Trapped

by Rhonda Pollero

  She glared at Declan. “Careful with your tone, young man. I’ve donated enough money to this hospital to have considerable influence. I can have you removed to another location with a single phone call.”

  Declan steered Chasyn toward the door. “That won’t be necessary. We’ll give you your privacy.”

  They were about twenty feet down the corridor before Chasyn whispered, “Why did we leave without finding out Lansing’s condition?”

  “Spontaneity,” he said, as if that was all the information she needed.

  “What was spontaneous about a verbal cat fight?”

  Declan pressed the button to call the elevator. “Martha’s acting like he’s already dead, so I’m guessing they didn’t get good news. But the brunette intrigues me. Has to be Lansing’s secretary, Tara Ryan.”

  “I’ve spoken to her on the phone,” Chasyn said. “I didn’t picture her as the Della Street type.”

  “But she impressed me as the kind of person who would do anything for the good doctor. Like leave her DNA on a water bottle.”

  “I’m still not following.”

  “We’ve never taken a hard look at Tara or Martha. Lansing had to have help with his plan. He had the money to pay Martinez but someone else must have funded Müller. And Martha is a very rich woman.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  What if she isn’t there?” Chasyn asked as they headed for Dr. Lansing’s office.

  “She will be; you heard Lansing’s wife. She has to clear out by tomorrow,” he reasoned as he veered off the exit at 45th Street.

  She crossed her legs and enjoyed the billowy feel of her dress against her thighs. She would have enjoyed Declan’s touch much more, but she was starting to notice him pulling back. It wasn’t anything he said or did; she’d just sensed some sort of subtle change. Probably the prelude to ‘gee, it’s been fun, but…’ It wasn’t one specific thing; it was more like a combination of small things. Like he hadn’t reached for her, hadn’t even made a halfhearted attempt at seduction and he seemed preoccupied. Maybe she’d been too transparent, maybe he was realizing that even though she was trying, the no-hope-of-commitment thing just wasn’t up her alley.

  They drove into the parking lot in front of a two-story stucco building. The first floor was an optician’s office; Lansing’s office was on the second floor. She could see lights and patients in the first-floor office.

  Stepping from the Explorer, she hurried to the door, always mindful that Müller could be lurking around somewhere. She hated being perpetually afraid. It was getting old. Fast.

  Declan joined her in the small elevator. She was keenly aware of him. His impressive body, his handsome face, the stern set of his jaw. And the fact that he wasn’t looking at her. Either he was deep in thought or distancing himself; she had no clue.

  Once the elevator jerked to a halt, he placed his hand at the small of her back and led her out onto the carpeted hallway. The sensation of his hand against her bare skin was as enticing as it was confusing.

  Lansing’s office was the first door on the left. A light was visible both through the etched glass on the door and under the crack where the door met the carpet. The hallway smelled faintly of fresh paint.

  Declan knocked twice, then turned the knob.

  When they walked in, Tara was startled, freezing in place with several books in her hand above a box resting on her desk. There was another box on the floor, already packed and ready to cart away.

  “I’m sorry, but the office is closed,” she said in a soft but professional tone.

  He stepped up and extended his hand. “Declan Kavanaugh,” he said, shaking her hand.

  “Wait,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “Aren’t you the one who…who…”

  “I was with the doctor when he was shot, but I didn’t hurt him,” Declan explained. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I was the intended target. That’s why I went to the hospital.”

  “So what do you want from me?”

  “I want to find out why Dr. Lansing ended up shot on that pier.”

  She pursed her lips, then said, “Aren’t you the man who’s been trying to blame Dr. Lansing for that Jolsten woman’s murder?”

  “No. I’ve simply been trying to find out what really happened.”

  As if just noticing Chasyn was in the room, Tara’s eyes grew hostile. “Then you’re that woman who lied about Dr. Lansing.”

  “I corrected myself,” Chasyn insisted. “I told the police that I couldn’t identify Dr. Lansing as the killer.”

