Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (25 page)

“I guess I assumed we were safe as long as he didn’t know we were investigating him.” Kate looked toward Sanders’s house again.

“I doubt we’ve been totally safe since the day on the escalator. He knows you saw the boy, and he has to wonder if you’re trying to find some answers. But my guess is he doesn’t expect you to get anywhere—nor hire a crack PI firm.” He threw the last in, hoping to coax a smile from her. While the situation was beginning to get sticky, he didn’t want her freaking out.

It worked—barely. “Phoenix
is
a crack firm—one PI in particular. As for delving into what I saw that day . . . when it comes to the people I love, I have the tenacity of a pit bull.”

“I figured that out. And I have a feeling he may have too. That’s why I don’t want to put off the meeting with Diane.” He pulled his phone off his belt again.

“How do you want me to handle the meeting?”

He punched in Dev’s speed dial number. “First of all, I don’t want you to handle it alone. I plan to be . . . Dev?” He held up a finger to her. “I have a big favor to ask.”

“I’m not going to deliver takeout to your van.”

“Nothing that simple. I need you to come back and relieve me.”

“Ha-ha.”

“I’m not kidding.”

“No. There’s been a development Kate and I need to pursue.”

“What kind of development?”

“It involves the woman you saw. I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“I’m not even home yet.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better.” A theatrical sigh came over the line. “Can I at least pay a quick visit to the Golden Arches and grab a burger?”

“No problem. We have a few minutes to spare.”

“Gee, thanks. What did
you
have for dinner?”

“Same thing you’re having.”

“That makes me feel a little better. See you in twenty.”

Connor broke the connection and turned to Kate. “Here’s what I have in mind. I want to swing by the office and get some equipment, then stop by my place so I can take a quick shower and change into more professional attire before I run you home.”

“Why?”

This was the part he had a feeling she wasn’t going to like.

“I’d like to be in on your conversation with Diane, but my presence could spook her. Until we know what she wants to talk to you about, I need to stay close but out of sight. My preference is to have you wear a wire. That way, I can listen in from the street.”

She stared at him. “You want to eavesdrop on us?”

Why did the van suddenly feel ten degrees hotter?

“I don’t like deception any more than you do, but if she’s aligned with Sanders, she’s deceiving
you
. I have no qualms about using a wire in that case. If she’s on our side, and you get a clear indication of that as you talk with her, tell her who I am and that I’d like to sit in on the rest of the conversation. If she agrees, I’ll come in. She never has to know I was listening the whole time.”

Kate shifted in her seat and swiped at the moisture above her lip. “Is this legal?”

“Yes. Missouri has a one-party rule for electronic listening or recording. As long as one of the people involved gives consent, it’s legal.”

“But not necessarily moral.”

“Neither is kidnapping—or murder.”

She flinched . . . but he needed her to remember that bad guys had no scruples.

“True. But if I think she’s with us, I’d like to bring you in as quickly as possible.”

“That’s fine. I trust your judgment.” He pulled a bottle of water from the cooler behind the front seat and handed it to her. “However, don’t rush that determination. Tipping our hand to the wrong person could short-circuit the whole investigation.”

Her fingers closed over the bottle. Brushed his. He held tight, and she sent him a questioning look.

“Home stretch, remember?”

Eyes troubled, she nodded.

But as he released the bottle and she took a long swallow, exposing a long, graceful curve of throat, he wished this race was over. Because lots of things could go wrong in the home stretch.

And victory didn’t always go to the most deserving.

A
s the TV continued to blare in the living room, Greg slammed the dishwasher closed and punched the start button.

He’d blown it with Diane tonight.

Big-time.

But how could he have known the Marshall woman would plant seeds of doubt in her mind by revealing so much personal history? Since when were professional counselors that open with clients?

All he’d wanted Diane to find out was how Kate happened to be in possession of a photo of Todd, not learn enough to begin making connections.

Worst of all, the most vital question remained unanswered.

Why did Kate have the picture?

He blew out a breath.

The whole reconnaissance mission had turned into a bust.

Panic clawing at his throat, he stalked to the refrigerator and yanked open the door. His stash of beer stared back at him from the bottom shelf, and his fingers itched to grab another bottle. But he’d already had two—double his daily limit. Didn’t matter. He wanted more. Needed more. Just this once. Tomorrow he’d go back to his usual routine.

Leaning forward, he reached for the closest brew, twisted off the cap, and began to pace again.

He had to think. Had to be logical. Had to control his panic.

Lifting the bottle, he took a long drink.

Diane—the sweet, caring friend he’d thought might be part of his future—was pulling back from him as he’d pulled back from her. Her stiff posture, wary expression, and chilly good-bye tonight had been like a punch in the stomach after her previous warmth and caring. In a short two months, she’d offered him the kind of companionship he’d never expected to find again, given him hope he might be able to re-create the family unit that had once been the center of his world.

Now that hope was shriveling.

