Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2)

by Casey Clipper

  Dean's shoulders curled forward. He went back to the cards. “There are a couple cards in here that need to be addressed.”

  “We’ll get the details from her when she arrives.” Nick scooped up a second stack of mail and rooted through the envelopes. “She seems to have herself together. No debt. Pays bills on time. Is actually successful on her own, making good money.”

  “Yeah,” Dean replied absently.

  “A rarity in today’s age.”

  Dean eyed him. “Bitter much?”

  Nick laughed mirthlessly. “Much. You mean to tell me that the women you bed nightly can be placed in the same category as Miss Conley?”

  Dean continued to separate the cards they needed to investigate, not willing to answer that obnoxious comment. Because Nick was spot on. None of the women he slept with could be considered women who had good heads on their shoulders. Not one could hold a candle to Josie’s obvious drive.

  When Dean and Nick had walked through the glass door of the business, he’d been shocked at the sleek, modern lines, the high number of employees working, the phone constantly ringing, the customers patiently waiting, helping themselves to a single-serve coffee machine. Dark oak accented the picture frames, the mirrors, the desks, the furniture. All of the interior expensive. She ran a business meant to be taken seriously.

  “Found out that her brother Harry stays with her often.” Nick sifted through more mail, separating the stacks into different piles. “He's the one who's been utilizing her spare room.”

  Dean halted, cards in hand. “And?”

  “And, did you know there’s a large life insurance policy on Josie?”

  He blinked. He hadn’t done much of the paper-pushing of the case. He’d been assigned to do the pounding the pavement work, being hands-on with Josie. Jordan, who was in charge of doing the monotonous leg work that involved time in front of a computer or reading through documents, must have found the policy. “How much?”

  “Five million dollars.”

  “What the fuck? She’s worth five million dollars?” Dean examined the tiny, cluttered office with minimal decorations, a desk that likely belonged to a grandparent at one time, and an office chair with black electrical tape holding the right arm in place. A total contrast to the storefront.

  “No. The life insurance is worth five million. But between the business, her home, car, and jewelry, I believe her net worth is significantly more. Closer to ten.” Nick sat down in the large, orange plush chair opposite the desk. The piece of obnoxious furniture took up the small amount of remaining space in the room.

  “Why is the policy significantly less than the worth of the business?”

  “Most likely because her mother, who took out the policy on the entire family, didn't know her daughter's financial worth,” Nick answered.

  “When was this policy taken out?” Dean had a sneaky suspicion.

  “Six months ago.”

  Dean’s head dropped to his hands. “Fucking hell.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who are the beneficiaries?” Stupid question that needed to be asked.

  “The twins.”

  Dean’s head fell back on his neck. “Christ’s sake, so now we have three possible persons of interest?”

  And that meant that Josie wasn’t necessarily safe staying with her family any longer, either. Fuck, their job just became more difficult.

  “We need help,” Dean groaned. “We need Jason and Hannah to do some PI work.”

  “I’m already on it.” Nick finished going through the bills and letters, setting aside the mail that interested him.

  “How?”

  Nick shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”

  Dean’s radar went up and he pointed to his partner. “Listen, don’t do anything stupid. It’s bad enough I’m going to get my ass chewed out because I was partners with Campbell during the heist case. I don’t need any more partner surprises.”

  Nick leveled him a hard look. “I’m doing whatever’s necessary to protect that woman, Dean. The chief just thinks he’s signing off on some overtime and reimbursement of funds.”

  “Don’t do it,” Dean warned.

  “I’m the lead on this one. I’ll take the heat.”

  “Yeah, except we all know that won’t work. You, me, and Jordan will get nailed. The only one who’ll be free and clear is Tyler because the bastard is still on crutches.” Dean stood from his chair and stepped around the desk. He didn’t want to listen to Nick’s plan to get him suspended from the unit. His job was the only thing he had left in his life. He couldn’t afford to lose it, too.