  “He wouldn’t kill anyone,” Tara insisted. “The man is a saint. I should know. I’ve been working for him for the past twenty years.”

  “Then why did his wife fire you?”

  Her expression was a blend of sorrow and resentment. “She’s a petty woman who has always thought the doctor and I were involved.”

  “Were you?” Declan asked.

  Tara shook her head but not a hair on her lacquered head dislodged. “He was my boss and my friend. He even helped me with my daughter. Paid for private school, then for her college. He treats Hannah like she was his own.”

  Chasyn’s ears perked right up. “Hannah is your daughter?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “It’s just a pretty name,” Chasyn lied. “Speaking of names, did Dr. Lansing know a man named Albert Müller?”

  Tara thought for a moment, then said, “Not that I know of.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Tara placed the books in the open box, then placed her fists on her hips. “Of course I’m sure. Nothing happens in this office without me knowing about it. I think it’s time for the two of you to leave.”

  “Thank you for your time,” Declan said, then he escorted Chasyn from the office and back into the freshly painted hallway.

  * * *

  “I need everything you have on Lansing’s wife,” Declan said as soon as they arrived at the hangar. “Someone is paying Müller’s bill and she’s the one with deep pockets.”

  “Why would she want me killed?” Chasyn asked.

  Declan reached out and absently touched her shoulder. “You saw her at the hospital. She’s one controlling bitch. Then Tara said she was the jealous type, so it could make sense that she’s the one cleaning up Lansing’s mess.”

  Ziggy pulled up layered screens stacked on one another. “Well, right off the bat I can tell you she spends more money on Worth Avenue in a month than you pay me all year. Her credit cards must be smoking.”

  “What about recent withdrawals?” Declan asked.

  Chasyn watched in awe as Ziggy managed to hack into the woman’s accounts in fewer keystrokes than she used to open her email. “Nothing in the past three months,” Ziggy said.

  “Keep looking,” Declan instructed. “Oh, and Chuck, I need a complete history on Hannah Ryan. ASAP.”

  “Consider it done,” the other man said.

  “What can I do?” Chasyn asked.

  “Cook dinner.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  “There’s an app on my phone for Publix. Order whatever you want to make whatever you want and we’ll pick up the order on the way back to my place.” He handed over his phone.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Ziggy said. “Mr. Becker has left you two voicemails. He wants you to call him back.”

  “I will,” Chasyn promised.

  Less than an hour later, they collected their groceries and headed back to Declan’s house. “So, tell me again why your whole team is working their fannies off and I’m cooking your dinner.”

  “I’m hungry. You said you liked to cook, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. My team is very capable and they are experts at having meals delivered. They’ll call me if anything needs my attention. So what’s for dinner?”

  “Chicken piccata over fettuccini and a salad.”

  “Fancy.”

  “Easy,” she promised him as they reached the house. “I’ll have it on the table in under an hour.”


  There’s no simple way to navigate someone else’s kitchen. Especially when that someone is a man with few kitchen gadgets. She ended up pounding her chicken breasts between wax paper with one of his hammers. Maybe she should have had Ziggy bring her the tools from her kitchen along with her pink duffle. Right, like there was any long-term possibility to their liaison.

  She heard the shower and found it distracting. He was just a few steps away, gloriously naked. Closing her eyes, she imagined every perfect inch of him. And very nearly burned her chicken.

  While the pot of water was coming to a boil, Chasyn made the salad and placed it on the table with an assortment of dressings she found in the fridge. Once she heard the shower stop, she dropped the fresh pasta and glanced at the clock on the microwave mounted above the stove.

  Declan appeared before the fettuccini was cooked. He was wearing jeans and a Carolina blue T-shirt that brought out the color of his eyes. His hair was still slightly damp and he smelled of soap and woodsy cologne.

  “Smells great in here,” he complimented as he came over to peer into the pans.

