line. Unfortunately, that was the best he was going to get, thanks to HIPAA rules. If he wanted more information, he’d have to show up in person.

His new top priority.

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

Tossing the phone on the seat beside him, he swung onto the highway entrance ramp, merged into traffic, and floored it.

As he dodged around cars, he forced the left side of his brain to engage. If the accident was bad enough to send her to the hospital, it was more than a fender bender. But the fact that Laura had mentioned his name meant she was conscious—and perhaps a sign her injuries weren’t serious.

Barreling west, he clung to that hope during his twenty-nine-minute race to St. Luke’s ER.

Once in the parking lot, he made a hard right into a space near the entrance and strode inside. Before the woman behind the intake desk had a chance to launch into her usual spiel, he glowered at her and cut to the chase.

“Carolyn Mitchell called me about a patient who was brought in a little over an hour ago. Laura Griffith. I need to see her. The name’s Devlin.”

As a PI, he didn’t often pull the intimidating stance he’d perfected in his ATF days out of mothballs, but it came in handy when he needed fast action . . . and cooperation.

As usual, it worked.

The woman rose and took a step back. “I’ll get Carolyn for you.”

Sixty seconds later, another woman with short, black hair appeared and held out her hand. “Mr. Devlin, I’m—”

“Carolyn Mitchell.” He squeezed her fingers as he finished the introduction for her, motioning with his free hand to the secure door that led to the treatment rooms. “I need to see Laura.”

She gave him a quick once-over, then pressed a button on the wall beside her. The door swung open. “She’s in room four. We told her you were on the way.”

“Thanks.”

The door to room four was partly closed as he approached, and he stopped at the threshold to take a long, slow breath before he knocked. “Laura?”

“Come in.” Her voice sounded strong and alert.

The tension in his shoulders ebbed.

Thank you, God.

But once he pushed through the door and rounded the curtain that hid her from view, the uptick in his mood dropped back a few notches.

Her pallor was alarming. There was also an angry red burn mark on the left side of her face and traces of white powder in her hair,
suggesting a frontal collision strong enough to deploy her airbag. Her left wrist sported an elastic bandage. A sheet covered the rest of her, hiding any additional damage.

She managed a strained smile. “Hi.”

He moved beside the bed, trying to mask his concern with an answering smile of his own. Too bad his lips wouldn’t cooperate. “You don’t look as if you’ve had the best Saturday morning of your life.”

“Not even close. I’m just sorry you got dragged into this. I know you want to keep our personal and professional lives separate until Darcy’s found.” She tugged the sheet higher and played with the edge. “I was kind of out of it after the crash, and I guess I mentioned your name. The hospital called you before I could stop them.”

“I’m glad they did.” He gestured toward her prone form and braced for bad news. “So what’s the verdict?”

“Not too bad. Slightly sprained wrist, assorted bruises, small burn from the air bag.” She lifted her hand to indicate her face. “The doctor did say I might be achy for a few days too.”

No maybe about it. If the air bag had deployed, she’d sustained a sizeable jolt. But she’d recover from that. The news was much better than he’d expected. “Tylenol will help.”

“That’s what the doctor said.” She shifted in the bed and grimaced. “A double dose.”

She was hurting . . . and the urge to touch her, to soothe away her pain, to sweep his fingers over her forehead and brush aside the tendrils of hair that had worked loose from her French braid was strong.

Too strong.

Clearing his throat, he jammed his hands in his pockets to make certain they behaved. “So what happened?”

She sighed. “I wish I knew. My brakes just stopped working as I started down the hill on my street, and I ran into a telephone pole.”

Dev frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. He’d
assumed bad roads had been to blame for the accident, that she might have slid on ice and rear-ended another car. This put a different spin on things.

An alert began to beep in his mind.

“Brakes don’t give out all of a sudden. Has your warning light been coming on?”

“Not until this morning. I thought it might be another short, like I had with my alternator a couple of years ago. This time it was the real thing.”

“Is the car still on the street?”

“As far as I know. It wasn’t blocking traffic, so I doubt the police towed it, and I haven’t called anyone to haul it away yet. Why?”

“I can recommend a competent body shop. I’d like to have a mechanic I know there look it over, anyway.”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was worry her unnecessarily—but the timing of recent events was troublesome. If someone was after her, she needed to be on her guard . . . and a whole lot more careful than usual.