A bead of sweat rolled down the neck of the bottle. It dripped onto his finger . . . reminding him of a tear.

He could relate.

Fingers gripping the brew, he took another swig.

All might not be lost with Diane, though. Surely she still cared about him. Everything they’d built over the past two months couldn’t disintegrate in a mere couple of weeks. And if she did care, she wouldn’t make waves. Not if he repaired the relationship, restored her trust.

But how could he do that?

Pausing by the back window, he surveyed the withered grass that had succumbed to the relentless heat. Maybe he’d send her flowers tomorrow to thank her for visiting Kate. She’d like that. And why not ask her to join them for a midweek pizza too? If he reversed course, spent more time with her, he’d be in a position not only to do damage control but perhaps even convince her to find some other career counseling service. Kate Marshall and New Start weren’t the only game in town.

As Greg finished off his beer, the
Looney Tunes
song filtered in from the living room, accompanied by Todd’s giggle. Fingers
tightening on the neck of the bottle, he closed his eyes. This was all he wanted. All he’d ever wanted. A joyful home shared with the people he loved.

But both the home and the people had been stolen from him. God hadn’t listened to his prayer for either Jen or David, nor had the high and mighty John Marshall deigned to authorize the one treatment that had any hope of extending his son’s life.

And now the man’s wife was threatening to disrupt his world yet again.

He crossed to the recycle bin by the back door and flung the empty bottle inside. It shattered . . . reminding him how he’d felt inside the day the nurse had quietly turned off all the machines that had been keeping David alive.

And in the silence of that lonely hospital room, holding on to the cooling hand of his dead son, he’d vowed to get even.

Months later, after a numbing detour into alcoholic stupor, he’d succeeded.

Failure hadn’t been an option back then.

Nor was it an option now.

Clenching his fists, he forced himself to take a deep breath. To think with his mind, not his heart, as he resumed his pacing.

Okay. So he didn’t know how Kate had gotten that photo of Todd. But if she had any proof to substantiate her suspicions, the authorities would be snooping around, asking questions. Since they weren’t, she must not have any credible evidence. Nor would she easily get it. He’d covered his tracks well.

With the right people doing the tracking, however, there was a small possibility she could begin to make troublesome connections. And in light of that picture she had of Todd, there was a chance she had those kinds of people on the job.

Yet Todd had never had a studio portrait taken.

Unless . . .

He stopped pacing. Maybe it wasn’t a photo of Todd at all.
Maybe it was one of those age-progression images they talked about on the TV detective shows. That would explain the studio look. In fact, it might be the
only
way to explain the plain blue background Diane had described.

But just because an age-progressed photo of her son resembled Todd didn’t prove anything. Lots of people had doubles.

Still . . . he didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. And if Kate Marshall was on his trail, leaving town wouldn’t protect him. On the contrary. Taking a drastic step like that would only heighten suspicion.

He dropped into a chair and raked his fingers through his hair. Would it be better to sit tight and hope she eventually gave up trying to prove her case, or was there something he could do to stop her from pursuing her quest?

Like what?

What did he know about her that might help him eliminate any threat?

She
was addicted to Valium.

As Diane’s words echoed in his mind, Greg propped his elbows on the table. Could he use that knowledge to his advantage?

Thirty seconds ticked by while he toyed with that question. No plan came to mind—but his gut told him the information had potential . . . and that he needed to be prepared to capitalize on it.

At least he had Valium on hand. He’d only used a few of the pills his doctor prescribed after David died, since alcohol had done a much better job relieving his anxiety. Were they still potent after three years? A quick search on the Net later would give him that answer.

But suppose the walls began to close in on him? Suppose the Marshall woman found some piece of evidence provocative enough to interest law enforcement before he had a chance to eliminate the threat?

In that case, his options would be reduced to one.

He’d have to disappear. Start over. Assume a new identity, like government-protected witnesses did in the WitSec program.

To do that, though, he and Todd would need new documents. Birth certificates. Social security numbers. A driver’s license for him. It was important to have those on hand ASAP—just in case.

Time to contact Emilio.

Greg stood and grabbed his keys off the counter. On the off chance his phones were being monitored, calling the man from home or on his cell wouldn’t be smart. Better to use a pay phone—like the one in the hall near the DQ restrooms.

He moved to the door into the living room, where his son remained focused on the cartoon mayhem splashed on the screen.

“Hey, champ, want to go to DQ for a sundae?” He jiggled the keys.

Todd twisted his neck to look back at him. “For real?”

“Yep.”

“Awesome!” He aimed the remote at the TV. A second later the screen went blank, and he began tugging on his shoes. “I wish Diane had stayed longer. She could have gone with us.”

“Yeah. But I’m thinking about asking her to go out for pizza with us tomorrow night.”

Todd stopped tying his shoes. “In the middle of the week?”

“You have a problem with that?” He conjured up a grin.