  “Nothing will happen. Chief has no one to replace us currently and can’t put in a submission with the commissioners because of the investigation. We’re down two detectives with Campbell gone and O'Neill out on medical leave. They can’t afford to lose us as well.” Nick rose from the chair.

  Dean spun on his partner and slammed him against the wall. “You give us too much credit for being irreplaceable. This job is all I fucking have, Nick. I cannot lose it.”

  Nick's right brow shot to his hairline, his eyes slowly dropping to the lapels Dean had a firm hold on. “You done?”

  The office door swung open. Dean released Nick, as if he hadn’t been on the verge of punching his partner. Josie stood in the doorway, her brother Harry behind her.

  She chuffed. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Nick straightened his jacket. “Nope. Not at all.”

  Josie scoffed. “Right.” She tossed a thumb over her shoulder. “I have two brothers, remember? I know overloaded male testosterone when I see it. Let me tell you, doesn’t give me much comfort knowing the detectives who’re supposed to be finding the guy who attacked me are using each other as punching bags.”

  “Well, it should be a relief to you that no punches were thrown,” Dean said sarcastically, again, forgetting his filter.

  Her mouth twisted, as if trying not to laugh. “Only because I walked in.”

  Dean caught her brother's glare focusing on his sister. Dean’s own eyes narrowed, taking in the brother’s stiff posture, bloodshot and black eyes, and the right hand he fisted and then opened. Fisted and opened.

  “Not necessarily true.” Dean jerked his head slightly in the brother’s direction. Nick gave a tight nod, acknowledging the silent heads up, while he straightened his jacket. Not that Nick needed the direction. The man had a couple years on Dean, earning his detective status. He was sharp as a hawk.

  Josie gingerly schlepped to her desk and waved at the skewed mess. “Thanks a lot.”

  Dean scurried behind the desk, holding the chair steady for her to sit. “Just investigating. You seem to have some admirers. Let’s talk about them.”

  “Sis, you okay here for a few minutes? I’m going next door to the coffee shop. You want anything?” the brother asked.

  “Thank you. I’ll be fine. Can you order me a venti peppermint latte with skim milk, extra foam, and an extra shot of espresso, no whip cream?”

  Dean chuckled. “That’s a dessert, not a coffee.”

  “And I’m sure you drink yours black? No sugar? A man’s brew,” she mocked.

  Nick snickered. Dean gaped at his partner. “What the hell? You drink the same damn thing that I do.”

  “Yeah, but she pegged you.”

  “I’ll be back in a few, Josie.” Harry turned and stalked away. Nick peeked his head out the door, watching the young man until he exited the building. Nick followed without excusing himself.

  Dean plucked the stack of thank you cards and letters from her. “We’re taking these.”

  “But—”

  “After we go over each one,” Dean interrupted, refusing to allow her to talk him out of his investigation.

  She let out a long breath, a shaky hand going to her forehead. “Detective, I have a lot of work. It’s December, the busiest month of the year for my business and I’m severely behind. My employees have done a great job at keeping my business running, bu
t I need to tend to my bread and butter.”

  “I understand that. But I also have a job to do and right now my focus is finding the man who attacked and tried to kill you,” he said bluntly. Probably too candidly. Besides the wound to her stomach and the hospital bills she’ll receive, Dean got the impression that Josie wasn’t necessarily taking her attack seriously enough.

  She recoiled at his harshness of his words.

  Dean knelt down beside her on his haunches, his regret instantaneous. “I’m sorry, Miss Conley.”

  “Josie,” she said, her voice meek. “Call me Josie.”

  He gave her a beseeching look. “Josie, I understand you want to move forward, but we need to find this man. What if he attacks another woman?”

  “I don’t want that,” she responded. “I really don’t.”

  “Neither do we. We need your full cooperation to prevent that from happening.”

  “I’ve told you everything I know.”

  “And I believe you. But these,” he motioned to the thank you cards, “could have clues that you don’t see.”

  Josie collapsed further into her chair, cringing.

  “Are you in pain?” Dean took her hands, clasping them lightly. “Do you need something?”