“Let’s just say I’m not liking the sequence of events. First Darcy disappears. Then you hire Phoenix to find her. Now your brakes fail on a formidable hill. Attributing that succession of developments to coincidence seems like a stretch. So I’d like to have the mechanic I know check out your brakes with an eye to tampering.”

Her complexion went a shade paler, and she wadded the sheet in her fists. “That’s a scary thought. You’re going to make me paranoid.”

“I’ll settle for careful rather than paranoid. I hope I’m wrong, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Is it all right if I call him and have your car towed there?”

“I’ll defer to your judgment on this.”

“I’d also like to take a look at your garage door after I drive you home.”

The offer of a lift seemed to surprise her. “You don’t have to drive me home. I can call a friend to come pick me up.”

This time he had no trouble summoning up a genuine smile. “I’d like to think I might be in that category soon.”

Some color seeped back into her face. “You already are.”

“That’s the best news I’ve had all day.” At his wink, a soft, appealing blush crept over her cheeks and he cleared his throat. “While they’re tending to you, I’m going to call my contact at the body shop and arrange to have your car picked up, check in with my colleague on surveillance duty, and hunt down a megadose of caffeine.”

Her eyes widened as she studied him. “I forgot all about the surveillance. You were sleeping when the hospital called, weren’t you? They woke you up.”

“No, they didn’t. I was actually in my car.” He could fill her in on the details of his morning excursion later. “How long before they spring you?”

“Less than an hour, according to the nurse who stopped in right before you arrived.”

“That will give me plenty of time for a major infusion of caffeine.”

“I’m sorry about this, Dev.”

“Don’t be.” His hand came out of his pocket, headed for hers—and there wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it. Twining their fingers together, he gave hers a brief squeeze. “There isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be. Keep hanging in, okay?”

At the warm smile she gave him in response, his gaze dropped to her lips. Lingered. They were soft . . . full . . . distracting—and they were playing havoc with his self-discipline.

He had to get out of here.

Now.

Tugging his hand free, he moved toward the door, putting a safe distance between them. “I’ll be back shortly.” Without waiting for a response, he retraced his steps down the hall, pushed through the
security door, and aimed for the outside exit, telling himself he’d get better cell reception there.

That was true.

But he also hoped a few lungfuls of the fresh, cold air would clear his mind, help him remember his promise to Cal that he wouldn’t get involved with Laura while she was a client. He intended to honor it—but it was getting harder with each day that passed.

Giving him an even more compelling incentive to solve this case and bring Darcy home ASAP.

M
ark added the last ingredient to the ground beef, shaped it into a patty, sealed it in plastic wrap, and deposited it in the refrigerator. It would last three or four days—long enough for him to determine whether Laura Griffith was still going to be a problem. Either way, the burger would serve his purposes.

He closed the door of the fridge and crossed to the sink. After squirting a liberal amount of soap onto his palm, he cleansed his hands. Then he repeated the ritual and examined them, front and back, in the light from the window.

Thanks to Darcy, the skin was redder and more cracked than it had been in years.

He clenched his fists and pressed his lips together.

The girl had turned out to be nothing but trouble.

But he had a plan now to deal with her—and her sister, if necessary. It had come to him in the shower, where he’d headed as soon as he’d finished shoveling the sidewalk. They had no other family, no one to badger police or hire PIs on their behalf if they both went missing. The plan would take some careful preparation and coordination, but he could do this.

He
had
to do this.

There was no other way to make this problem go away.

He squeezed out some of Faith’s lotion and began to massage it into the chapped skin. Within seconds his hands felt better. The stuff might be expensive, but it was worth every penny she’d spent.

Wrinkling his brow, he continued to work the lotion between his fingers. Had he thanked her for the gift? Maybe not. At the time she’d given it to him, he’d been more annoyed than grateful. Tomorrow he’d have to make amends. He’d also have to indulge the stupid crush she had on him just enough to satisfy her silly romantic notions without encouraging her attention. Davis Daycare prided itself on low turnover, and he intended to do his part to maintain that record. It wouldn’t kill him to be extra nice to her for a few days.

