Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (27 page)

She’d followed him to the door and stood a mere arm’s length away. Close enough for him to get lost in her jade green eyes. Close enough to hear the shallow, anxious cadence of her breathing. Close enough to smell a subtle, sweet fragrance that made him think of lazy summer days and starlit skies and a world where everything that mattered was wrapped in his arms, close to his heart.

He needed to get out of here.

Now.

But as he reached for the doorknob, she touched his arm. “Thank you for offering to sit up all night just so I could sleep. That means more to me than I can say.” Her voice was tremulous, tear-laced—and as warm as a cozy fire on a frosty night.

He steeled himself before he shifted toward her. “Goes with the territory.”

“Right.” She withdrew her hand and took a step back. “I appreciate it anyway.”

Her warmth had chilled a few degrees . . . and he wanted it back.

Get out of here, Sullivan.

Instead, he moved closer to her. “If it . . .” His voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat. “If it puts your mind at ease, I’d do it even if I wasn’t being paid.”

A sheen appeared in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Silence hung between them. And something more. Something powerful enough to compel him to take another step toward her, erasing the distance between them.

She tipped her head back to look up at him, and at the need in her eyes, his resolve crumbled.

One kiss. That was all he wanted. Just one simple kiss that would send a message about his intentions once he was free to pursue her. A quick brush of the lips that would barely qualify as a breach of Phoenix rules. A gesture as much about comfort as romance.

Ignoring the little voice in his brain that said he was rationalizing, Connor lifted his hand, touched her cheek—and stopped breathing.

Cliché or not, her skin was like satin against his fingertips.

With a soft sigh, she swayed into his hand as her eyes drifted closed.

He was cooked.

Maybe some superhero type with an iron will would be able to resist that invitation, but he was a healthy, normal, human male.

Nerve endings tingling, he leaned down, keeping a slight distance between them—for safety’s sake. Then he gently pressed his lips to hers . . . and the rest of the world melted away.

By the time the kiss ended, his hands were framing her face, and the safe distance he’d left between them had disappeared.

So much for a simple little kiss.

Breaking contact at last, he kept a firm grip on her arms as he backed off.

She gazed up at him, her eyes slightly dazed.

“I-I thought this kind of . . . stuff . . . was off-limits for now.”

“It is. I broke a rule tonight. Consider it a preview of what to expect once this case is over.” He released her, stepped back and reached for the door. “You sure you’re going to be able to get some rest tonight if I don’t sit outside Sanders’s house?”

Worry and fear flickered to life again in her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

Translation? Not likely. There wasn’t much chance she’d have another restful slumber until her son was back in her arms.

And it was his job to make that happen.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Thanks again—for everything.”

He strode down her walk, pausing beside the van to look back. She stood framed in the doorway, the light from behind illuminating her slender form. Calling him back.

This time he resisted.

Instead, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. It was getting late, but after that charged clinch he wasn’t tired. Why not run by Sanders’s house, just to verify everything was quiet? Maybe the detour would give his pulse a chance to drop back into the vicinity of the normal range.

And if it didn’t, there was always a cold shower.

G
reg stared at the arc of blood shooting from his left forearm.

Of all the stupid . . .

“Hey! You’re bleeding, man! Bad!” From the adjacent sawhorse, Sal gestured toward the spray of red with his circular saw.

Like he couldn’t see that.

Setting his own saw on the ground, Greg looked around for something to stanch the flow of blood from the cut. He’d never, ever slipped up like this on the job before. His injury-free record had always been a source of pride for him.

One more thing in his life that had gone down the tubes.

Seeing nothing appropriate nearby, he yanked off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his arm. If he’d been concentrating on the job instead of thinking about Diane and formulating escape plans and wondering about the progress Emilio’s friend was making on his documents, the saw would never have slipped and . . .

“What happened?” The foreman hustled over as a small crowd gathered around him.

Great. Now he was the center of attention.

“Just nicked my arm. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think so.” The foreman planted his fists on his hips,
his gaze on the makeshift dressing. “It’s already bleeding through the shirt.”

Greg examined it. The man was right. Slapping a bandage on this cut wasn’t going to fix it.

“Let me take a look.” Some hard-hat-wearing guy he didn’t know elbowed through the group. “I used to be a medic’s assistant in Iraq. Are there latex gloves in the first-aid kit?”

“Should be. Somebody go get it from the office.” The foreman gestured toward the construction trailer.

Two of his co-workers took off at a sprint.