  “No, it hurts with every movement.” Her eyes glistened. “I wish it would heal, like now. The pain is constant, no matter what I do. I’m afraid it’ll never go away.”

  Dean got up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around Josie, pulling her into a secure embrace. Entirely unprofessional. But his empathy toward her unwanted plight tugged at him. The look of devastation on her pretty face punched him in the gut.

  She let loose and quietly sobbed into his shoulder. “Shhh,” he said. “It’ll be all right. I promise.”

  “It’ll never be all right.”

  He couldn’t argue. She would be forever changed. Her life permanently altered by one tragic event. Dean didn’t just sympathize, he was a living, breathing, walking testament.

  9

  A throat clearing interrupted Josie from completely losing her composure in the arms of the handsome detective. She jerked away, swiping at her eyes and grimacing at the pain that shot through her body.

  Harry stood in the doorway, coffees in hand, and Detective Butler loomed behind her brother, both shooting daggers at his partner.

  “Is everything okay?” Harry asked, handing her the coffee, nudging past Detective Rooney.

  “Thanks. Yes, just a moment of weakness.” She avoided eye contact with her brother. She was desperate in her ability to keep her family from worrying. Their concern for her and her safety had them all on the fringe of nervous breakdowns. She didn’t want to add to their turmoil. Moments like this, a temporary frailty, she only allowed herself to release in private. In her bedroom or the bathroom, the places she was ever alone since released from the hospital.

  Detective Butler stepped forward and handed her a crisp, white handkerchief. She gave a snort. “I didn’t know men still carried these.”

  Nick gave her a cock-eyed grin. “Real men do.”

  She laughed but then grabbed her stomach. “Please don’t make me laugh.”

  Harry scowled at the two detectives. His negative presence started to irk her. He walked around her mother’s house a bear, snapping at everyone. It became difficult for her to relax at her mom’s place over the past week. David skulked around and jumped at every noise, a baseball bat attached to his hands. And her mother didn’t comprehend boundaries and privacy, barging into her bedroom without knocking, uninvited, at all times. It wasn’t conducive for anyone to remain calm and heal. All those factors put together helped her decide to come into work this morning.

  “Harry, I’m fine. Honestly. I’m going to answer the detective’s questions and then try to get some work done. You can go. I know you have to get to work yourself. I’ll call Mom or David to come get me,” she said, trying to gently dismiss him.

  “I’ll take you home,” Dean said in a rush. “I can stick around.”

  Josie eyed him carefully. He came across as a man who was genuinely concerned for her health, but at the same time, she had to remind herself that he had a job to do. That his offer was selfish on his part. A job necessity.

  Detective Butler injected. “Yes, we’d like to talk to your sister’s employees, so we’ll be here.”

  Just as she thought. A pang of unreasonable disappointment coursed through her. It was all about the case. Nothing more. She swallowed the lump that formed. She internally berated herself, aware she had no business considering she was more than a case number to the detectives. Though Dean made it difficult, noting his breeziness with himself. The slight grin that he constantly wore. Yet his eyes held a prominent depth of sadness that contrasted with the rest of his lax personality. She found herself aching each time she stared directly into his hazels. What had the man seen in his life that made him hold onto such sorrow? She looked to Detective Butler, who didn’t hold any sort of emotion in his eyes. They were flat. His features displaying deep lines. Especially around his eyes, forehead, and two frown lines that changed his appearance into looking older than he must actually be. He was a good-looking man, but the job obviously took its toll on him as well.

  Josie toyed with the piece of cloth in her hands, pushing down her discouragement. She had bigger issues at hand than hoping two detectives saw her as more than a file to close. She needed them to find the man who tried to kill her. A shudder ran down her body, reminding her of how close had she come to meeting her maker. Too close.

  Harry kissed the top of her head. He leaned over to whisper into her ear. “Don’t let them get to you. They’re doing their job. Answer their questions and they’ll be gone. I’ll see you at home later.”

  Josie nodded and watched her younger brother stalk out of the office.

  “He seems protective of you,” Detective Butler said, pulling a notepad out of his jacket. “In fact, both brothers do.”

