Hers to Protect

by Catherine Lanigan

  She texted: I’m going in late today. Love to. When?

  He texted back: How soon can you get here?

  She smiled. Josh was at minimum intrigued by her, just like Trent wanted. Right? Maybe she could get more information about his background. More intel on Miguel. She texted: Be there in thirty minutes.

  He returned: I’ll be at the front door. Coffee in hand.

  Violet put the phone down and looked at herself in the mirror. If she went in uniform, it could possibly upset him. Clearly, last night’s party and those kisses had given her the advantage.

  She called the station and left a message for Trent that she would be late by an hour, so that everyone at the station would know she’d phoned in. Then she sent a private text to Trent’s cell explaining that she was seeing Josh Stevens.

  Within seconds she read Trent’s reply: Copy that.

  She rushed to her closet and withdrew her black-and-silver spandex running clothes, and shoes. Trent had told her to lie. She’d just told her first one to Josh. When she was at the academy, it was easy to define situations as black and white. Place blame. Uphold the innocent. She was quickly learning there was little in her job and life that was either black or white. Ethics were varying shades of charcoal to gray. This vast new territory made her uneasy.

  * * *

  VIOLET STOOD ON Austin’s front porch and rang the bell. The door instantly flew open.

  Astonishment filled Josh’s face. He looked at her hair. “Wow. Some workout, huh?”

  She smoothed a hand over her still-damp hair and chuckled. “I wash my hair before my run. I know it’s backward, but I don’t have much time before my shift. I change at the station,” she lied—almost like a pro, she thought.

  “Well, come in,” he said, and handed her a small blue-and-white china mug of coffee. “As promised—coffee at the door.” He grinned charmingly.

  She felt her heart flutter. It was no wonder he captivated the public, she thought.

  “Austin and Katia are on the terrace.”

  He was dressed in white summer slacks, a navy knit shirt and white-and-navy sneakers. He’d pushed the long sleeves of the shirt to his elbows, exposing taut, muscular forearms.

  She guessed his arms had to be strong to handle a multimillion dollar race car going at breakneck speed around hairpin turns. And yet, those fingers that gripped his steering wheel had gently whisked an apple blossom from her cheek just last night.

  She walked past him, admonishing herself for thinking intimate thoughts about a man who might be a criminal.

  “I figured you’d be out of town before sunrise,” Violet said, going through the French doors. “With all you have to do—for the race.”

  “I have time,” he replied, standing close to her as they went through the doors together.

  Violet nearly shivered at his closeness, but the spring sunshine filled the flowering gardens and terrace with warmth. Austin was wearing tennis shorts and a white shirt. Katia wore tangerine capris and a matching blouse with aqua flip-flops. She had placed two cups on the table.

  “Hey, guys!” Katia smiled. “I’m making cappuccinos. I got a new machine.” She pointed to the espresso machine on the granite-topped serving counter against the brick outer house wall, where it sat next to a bowl of freshly cut fruit and a plate of croissants, muffins and toast. “The foam is to die for. Want one?”

  “I sure do,” Josh replied, walking up to Katia and giving her a quick hug. Then he slapped Austin on the back. “Beautiful day, huh?”

  “It is,” Austin replied. “Welcome, Violet.”

  Josh held a white wrought-iron chair for Violet. “Come. Sit.”

  “Thanks,” Violet said as she sat across from Austin. “It’s gorgeous out here,” she said. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  Josh plunked down in the chair next to her. “How’s the coffee?”

  “Loads better than the coffee at the station,” she said.

  “I can vouch for that!” Josh said.

  Austin halted his cup mid-motion and stared at Josh. Katia stopped serving up the fruit. Violet blinked.

  “What?” Josh raised his shoulders and smiled good-naturedly. “Like I don’t know about life at the police station. I was her prisoner, after all.”

  “Don’t kid about stuff like that,” Katia said. “I want to forget about it.”

  “Exactly,” Austin concurred.

  “It’s a point of fact,” Josh said, looking at Violet.

  “That’s right. It is. But since you appear to be making restitution, we should put it in the past,” Violet said.

  Josh’s smile was faint and broke slowly, but his eyes probed her face. “You mean that?”

  “Uh-huh.” She picked up a sugar cube with tiny gold tongs and plopped it into her cup. “I’m more interested in why you asked me here.”

  “Ah, ever the investigator,” Josh replied with a chuckle, and slid his hand to her shoulder. He retracted it almost immediately.

  Almost.

  “It’s a beautiful day and Katia’s cappuccino...”

  Violet leveled her eyes on him. “You want witnesses for some reason.”

  He dropped his smile. “Actually, you’re right. And far too serious for such a glorious morning. But, the truth is, my reasons are twofold.”

  “Ah,” Austin said, taking a plate of croissants from Katia. “Now you’ve got my interest.”

  “Good, because they both concern you, my friend,” Josh said. “First, I want to thank you, Violet, for coercing me to participate in your fund-raiser. Even Austin said he didn’t think I’d do it this close to the race. This is a worthy endeavor you all have undertaken. I want to help.”

  “You already have,” Violet assured him.

