Trapped

by Rhonda Pollero

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Chasyn abandoned her half-eaten omelet, rinsed the plate in the sink, then claimed a sudden, urgent need to lie down. All this was done under the laserlike eyes of Declan, who probably wasn’t buying her excuse for a quick getaway. At least that was the impression she got from the sexy half-smile he offered at her feeble excuse.

  Once she was safely hidden behind the bedroom door, she sat on the edge of the bed, mentally berating herself for her behavior. “Maybe being shot has scrambled my brain.” A man like Declan was way out of her league. Not to mention the fact that he wasn’t part of her master plan. No, Chasyn pretty much had her life worked out in stages and none of those stages included a distraction like Declan.

  She scooted back on the bed, gently rested her head on the pillow and covered her eyes with one bent arm. In no time, she fell into an exhausted sleep.

  When she next opened her eyes, she was momentarily disoriented. Then the reality came streaming back like the streaks of moonlight filtering in from the slats in the shutters. Glancing at the bedside table, she read the blue digits illuminated on the clock. Nine-fifty-seven. She’d been asleep for more than six hours. “How did that happen?” she wondered as she stood.

  She slipped into the bathroom, brushed her teeth, and fixed her smudged makeup. The tape around her Band-Aid-sized dressing was beginning to peel. Slipping her hand beneath her hair, she felt for the edges of the other dressing. It too was peeling. They needed to be changed but she didn’t think she could manage the one on the back of her head on her own. Ironically, the stitches were no longer tender, just tight. Amazing how fast the body could heal.

  Given the way she had all but run from the room, Chasyn took care to practice an easy smile before she exited the bathroom. As soon as she entered the family room she stopped in her tracks. There was a stunning blonde sitting at the kitchen table flipping through a magazine. Unlike Chasyn, this woman was tall and almost regal looking—more like Grace Kelly in her heyday. She felt like a bandaged freak.

  The woman looked up and smiled easily. “Hello.”

  “Hi,” she managed, wondering if this woman knew Declan was such a smarmy flirt when she wasn’t around. Her opinion of her bodyguard went right down the toilet.

  “I’m Darby. You must be Chasyn.” She stood and extended her hand.

  Chasyn stepped forward and greeted the woman with a mild smile. “Nice to meet you. What happened to Declan?” she asked.

  Darby crooked her head in the direction of the opposite hallway. “He’s in the office with Jack. Probably discussing strategy. Coffee?”

  Jack. She remembered the name from earlier in the day. Jack Kavanaugh was the name on the business card Declan had handed to Burrows. “Coffee would be great.”

  When Darby stood and pivoted toward the counter top, Chasyn noted the gun sticking out of her waistband. “You have a gun,”’ she blurted out.

  “Given the situation,” Darby said. “It only seemed prudent. Don’t worry; I’m an excellent shot. Just ask my fiancé.”

  Fiancé?! “Declan is your fiancé?”

  She laughed. “He’s my soon-to-be brother-in-law. Jack is my fiancé. Declan marry someone? That would take a very large miracle. Declan has taken an oath never to marry. He’s one of those guys who is content to live a life of debauchery,” she said with a laugh. “He’s all about his work but that doesn’t stop him from attracting some of the most beautiful women in Palm Beach County. I’m guessing you noticed he’s pretty easy on the eyes and he’s a nice guy to boot. He just doesn’t subscribe to marriage or anything that remotely resembles commitment. What about you?” she asked as she flipped on a Keurig and took two mugs out of a cabinet.

  “Not married. I wouldn’t even consider it until after I reach my professional goal.”

  “Which is?”

  “I want to head the litigation department at my firm.”

  “You’re a lawyer?”

  Chasyn shook her head. “Paralegal.”

  “That must be interesting.” The coffee maker spit out two steaming mugs of coffee in rapid succession. “Cream? Sugar?”

  “Black is good.” Darby delivered the mug and Chasyn wrapped her hands around it, enjoying the warmth. “Thank you.”

  “No problem. Are you hungry?”

  Chasyn shook her head gently. “Ouch.”

  “Stitches pulling?” Darby asked.

  “Yep. Annoying little suckers.”

  Darby sat at the table and motioned for Chasyn to join her. “That’s actually a good sign. It means the wounds are healing.”

  “Are you a doctor?”

  “Kind of. I’m a vet, so I know a little bit about sutures.”

  “Don’t let her kid you,” came an unfamiliar male voice. “She knows a lot about a lot.”

  Chasyn looked up and immediately knew she was seeing Declan’s brother Jack. The family resemblance was strong, though in her opinion Declan was the more handsome of the two. Jack wasn’t as tall nor was his body as impressively defined. Jack came over and placed an unselfconscious kiss on his fiancée’s slightly parted lips. It was quick but easily conveyed an enviable amount of intimacy.

  Declan appeared with a pile of papers in his hands. His brow was furrowed and he seemed a little preoccupied. “Did you get some rest?”

  Chasyn nodded.

  “This your attorney, Jack. He’ll be providing interference with the police and the state’s attorney’s office.”

  “Okay, but shouldn’t I trust the police?” she asked. “Why am I going it alone?” Fear surged through her.