Besides, depending on how the sister thing played out, he might need her help this week to cover a few absences—and a little attention would ensure her cooperation. Not that he needed to worry a whole lot about that. She already liked him—too much.

Funny how an annoyance had suddenly become an asset.

A tiny smile played at his lips.

Monday was going to be Faith Bradley’s lucky day.

“Wow. It’s even worse than I thought.” Laura stared through the window of the Explorer at the crumpled hood of her car, still wrapped around the telephone pole, as Dev drove past.

He slowed, and she turned toward him in time to see a muscle twitch in his jaw as he inspected the wreck.

“You were very lucky to walk away from that with minor injuries.”

“I know.” She spared the car one more brief glance, then faced forward. “When is the body shop you called going to tow it away?”

“Within the hour.” He crested the hill and a few moments later pulled into her driveway.

“My garage door opener is in my car. We’ll have to go in through the front door.”

“Okay.” He set the brake. “Sit tight while I get your door.”

Before she could respond, he was out of the Explorer and circling the hood. Just as well. Aches were already beginning to settle in,
and she wasn’t averse to a strong arm to hold on to until she was safely inside.

And Dev’s arm was too appealing to turn down.

Her door opened, and he held out a hand. “We’ll take it slow and easy. Feel free to lean on me.”

She put her hand in his. “I’m not usually a leaner.”

One side of his mouth hitched up. “I already knew that—but I won’t hold it against you if you make an exception today. Ready?”

With a nod, she slid to the ground and tucked her arm in his. As they navigated her frosty walkway, she somehow managed to resist the urge to lean into his solid strength.

At the door, she dug her key out of her purse and inserted it in the lock.

“You need rest, so I’m not going to linger. I’ll just take a quick look at your garage, if you’ll open the door for me.”

He wasn’t staying.

She fought down a surge of disappointment and composed her face before she turned to him. “Sure. Do you want to come through this way?”

“No.” He stepped back and inclined his head toward the driveway. “I’ll wait in front.”

“Give me two minutes.”

“Don’t rush.”

With that, he did a 180 and strode back down the walk as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. Because he was tired and wanted to go home and sleep . . . or because he was tempted to stay but didn’t want to cross the professional/personal line any more than he already had today?

Laura chose to believe the latter.

After closing and locking the front door behind her, she made her way gingerly through the living room and across the kitchen to open the door to the garage. Entering the freezing space, she shivered as she pushed the button for the garage door opener.

Three seconds later Dev’s shoes came into view as the door
rolled up. The instant it was high enough, he ducked inside, did a quick sweep, and crossed to the small window at the rear.

“Want to tell me what you’re looking for?”

“Evidence of forced entry.”

A shudder rippled through her that had nothing to do with the frigid air in the garage. “You’re thinking someone broke in here and tampered with my brakes?”

“The thought crossed my mind. Brakes don’t usually go bad overnight.” He stopped in front of the window and examined the latch on the lower sash as she joined him. “Did you know this was unlocked—and not fully closed?”

Did she?

Digging deep, Laura tried to recall the last time she’d paid any attention to the window. Last summer, perhaps? On that hot day when she’d been using her garage as a potting shed for her patio planters?

“I remember opening it back in May to get a cross breeze while I did some gardening stuff. When it started to rain, I lowered the sash. I guess I forgot to lock it.” She smoothed a hand over her mangled French braid, feeling like an idiot. “Not too smart, huh?”

She felt even worse when he didn’t attempt to reassure her.

“I’m going to take a look outside. Sit tight for a minute.”

He disappeared around the side of the garage, appearing a few moments later outside the window. After bending down to examine the ground, he inspected the frame of the window before rejoining her.

“What’s the verdict?”

“Inconclusive. The snow along the base of the house is frozen solid, so there aren’t any footprints. Do your gutters leak?”

“No. But they overflow when they’re in desperate need of being cleaned out—which they are. With all my Darcy issues, I never got around to it after the leaves fell in the fall.”

“That would explain the icy perimeter. The open window would
provide easy access, and once inside it wouldn’t take someone who knew what he was doing very long to tamper with the brakes.”

The whole scenario was taking on an air of unreality. “But why would someone do that?”

“Maybe to sideline you—and prevent you from looking for Darcy.”