  He placed his hand over hers. “I’ve been thinking about it all night. I’m going to talk to my accountant about a substantial donation.”

  Violet put her cup down with a clank. Was he serious? Would a criminal be this generous? Or was this a cover-up for something else? A way for him to keep her off track? Was he being wily or benevolent? “That’s very generous,” she said. And he can afford it.

  Josh placed a linen napkin on his lap. “It’s not enough. Austin and Katia. Violet. I’d like to do more, but I don’t know what you need.”

  “What are you saying?” Violet asked.

  “I’m not sure. I’m not the guy to help with the planning or engineering, but I could help raise money across the state. I could start a blog for you all and raise even more. I made notes last night.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out scraps of paper.

  Violet looked at his scribbles. He’d written on the backs of envelopes and a couple sheets of notepaper.

  She picked up a couple notes. Her eyes widened. “You want to donate how much?”

  Josh plucked the paper from her hand. “I have to talk to my accountant. I don’t know how much I can handle, but I’ve never felt quite this affected about a project before. Because of my past, in and out of many foster homes and being shuffled from school to school, I felt I never got the education I wanted and certainly little attention or affection. It took my mentor, Paul Saylor, to change my life. This center is a good idea. A place for kids and parents to come for counseling and day care. I read over the list of activities. I had some thoughts of my own, but they’re in the soft-gel stage.”

  His voice was croaking from emotion, Violet thought. Was he serious? Was she seeing another side of celebrity? Or did he want to make it all about him? Another way to promote his name and gain more stardom.

  “I suppose, Josh, you’d like us to name the home after you?” Violet probed.

  “Not at all. Though I’m sure my accountant will explore the tax advantages to something like that—now that you mention it.”

  Violet avoided everyone’s eyes. She’d hit a mark. There
was a real possibility Josh’s intentions were not all that altruistic.

  Katia stirred her cappuccino. “Josh, there’s no question that our new foundation would appreciate your donation. I’ll talk to Mrs. Beabots. Can we give you a call about it?”

  “Sure. But after the race.” He snapped his fingers. “Which reminds me. My second point of conversation. I’m having your tickets to the race Express Mailed to the house. Is that okay?”

  “Wonderful!” Austin smiled. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  Violet felt Josh’s hand squeeze her forearm. “I’d like you to come, as well.”

  Without thinking her reply through, she blurted, “I have to work.”

  “Right. Not off duty.”

  Her eyes met his, which was a big mistake. His voice was soft and far too reminiscent of last night. She had to pull her eyes from his lips, otherwise Katia and Austin would know what she was thinking. She felt a jab of duplicity go straight through her. If she stayed around Josh any longer, she might not be able to resist the strong magnetism between them. She looked at Katia. “Speaking of which, I have to get to work.”

  “So soon?” Josh squeezed her arm again. “Stay.”

  “You haven’t finished your coffee,” Katia said pleadingly.

  “I’m sure the Chief would understand,” Austin agreed.

  “Yeah,” Josh whispered.

  The pleading look in his eyes was sincere enough to strike out every doubt she had about him.

  Her reason tried to remind her that Josh was under investigation. Just because he was handsome, rich and famous, she couldn’t cut him slack or jeopardize her job.

  She stood instantly, nearly knocking the chair over. She held the back to right it. “Thank you for the invitation today.” She leaned over and hugged Katia. “I gotta run.”

  “Will I see you at the next committee meeting?” Katia asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  She turned to Josh. “I’ll talk to Mrs. Beabots tonight.”

  “Good,” he said. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “No need. I can find my way.”

  “I insist,” he replied.

  No man had ever treated her with such manners. He’d been raised in a foster home. Maybe Mrs. Dupree had taught him to be a gentleman. Maybe it was part of being a celebrity. She didn’t know.

  She did know she liked it.

  He opened the front door. “Call me tomorrow?”

  “Call?”

  “Yeah. After you talk to Mrs. Beabots.”

  Violet stepped across the threshold. He didn’t pull her back for a kiss or a hug. She was surprised she noticed that. “I will.”

  “Great,” he said, and thrust his hands in his pockets. “We’ll talk then.”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, goodbye.”

  He closed the door before she’d turned away to walk down the sidewalk.

  Violet hoped Trent and the Chief would be pleased that she’d seen Josh again. She began wording her report in her head as she walked to her car. Weeks ago she’d volunteered to work all Memorial Day weekend in exchange for having Labor Day off. Nearly all the officers were expected to work Fourth of July since over twenty thousand tourists and visitors swarmed to Indian Lake for the holiday.

  As she backed out of the driveway, she saw the living room drape fall over the window.

  Had Josh been watching her leave? If so, why? Was he worried about her? Or was he reporting on her whereabouts to Miguel?

  Her job was to find the truth about Josh Stevens. Not to create a portrait of Indian Lake’s next philanthropist, which already looked like a premeditated strategy. Was Josh using her?

  She was using him, though if the chaos that surrounded Miguel came close to Josh, it would be her job to protect him.