  “First off,” Jack began, “the state’s attorney and the cops are super pissed at you right now for giving a false statement. Second, Declan has better resources and a better chance at getting the dirt on your shooter than the cops and the state’s attorney’s investigators combined. Your parents didn’t pick his name out of a phone book. They obviously did their homework and hired the best.”

  Declan shrugged. The motion pulled the fabric of his shirt tight against his broad chest. “Don’t worry about the cops. They’ll do their thing and we’ll do ours.”

  Darby patted Jack’s hand on her shoulder. “We have to get home to relieve the babysitter.”

  “Family life calls,” he agreed. “Need anything else?” he asked his brother.

  “Not right now, but thanks for calling in those favors.”

  * * *

  “What favors?” Chasyn asked him as he watched Jack and Darby exit the driveway and the gate close behind their car.

  He turned and looked at her. Strain was evident around her eyes and it had the uncharacteristic result of tugging on his gut. He didn’t like the reaction. It was as if his body and his brain had suffered a serious disconnect. One glance at her and he was practically aching with need. He wondered if her hair would feel as silky as it looked. If her mouth would be as soft and pliant. The memory of brushing her lips with his thumb was seared on his sex-addled brain. It wasn’t just the physical contact; it was her reaction. Watching the way her eyes had shimmered with pent-up desire as the pad of his thumb moved over her skin had almost got him hard.

  But that reaction was quickly doused when he reminded himself why she was here. It was his job to keep her safe, not try to get her into bed. A fact he needed to keep at the forefront.

  “Let me show you,” he said as he joined her at the table and began spreading out a variety of documents. “I’ve got copies of the police reports from the waitress’s murder as well as the shooting at your apartment complex this afternoon.”

  “Aren’t those private?”

  He smiled. “Between Jack and me, we called in some favors so we can be on the same page as the cops.”

  “Did you learn anything?” Chasyn asked.

  “According to the autopsy report, Mary Jolsten, the waitress, was stabbed once in the kidney. A very specific method was used in the stabbing.”

  “Are you saying it wasn’t Dr. Lansing?”

  D
eclan shook his head. “No, I’m saying whoever did it most likely had some sort of military training. And,” he paused and shuffled some of his papers. “Dr. Lansing did four years in the Marine Corps before going to college and then med school.”

  “And he would have learned this kidney kill thing there?”

  “Standard training for Marines.”

  “But not enough for a warrant for his DNA,” Chasyn acknowledged. “What else?”

  “I watched all the news footage and read all the print coverage at the time of the murder. Clearly Lansing was the prime suspect but without DNA tying him to the Jolsten woman’s unborn fetus, the cops hit a wall. And Lansing hired Don Younger as his attorney and cut off all cooperation with the investigation.”

  She looked up at him and again he was struck by her unusually pale blue eyes. “Don Younger is an excellent defense attorney,” she said. “He’s legendary for getting one of his clients acquitted even after the police caught the defendant driving around with the corpse in his trunk.”

  “I’ve done a little work for Younger. I know how talented he is.”

  “You work for guilty people?” she said with censure.

  “Your firm represents criminal defendants and you’re a litigation specialist, so don’t you do the same thing?” he challenged gently.

  She pursed her lips for a second. “Kasey did criminal work. I do personal injury litigation.”

  “Never criminal?”

  She shrugged. “A few cases, but it isn’t my normal specialty.”

  “But I heard you tell Darby that you want to be the head litigation paralegal. So, wouldn’t that mean that you’d be overseeing all kinds of litigation, criminal defense included?”

  She sighed. “Okay. I take back my snarky remark about you working for guilty people.”

  “You’re forgiven,” he said with a half-laugh. “Anyway, I got Lansing’s phone records and his financials. If he was having an affair with the Jolsten woman, he covered his tracks. No calls to or from her phone or the phone at the restaurant. No unusual charges on his credit card statements. If he was wining and dining her, it wasn’t coming out of his joint checking account with his wife or his business account.”

  “So he was careful.”

  “Or,” Declan reached in and took out a sheet of paper with the name William Jolsten printed across the top. “Mary Jolsten had another man in her life, maybe an ex-husband.”

  “How ex?” Chasyn asked.

  “Divorce was final seven months ago. I’m waiting for a copy of the divorce decree; it should come tomorrow.”

  Chasyn tilted her head and her hair fell over her shoulder, catching the light. “I don’t care,” she said fiercely. “Kasey knew Dr. Lansing and she was positive he was the one she saw stab that poor woman. I don’t care if she had an unhappy ex-husband.”

  “Her ex-husband is stationed at MacDill.”

  “He’s military?”

  Declan nodded. “Which I’m sure Younger would use to create reasonable doubt. Lansing’s military career was twenty-plus years ago, while Mary Jolsten’s ex is active duty with the same training.”

  “Have the police talked to William Jolsten?”

  Declan let out a breath. “NCIS interviewed him and forwarded a single paragraph report asserting Captain Jolsten was on duty the night of the murder.”

  “You don’t seem convinced.”