“No way! That’d be cool!” He finished tying the laces and jumped to his feet, face beaming. “I sure like it when we do stuff together, Dad.”

“Me too.” And he planned to keep doing father/son things for a long time to come. “Why don’t you wash your hands and change that shirt, then we’ll head out?”

“Awesome.” Todd zoomed toward the hall, and a moment later the sound of running water filtered into the living room.

Greg returned to the kitchen, grabbed some change out of the bowl on the counter, and retrieved Emilio’s letter from the
address book in the desk. The man would come through for him, of that he had no doubt. And after this, he’d consider their debt fully paid. Because if he had to disappear, he’d never again contact anyone from his former life. It would be too risky.

But that was fine. He’d have Todd, and in the end, that’s all that mattered. Giving up Diane would be hard—but maybe someday, down the road, he’d find someone else to love. There had to be more Dianes out there.

“I’m ready, Dad.” Todd dashed into the kitchen.

Greg’s jaw compressed into a firm line. “So am I.”

As her doorbell rang at nine-thirty, Kate adjusted the belt on the capris she’d donned after her quick shower and tried to ignore the small mic taped to her skin, under her blouse. This still felt deceitful—but Connor was right. If she’d read Diane wrong and the woman was trying to get information for Sanders, Connor needed to hear what was being said.

On the other hand, if Diane was here to help, that should be obvious very early in the conversation and she could bring Connor in, keeping everything aboveboard.

A quick peek through the peephole confirmed the identity of her visitor. After unlocking the deadbolt, she took a calming breath and pulled open the door.

“Hi, Diane. Sorry this had to be so late.”

“I’m just glad you were willing to see me.” The woman entered, Coach purse gripped in her fingers, eyes troubled. John had always said money didn’t buy happiness, and her visitor was living proof of that.

“Let’s sit in the living room.” She gestured to her left and ushered the woman in. “Can I offer you a soda or some tea?”

“No, thanks.” Diane chose one of the upholstered chairs beside the fireplace.

Kate sat on the couch, a few feet away. Connor had told her the mic was powerful and she didn’t need to worry about staying too close, but why take chances?

“You have a nice place.” The woman looked around.

“Thanks. It feels a bit big sometimes for one person, but I do like the layout.”

Silence fell between them, and Kate crossed her legs while Diane fidgeted with her purse, her body language spelling tension in capital letters—shoulders hunched, face taut, respiration shallow. She was in far worse shape than she’d been during their session yesterday in the office.

Her first instinct as a counselor was to spend a few minutes trying to put the woman at ease. But this was Diane’s show. So she waited her out.

“I need to tell you something. Then I have a question.” Diane’s knuckles whitened around her bag. “The first time I visited your office . . . while you were making us some tea . . . I got up to stretch my legs. I walked past your desk, and I accidentally knocked a file off your desk. A picture of a little boy slid out.”

A surge of adrenaline zipped through Kate. Given Diane’s visit to Sanders’s house tonight, she had to have seen the resemblance to his son—and had likely told the man about the picture, putting him on alert.

Not good.

Who knew what he might do if he thought they were closing in?

Trying to rein in her panic, Kate leaned forward, reminding herself she wasn’t supposed to know about the connection between her new client and Sanders. “Why are you telling me this?”

“After we talked yesterday . . . after you told me about your son . . . a lot of things started to add up.”

Her adrenaline spiked again. “What do you mean?”

Diane twisted her hands in her lap. “That boy in the picture in your office . . . he looks just like the son of a friend of mine. This friend . . . he said Todd was adopted, but . . .” She combed trembling fingers through her hair, distress darkening her eyes. “I’m not sure I believe that anymore. He asked me to visit you again, to see if I could find out anything about the picture. But when I went over to Greg’s tonight—that’s my friend—and told him what you said yesterday, I got really bad vibes. I also got the feeling he knew more than he was telling me. This thing is driving me crazy, and I hoped you might be able to clear up the mystery about how you’re connected to Greg’s son.”

Unless the woman was an Academy-Award-quality actress, her distress—and doubts—were real. She was on their side, Kate was certain of it.

But before she tipped their hand, she needed to make certain Connor concurred.

Standing, she spoke their agreed-upon affirmative code phrase as she moved to the front window. “I’m glad you came. Let me shut the drapes so we have more privacy.”

She reached for the pull, looking across the street to where Connor had parked. A lighter flicked on. Burned for a moment. Went out.

One light.

He agreed they should both talk to the woman.

Kate closed the drapes, retook her seat, and leaned toward Diane.

“The photo you saw in my office is an age-progressed image of my son, showing how he would look today. You’re obviously friends with Greg Sanders. I saw him and the boy in the mall three weeks ago, and was so shaken by the encounter I hired a private investigator. After a lot of digging, he was able to identify your friend. We suspect the boy he calls his son may
be my Kevin. I talked to the PI about your call tonight, and he’s outside now, in his car. I’d like to bring him in so he can hear what you have to say.”