  The arm of the law swung both ways, and if she wasn’t careful, her betrayal of Josh would cause her to be the one who got hurt.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IT WAS PAST ten o’clock when Violet drove to the farmhouse. The county roads were illuminated only by a three-quarter moon. With her superiors’ trust in her, Violet felt an unfamiliar confidence that bordered on imperviousness. She knew she should have waited to go through proper legal channels and obtain a search warrant, but her intuition had nudged her out of a sound sleep and urged her to action.

  Her list of “what ifs” grew by the minute as she dressed, checked her gun and dashed to her squad car.

  What if at this very moment Miguel Garcia chose to make his move? What if there were other gang members descending on the farmhouse?

  In the meeting that morning, Trent stated that the lack of activity at the farmhouse did not substantiate a reason for further surveillance. He’d received intel from Chicago PD that a shipment of drugs was reported to arrive at a boat warehouse across from Indian Lake that evening. Trent shifted the team to surveillance at the boathouse. Violet had wanted to protest, but knew better than to object to her superior.

  She couldn’t help wondering if her natural instincts for detective work had finally kicked in professionally.

  And at full force? She smiled as she pulled up to the house.

  “Not a light on in the place.”

  She parked the car behind a cluster of bushes and trees where she knew she wouldn’t be seen. She turned off the engine and decided to wait out the night. She wanted to be as good as Trent. She wanted the chance to test her instincts. She might have been breaking protocol, but she felt it was worth the risk. If she was right, she might be dressed down, but above all she would have proved something to herself. She needed to know she was detective material.

  She made notes and recorded her time. She noticed a Beware of Dog sign.

  “That wasn’t there before.” She took a photo on her phone, not that it would show all that well in the dim light. She knew signs like Private Property and Beware of Dog were tip-offs to drug operations. She peered through binoculars, looking for newly installed surveillance cameras or any kind of extensive security that was new.

  She saw nothing else.

  “Maybe I missed that sign last time... Nah. No chance.” She made more notes.

  Twelve minutes later she heard an owl hoot. A flock of geese flew across the moon. The night sky was cloudless.

  The area was dead silent.

  And every nerve in her body was on high alert.

  “I can’t take this!”

  She leaned under the seat and took out her flashlight. She got out of the car, and without turning on the flashlight she stealthily approached the farmhouse. Just because there were no lights didn’t mean the house was empty.

  Without that warrant, Violet knew she couldn’t go into the house, but there was nothing to stop her from looking in the windows.

  For the most part, the interior of the house was shut off from view by cheap, bent mini-blinds. The front door was locked, she found when she crept up to the door and tried the knob—just to see.

  The house was old and obviously hadn’t been painted in decades. The front porch steps were rotted enough that she was certain a man of Trent’s stature would break the boards.

  She crouched under the cracked glass picture window and went to the corner of the house. She didn’t hear a single sound coming from within.

  She jumped off the wooden porch to the unkempt flower bed that was home only to weeds and a few withering peony bushes. The dry dirt exploded into tiny clouds under her regulation boots. She slammed her back against the garage wall, looked right and left. With the bright moonlight, she hadn’t needed to turn on her flashlight yet. Moving along the garage wall, she noticed a window.

  With no covering.

  She slid to the window and peered inside. The interior was dark, but she could see the garage was full...of something.

  She turned on h
er flashlight and put it up to the window.

  “Whaaat?”

  Squinting to make out exactly what she was seeing, she gaped at the number of boxes stacked against the walls. She moved the light beam down the pile. She saw nail polish remover. Decongestants for colds. Hydrochloric acid for swimming pools. Batteries. Toilet cleaner. Drain cleaner. Brake fluid.

  She swung the beam over to the end wall where a dozen recyclable propane tanks, like the kind her brothers used for the barbecue grill, were lined up. On a long folding table she saw plastic tubing, hot plates, blowtorches, funnels, three Bunsen burners and dozens of empty plastic milk jugs. Large bags of kitty litter leaned against the wall.

  Though she knew her phone’s camera might not capture the interior, she risked using the flash to take half a dozen photos. She turned off the flashlight and raced back to the squad car.

  She kept the headlights off as she eased the car away from the cluster of pines, forsythia and lilac bushes. Once she was on the main road, she hit the gas and peeled away.

  At some point over the last ten hours as the ILPD team had concentrated its efforts on the new boat warehouse target, believing the farmhouse was a decoy, the gang had moved a great deal of equipment and supplies.

  Violet knew if they showed up at the farmhouse in force and saw her, she could be captured, ransomed or worse. But the risk had been worth it. She’d heard every detail of the gamble that Trent Davis had taken when he brought down Le Grand. He’d risked his fiancée, her child and himself. Violet’s ante in this game seemed small compared to what he’d done.

  Still, she couldn’t put enough miles between her and the methamphetamine lab.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Violet met with Trent Davis and two drug task force members, Sal Paluzzi and Bob Paxton in Trent’s office. Violet remained silent as Trent scanned last night’s photos of the farmhouse garage.

  “I don’t get it,” he said. “When could they have moved all this stuff in?”

  “During the window of time yesterday from my last shift to when I arrived on scene at 10:43 last night.”