  “I’d like it a lot better if they had included a duty roster or a witness placing Jolsten at a specific location at the time of the killing. That kind of detail verification would eliminate Jolsten as an alternative suspect.”

  “Kasey wouldn’t have lied,” Chasyn insisted. “She had no reason to falsely identify Lansing.”

  “There was a mention in one of the articles that the witness had a prior relationship with Dr. Lansing.”

  “Relationship?” Chasyn scoffed. “Kasey didn’t care for him because she thought his lackadaisical testimony and arrogant attitude caused our client to get a twenty-seven to life sentence instead of a not guilty by reason of insanity.”

  “So, she had a grudge?”

  “Not a grudge,” she said, voice slightly raised. “She just thought the guy was a jerk because he refused to do a prep session with her and didn’t get his written report to her until two days before his testimony.”

  “But they had words at the courthouse?”

  “Word,” she corrected. “When she ran into him in the hallway she called him an asshole. He got all affronted and caused a scene, demanding the firm fire her for insubordination. He even threatened to bring a defamation suit.”

  “Anything come of that?”

  “HR put a memo in her personnel file.”

  “How did Kasey take that?”

  “Not well,” she admitted. “You have to understand; Kasey was very dedicated to her job. We shared that value. Having a note in her permanent record pissed her off royally.”

  “Any chance she could have been mistaken the night of the murder?”

  Chasyn shook her head vehemently. “No way. She was honest to a fault. When she told me it was Lansing, I believed her. Period. Now how do we prove it when the cops have hit a brick wall?”

  “We?” he asked, trying not to laugh when her spine stiffened.

  “I want him held accountable for killing Kasey and I don’t want to see her name and reputation smeared by Younger or anyone else. I owe that to her father. And to myself. If only I hadn’t gone back for my credit card…”

  “Well, you’ll have to leave things to me. You’re staying here under guard until I can nail Lansing for the attempts on your life.”

  “I’m under house arrest?”

  “Think of it more like protective custody.”

  “I’m not a sidelines kind of girl,” she argued.

  “Would you rather be a moving target? Out in the open?”

  She mulled over his logical argument for a few seconds. “I’d rather be proactive. No offense, but you’re being paid to guard me, not keep me prisoner. Besides, I’d be an excellent asset to the investigation.”

  “No.”

  “It wasn’t a request.”

  “It isn’t an option.”

  “Well, it is now.” She stood. “You’re the professional. You figure out the logistics, but with or without you, I’m going to prove that Lansing killed Kasey.”

  “And get yourself killed in the process.”

  “Not if you’re as good as you think you are.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Do you have a legal pad?” she asked. He gave her a confused look. “I think better with a pad and pen.”

  Declan went back to his office and returned with a pad and pen. “Now what?”

  “We need a plan.”

  “A plan for what?” He sat next to her as she drew column lines on the page. She gave each column a header—Mary’s Murder, Kasey’s Murder, Dr. Lansing. “All we have to do is find the link between these three things and we’ll be able to turn Lansing over to the authorities tied in a neat bow.”

  “Do you always make lists?” The tinge of amusement in his voice annoyed her.

  “Lists, plans, graphs, charts. Whatever it takes to stay focused on my goals.”

  His smile reached his eyes. “Sounds a tad anal.”

  “No, it’s rational. I have my entire life planned out. Until a few days ago, I was solidly on track.”

  “For what?”

  She let out an exasperated sigh. “Reaching my goals.”

  “Which are?” he asked as he leaned back in the chair and crossed his massive arms over his chest.

  She shrugged. “The usual stuff. Establishing a career. Marriage at thirty-five. Children by forty. Planning for retirement.”

  “Sounds boring,” he observed. “And isn’t forty cutting it a bit close?”

  “No.” She regarded him for a few seconds. “Oh, so you’re one of those ‘take life as it comes’ types?”

  “My way isn’t so bad. I’ve got a su
ccessful business. I own this place outright. I’m a pretty content guy.”

  “So, what happens when you’re too old to chase bad guys? Do you have savings? A 401K?”

  “You’re pretty hung up on planning for the future, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I have every intention of following the example set by my parents.”

  “Ah, that explains a lot.”

  Her temper flared. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Lifting his arms, Declan laced his fingers together and rested them behind his head. “Father, Thomas John Summers. Mother, Debra (nee Chasyn) Summers. Married thirty-three years. Thomas is a salesman for Gruber Pharmaceuticals, mother is a retired teacher. One daughter—you. Impressive investment portfolio. Some real estate ventures and—”

  “You did a background check on my family?”

  “Standard practice for me. I don’t like surprises.”

  “Did you check me out, too?” she challenged.

  “Born and bred in Florida. Attended Florida Atlantic University. Graduated with honors. Hired directly out of college by Keller and Mason. Steady climb up the corporate ladder.”

  “I could have told you all that.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “Like you told me you only had three thousand in the bank?”

  Chasyn sighed but didn’t back down. “That’s what’s in my checking account.”

  “But you have another eleven grand in savings and a modest 401K. Saving for a rainy day?”

  “A condo,” she admitted. “Why did you run my financials?”

  “To make sure you were on the up and up. I also ran Kasey’s finances.”