  “Yeah. Ever since our father died, they’ve taken the male role seriously. Except it can be an overload at times. Two alphas fighting for supremacy in one home is a source of constant aggravation.” She blotted her eyes dry.

  “I bet.” Dean took a seat in the big orange chair that had been her father’s. Dean was so large, he made the hunk of furniture look like a child’s play furniture set. “And I bet you kick their asses and put them back in place.”

  Josie puffed. “I try my best. Mom indulges them. She’s just glad her children are around and didn’t leave her alone after Dad died.”

  Dean’s eyes drilled into her for a long look. He jumped up from the chair, startling her, turning his back. A hand went on his hip and the other rubbed the back of his neck. What did she say?

  Nick shifted in his seat, sneaking a look at his partner. “You have quite a stack of thank you cards. All of them good customers?”

  “Yes.” Josie’s gaze bounced back and forth between the men. That was a quick change of subject. Had she upset Dean?

  “Any one of those people we should look into?” Nick asked.

  “Not that I can think of,” Josie said. Dean seemed to be studying the flyers that hung off the littered wall corkboard.

  Nick picked up the pile. “How about if I’m the one who determines that? Let’s go over all of these.”

  Seriously? She gaped at the man. “Detective Butler, I’m behind in paperwork, bills, and need to make calls to get clients appointments before Christmas. Can’t we do this another time?”

  “No.”

  Dean made his way to the doorway. “I’m going to make a loop around the floor.”

  He exited before Nick said a word or she could protest. She looked to Detective Butler for help. “I don’t want him harassing my staff.”

  The man sighed, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “Josie, can I call you Josie?”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to allow us to do our jobs.”

  “I know—”

 
“Do you? Or are you more worried about offending those around you? Because if that’s the case, then your priorities need adjusted. You were stabbed. Intended to be murdered. A man came into your home, a place that you’re supposed to be safe, and stuck a knife into your stomach. Do you know how personal that is? Do you know the mindset it takes for someone to get up close with their intended victim? It means that whoever attacked you has, in his mind, a personal vendetta. However irrational it is.” The detective sat forward. “Josie, it takes a man with sole focus on you personally to get that close to use a knife. A deep hatred for you. Cooperate with us and help us find this man. Because if we don’t catch him. He will return and next time he might succeed in killing you.”

  She inhaled harshly. It hadn’t occurred to Josie she’d been stonewalling the detectives. She didn’t want her family or employees burdened with this drama. She didn’t want to dump this in anyone’s lap. It was bad enough she had to suffer from the events of that night. Why allow it to affect everyone around her, including her business?

  God, she’d give anything to not have gone through this. Why her? Why was she the one that the masked man focused on? Did she do or say something to the man to create his ire? If so, she’d take it back in a heartbeat.

  Tears threatened again. She was at a breaking point again. Barely able to hold onto her sanity. As if the pain wasn’t bad enough, the mind fuck kicked her ass.

  “I’m sorry.” She sniffled. “I didn’t mean to make your job more difficult.”

  Nick smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I know.”

  He shifted back in the chair and shuffled through the cards. He held up a baby blue note that had made her raise her brows when she’d first read it.

  10

  Dean meandered through the beauty shop. It’s layout a labyrinth with doors that led to hallways, spa rooms, stairs to a second floor salon area, and storage rooms. The business buzzed with ten employees currently on the clock and five more set to come in over the next couple hours. Soft holiday music played over the sound system and a few employees wore their ugly sweaters. Every employee gave the appearance of being happy in their job. Except for one. Becky. Whereas smiles on every other employee lit up the small business, Becky’s constant scowl dampened the room each time she walked in. And her coworkers weren’t quiet about their disapproval of her employment. According to one of the stylists, Becky wanted a piece of the pie. Marc (spelled with a c), the massage therapist, offered up that Becky consistently hounded Josie to sell her fifty percent of the business, stating that she could bring in a fortune. Though Marc made it clear he very much doubted that claim. He considered Becky a sub-par hair stylist at best.