  Chasyn started to uncork a bottle of white wine when he took it from her. For a fraction of a second, their fingers brushed and Chasyn’s nerve endings tingled.

  “I can open a bottle of wine,” she said. “I’m supposed to be the cook. Your job is to sit and enjoy.”

  He handed her the opened wine. She took two glasses down from the cupboard and poured one for herself, then looked to him. “Wine or beer?”

  “Wine. A decent home-cooked meal is cause for celebration.”

  She handed him his glass, then used the remainder of the wine to deglaze the pan. He walked to the perfectly set table and even though her back was to him, she could feel Declan’s eyes on her.

  After she added the juice of two lemons, she whisked in the butter and sprinkled capers into the sauce. The pasta was ready, so she plated the meal and carried it to the table. “Enjoy.”

  “I am,” he said in a low tone.

  “So all I have to do is cook and you’ll flirt with me?” she asked.

  “All you have to do is breathe and I’ll flirt with you.”

  Her stomach filled with anticipation and she’d yet to take her first bite of food. “You’ve been weird today.”

  “I’ve been distracted.”

  “By?”

  “Obviously, Lansing arranged for Martinez to be at the pier. Why would he kill me without getting his hands on the DVD first?”

  “Maybe he thought it was the only copy.”

  Declan shook his head. “I told him I still had the original and he didn’t so much as blink. I watched the tape of our meeting several times this afternoon and I noticed something else.”

  “What?”

  “He reacted when I mentioned Martinez but not when I said Müller.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t know the true identity of the back-up assassin.”

  Declan chased the last bit of food around his plate. “That’s a possibility. Or, his wife is the one pulling the strings. Maybe she resents his working. She all but accused his secretary of being Lansing’s mistress. And I’m guessing she must know about his lingerie thing. Mary’s death made his affair with her public. What if she doesn’t care about his reputation; she just wants him under her thumb? Remember, they did get female DNA off that water bottle.”

  “So his wife, who comes from a prestigious Palm Beach family and has oodles of money, hired an international assassin?”

  “I’m just saying it’s a possibility.”

  His phone rang then and it was Ziggy with an address for Hannah.

  When he hung up, he said, “Dinner was amazing. Let’s take a drive over to Hannah’s place to see what she knows about the Lansings.”

  “Give me a few minutes to clean up and—”

  “You cooked. I’ll clean up.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go freshen my face.” Chasyn left the room as if she was being chased. She had no idea how Declan would describe their dinner, but to her it had sure felt like a first date. Or maybe she was just reading too much into it. Good God, her mind had all sorts of thoughts zinging around. Was making him dinner too domestic? Would he see it as step one in her setting a trap for him? Or was she just deluding herself into thinking that he was as confused as she was? Knowing Declan, probably not.

  * * *

  Hannah Ryan lived in a high-rise condo in Juno Beach. It was a pricey place with a guard at the gate. Chasyn thought they’d be stopped right there, but the guard made a call and passed them through.

  They parked in a slot marked VISITORS and exited the Explorer. The sun was setting behind them so Chasyn felt the cool air on her exposed back and wished she had changed. Too late to worry about that now. As they walked toward the entrance, she noticed a car parked with a paper temporary tag. “Isn’t that a Taurus?” she asked.

  “Yes. A new one.”

  “What parking spot is this?” she asked.

  “Six-eleven.” Declan repeated from memory.

  “Isn’t that Hannah Ryan’s condo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Chasyn thought aloud. “Isn’t it odd that she owns a brand new Taurus when we’ve been looking for a Taurus from the beginning?”

  “Let’s add that to the list of things to ask Ms. Ryan.”

  After checking the board mounted in the entry hall, they took the elevator up to the sixth floor. Declan rang the bell and almost simultaneously the door opened.

  Like her mother, Hannah was a brunette. She was tall and thin and dressed in a Bohemian skirt and top ensemble paired with huge hoop earrings. Based on the puffiness around her brown eyes, Chasyn suspected she’d been crying.