“Why don’t you sit down?” The guy with the hard hat put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward a sixty-pound plastic bucket of drywall joint compound.

He didn’t want to sit. He wanted everyone to disappear and leave him alone.

But when his legs suddenly grew shaky, he sat.

His co-workers returned with the first-aid kit, and the medic’s assistant snapped on a pair of latex gloves with practiced ease. If the guy was a pro, maybe he could stop the bleeding and they could all get on with their day.

But as he carefully unwrapped the T-shirt and examined the gash, he shook his head. “I can’t do anything for this except apply a compression bandage. It needs stitches. Possibly even surgery, if you nicked an artery—but I’m not seeing a lot of evidence of that. You need to get to an ER or an urgent care center ASAP.” As he spoke, he quickly slapped on a thick sterile dressing and began to wrap a stretchy bandage around it.

“There’s one a few miles down the road. I’ll take you.” The foreman motioned over his shoulder to someone Greg couldn’t see. “Keep an eye on the place while I’m gone.”

This whole thing was getting out of control.

“Look . . . I’m sure this will stop bleeding on its own.”

“Don’t count on it.” The ex-soldier rose and held out a hand.
“Keep your arm elevated as much as possible until you get this treated. That will help reduce the bleeding.”

With the hand extended and everyone watching him, he didn’t have much choice except to take it. After accepting the assistance, he tapped his watch. “Listen . . . this isn’t going to work. I have to pick up my son from daycare in an hour.”

“Is there someone you can call?” The foreman took his uninjured arm and started tugging him toward the area where the workers parked.

No, there wasn’t. That was why he’d listed his neighbor as a contact on the daycare application—unbeknownst to her—since the school required a secondary contact. But he’d been on the verge of asking Diane if he could put her name there instead.

Would she pick up Todd?

“Greg? You with me?” The foreman tightened his grip.

“Yeah.” Unfortunately, she’d ignored the message he’d left last night about going out for pizza this evening. His flowers should have arrived by now, though. They may have softened her up. And she cared for Todd. She’d do it for his son even if she wouldn’t do it for him. “I can call the friend I brought to Bob’s picnic.”

His boss gave a low whistle. “Now there’s a looker. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

He ignored that comment as they approached the man’s car, using the dead airspace to retrieve his cell, praying she’d answer.

She didn’t.

Mind racing, he considered his options as he waited for her voice mail to kick in. Worst case, he could call STL, tell them he was delayed, and shell out the extra bucks for overtime. They were there until six, and hopefully he’d be past this crisis by then—but in case he wasn’t, it would be better to connect with Diane.

The answering machine beeped.

“Diane, it’s Greg. Listen . . . I had a little accident at the job site. Looks like I’m going to need some stitches. I’m on my way to an urgent care center now, and I was hoping you might be able to pick Todd up at daycare for me at three-thirty. I’ll wait about fifteen minutes, and if I don’t hear back from you, I’ll try something else. Thanks.”

“No answer, huh?” The foreman helped him with his seat belt, then put the car in gear.

“I’ll give her a few minutes.”

“If she’s like my wife, you’re hosed. Martha never turns her cell phone on. Says it’s just for emergencies—on
her
end, mind you, not mine. But I can’t complain too much. At least she’s not one of those women who talk your ear off, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah.” He bent his left arm, supporting his elbow with his right hand to keep the gash elevated.

The man glanced at the spreading crimson stain on the bandage and pressed harder on the accelerator. “I bet that hurts. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. Hang on.”

Like he had a choice—about anything these days.

He turned his head and watched the passing scenery, fighting back a wave of despair. This wasn’t how he’d expected his move to St. Louis to play out. It was supposed to be a new start, a second chance.

Instead, another Marshall was wreaking havoc in his life.

Resentment curdled in his belly, and as rage began to simmer in his heart, he made a vow.

Kate Marshall wasn’t going to win this game she was playing.

Yes, she might come up with enough evidence to get the attention of law enforcement. Maybe even enough to have the case officially reopened. It would be difficult, considering how careful he’d been about covering his tracks—though not outside the realm of possibility.

But if it came to that, he’d find a way to make her pay before he disappeared with his son.

Just as he’d made her husband pay.

“So who do you have on tap for the night shift?”

Connor looked up as Cal, soda in hand, stopped in his doorway. “Dale. His wife is out of town visiting her sister this week, so the night schedule suits him.”

“Suits me too. I’d rather spend my nights with Moira.”

“I figured as much. And Dale’s reliable. I trust him not to fall asleep.”