A chill snaked through her, and she wrapped her arms around her body. “Why would someone think a car problem would stop me from searching for my sister?”

He exhaled, his breath creating a ghostlike cloud in the dank, numbing cold of the garage. “It would stop you if you were dead.” His voice was quiet, his tone solemn, his expression somber. “That hill could be lethal without brakes.”

Laura’s heart stuttered as she tried to wrap her mind around the notion that someone might have been trying to kill her.

It didn’t compute.

She moistened her lips, fighting the headache beginning to throb in her temples. “Assuming there is a connection between my accident and Darcy’s disappearance, there would be no guarantee I’d be . . . killed. Or even have serious injuries. I walked away.”

“Sometimes desperate people take chances. They don’t always pay off. This one easily could have.”

She tried to control the sudden chattering of her teeth. “I feel like I’m in an old m-melodramatic B movie or something.” She swallowed and balled her hands into fists. “Do you think we might be overreacting? I mean, even if someone does have Darcy, it’s not like we have any clues to his identity at this point. He’s n-not in imminent danger of being discovered.”

Dev studied her, as if debating his next move. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s see what my mechanic friend has to say about the car and we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

“Reasonable.”

“Then that’s our game plan. I’ll have an answer Monday morning. In the meantime, be cautious, keep your doors—and
windows—locked, and get some rest. I’ll check in periodically, but call me with any concerns or if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

He crossed to the window and locked it. “Close the door behind me.”

Once he stepped outside, she pushed the button to activate the door. As it glided down, she followed his progress down the driveway until he disappeared from view, the quiet drone of the electric motor the only sound in the silent garage.

When at last the door clicked into place and the hum ceased, she returned to the kitchen, closed the door, and flipped the lock. By the time she got to the front window and looked out, Dev was already gone.

But the fear he’d planted in her mind remained—mostly because he’d never answered her question about whether they could be overreacting.

And if Dev was worried, there was reason for concern . . . even if she didn’t want to believe that.

So she’d follow his advice and be extra cautious until they had the results from his mechanic friend. Hopefully, the man would rule out tampering and they could refocus on finding Darcy.

If he didn’t . . .

She double-checked the locks on her front door, cradled her aching wrist in her other hand, and headed for the medicine chest in search of Tylenol. She wasn’t going to go there yet. For now, she’d remain optimistic.

And do a whole lot of praying.

As the doorbell in her apartment pealed, Faith dropped the basket of laundry she’d lugged upstairs from the community washer and dryer, shoved her hair out of her eyes, and surveyed her spic-and-span living room. Her morning visit to Mark’s might have been a disaster, but her apartment had benefited with an early
spring cleaning. Her grandmother had been right—the best way to work off strong emotions was to scrub the floor, beat the rugs, and banish the dirt. The sick disappointment prompted by her discovery of Mark’s early morning visitor was dissipating, though she was still working out the anger. Another couple of hours of hard cleaning should help.

The apartment was more than presentable enough for an unexpected visitor, however.

Wiping her hands on her jeans, she slid the security chain into the catch and cracked the door.

A tall, attractive guy with dark hair stood on the other side. For some reason he reminded her of the man who’d stopped at work yesterday to talk to Mark. Not in appearance; there was no resemblance between the two men. It was more the way they carried themselves, like they were in charge.

And, like yesterday, that authoritative aura made her nervous for some reason.

“Can I help you?” She wrapped her fingers around the edge of the door.

The guy flashed a glance at her white-knuckled grip, then smiled. “I hope so. I’m sorry to interrupt your Saturday, but my firm is doing some consulting work involving the daycare industry and we’re talking with people in the field as part of our research. I understand you work for Davis Daycare, and I hoped you might be able to spare about twenty minutes to answer a few general questions about the industry. My firm is paying seventy-five dollars in cash to everyone who participates.”

He passed a business card through the opening. She pried her fingers off the door and took it. According to the card, Jack Ferguson was a senior director of CCD Consulting, based in Chicago.

It seemed legit . . . but it could be a scam. And she wasn’t some gullible teenager. She watched the news, read the paper. There were bad characters everywhere, sometimes right under people’s noses. Like that story she’d read a few months ago, about the kindly old
man who was arrested for molesting children. He’d fooled everyone, even his neighbors. You just never knew these days.