“So do I. He was a force to be reckoned with when he and I worked cases together for County. They lost a good man when he took early retirement a few years ago.”

“They’ve lost a couple of good men in the past few years.”

Cal shrugged, uncomfortable as usual with compliments. “So Dev’s on for now, and you’re picking up the afternoon/evening shift?”

“Right. You’re on tomorrow.”

“Got it. Have you . . .”

As his cell began to vibrate, Connor held up a hand and pulled it off his belt. When Diane Koenig’s name appeared in the LED display, his eyebrows rose.

“I need to take this.” He punched the talk button.

With a lift of his hand, Cal disappeared down the hall.

“Hi, Diane. Connor here. What’s up?”

“I’ve had two calls from Greg.”

“Since we talked last night?”

“Yes. There was a message on my answering machine when I got home, inviting me to join him and Todd for pizza tonight. I never returned it. Then, about noon, a bouquet of flowers arrived. A peace offering, I take it. And he just called again,
on my cell. There’s been an accident on the construction site, and he asked me to pick up Todd from daycare while he goes to urgent care. Being new in town, he doesn’t have many friends, and I hate to leave Todd stranded. Do you see any problem with me doing this?”

Connor frowned and turned his pen end to end on the desk, evaluating the unexpected opportunity and toying with an idea. If Diane could pull it off, it would expedite their case.

“Does your offer to help us still stand?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in her response—a positive sign. “Why?”

“We need a DNA sample from Todd. That’s the best way to establish a credible connection between him and Kate. Once we have that link, law enforcement will step in. We’ve been waiting for an opportunity to get one, but if you could take care of it for us, that would speed things up.”

“What kind of sample?” Wariness crept into her tone.

“A few strands of hair. A dozen, max, and as long as possible. But they’d have to be gathered without arousing the boy’s suspicion to lessen the likelihood he’ll tell Sanders.”

“That could be a challenge. How were you going to manage it?”

“Follow them to a salon or go through the trash if he cuts the boy’s hair at home.”

“But how could
I
get one without being obvious?”

Connor swiveled in his chair, toward the picture of him and Joe as teens. The two of them had gotten into several scrapes involving loss of hair during their growing-up years. Like the time Joe had run into the tree with his sled, a stunt that had left him with several stitches and a shaved patch on his scalp. Or their initiation into the neighborhood tree house club that had required them to contribute a lock of hair to the club’s collection. Not to mention the day their mother had intervened moments after ten-year-old Joe began giving him a Mohawk
haircut. Then there’d been the day his giant bubble of gum had broken on the back of Joe’s head. His mother had had a bear of a time getting it out of Joe’s hair and had finally resorted to scissors for the gummiest strands.

That could work.

He swung back to his desk. “Does Todd like bubble gum?”

“Bubble gum?” Diane sounded puzzled.

“Yes.” He relayed the story about his own childhood escapade.

“Hmm.” Her voice grew thoughtful. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen him chew any—but what kid doesn’t like bubble gum? And I was a world-class bubble-blower in my younger days. I think I can pull this off without arousing suspicion. What should I do with the hair?”

“Seal it into a ziplock bag. You can call me as soon as you leave the house, and I’ll meet you around the corner so you can hand it over. The key is to make this all seem natural. We don’t want to give Todd any reason to bring it up to Sanders.”

“I understand. I’ll do my best.”

For a few seconds, Connor hesitated, debating the downsides of the plan. Worst case, Todd would mention the incident to Sanders. The man would either pass it off as inconsequential and innocent, or his suspicions could be further aroused. But by then they’d have the sample, and within a week the lab would have the analysis. In the meantime, they’d be keeping the man under surveillance. He wasn’t going anywhere without a tail. If they passed up this opportunity, they might have to wait another two or three weeks just to get the sample.

When the silence lengthened, Diane spoke again. “In case you’re worried, as the wife of an abuser I became very adept at deception in my former life. You learn to say and do whatever you have to in order to keep yourself safe and deflect suspicion—in that case, misplaced. I can do this job for you, now that we have a plan.”

Her confident tone sealed the deal.

“I’m sure you can. Call me on my cell as soon as you have the sample.”

“I will. Talk to you soon.”

As he weighed the phone in his hand, he debated whether to tell Kate about this latest development. No. Better to wait until he had the sample in hand.

But once he did, this thing would shift into high gear.

And by the middle of next week, if everything went as he expected, a long-separated mother and son would be in the midst of an extraordinary reunion.

“So is Dad hurt bad?”