  “Miss Ryan?” Declan asked.

  “Come in,” she said, opening the door wide.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Chasyn said when they were offered seats on one of two white sofas in the combination living room-dining room area of the condo. Just beyond her there were huge windows with breathtaking views of the dunes and the ocean. On the mantel above the fireplace, a cinnamon-scented candle was burning.

  “My mother warned me you might be coming by,” she said. “Do you want some tea?”

  They said “no” in unison.

  “It’s terrible what Mrs. Lansing did to my mom. She’s been Dr. Lansing’s right hand nearly my whole life.”

  “And you and the doctor were close?” Chasyn asked, nodding slightly in the direction of a photo collage on the wall.

  “He was like my father. My real dad bailed when I was a toddler.”

  “I noticed you have a new car,” Declan said.

  She smiled. “Thanks to Dr. Lansing.”

  “He bought you the car?”

  Hannah nodded. “It was crazy generous considering all I had to do was loan him my old car for a few hours. When he returned it, he said it was time I got a new one.”

  “Was your old car a Taurus also?”

  “Yes. A 2013, dark green one. Why do you ask?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Several hours after they returned home, Chasyn was making the walk from Declan’s bedroom to the guestroom. Yes, it had happened again and it was magical. Chasyn had a happy body and a troubled heart. Especially when Declan didn’t offer a single protest when she said she was going back to her room. But really, she wondered, what did you expect? The guy has been one-hundred-percent up front with you from the get-go.

  Now, in the wee hours of the morning, she sat on the bed with a pad and pen in her hands. “Pro side,” she whispered to herself as she wrote. “Tall, dark, handsome, funny, intelligent, sexy as hell. Great in bed.” On the con side, she wrote temporary. Then she went back to the pro side and slowly wrote I’m in love with him.

  Somehow putting it on paper made it real and scary. It was a wonderful secret that she couldn’t share with anyone. God, her heart hurt.

  But, she determined as she got out of bed, there wasn’t a blasted thing she could do about it, so she w
ould not wallow in self-pity. She’d gone into this with her eyes open. It wasn’t like Declan had made false promises. To the contrary. She was the fool who’d allowed herself to fall for a man who could never love her back.

  By the time she dressed in jeans and a simple aqua T-shirt, Declan was already at the table, sipping coffee with his phone to his ear. He acknowledged her with a smile.

  She returned the gesture and went and poured herself a cup of coffee. As usual, it was strong to the point of being bitter. Chasyn managed to drink about half a cup before switching to bottled water.

  “Are they sure?” he asked into the phone. “Great. What about Martha Lansing? Anything?”

  Declan spoke for a few more minutes, asking about Lansing’s condition at the hospital and any new information on Müller. When he was finished, he said, “The DNA off the button camera is a match to the fetal DNA in Mary Jolsten’s case. Lansing is definitely the father.”

  Chasyn let out a breath. “So they can arrest him?”

  Declan took a drink from his mug. “Not necessarily. The DNA proves he fathered Mary’s child.”

  “And since the voice match came back to Mary, the DVD proves she was probably running a scam on him.”

  “All circumstantial,” he said. “I called Detective Burrows and told him about Hannah and her Taurus. If they can track down the one she traded in and you can positively identify the taillights, that’s more circumstantial evidence.”

  “What about Kasey’s murder?”

  “Ziggy thinks Lansing paid Martinez two grand from his credit card account.”

  “And the other withdrawal?” she pressed. “Was that for Müller?”

  He shook his head. “It was what he gave Hannah to buy her new car.”

  “So we can kind of prove that Lansing killed Mary and with the Tec-9 match on Martinez’s gun, we can prove he shot Kasey, but we don’t have enough to prove Lansing was the mastermind behind it all?”

  He reached out and patted her hand. “Just because a case is circumstantial, doesn’t mean it won’t be prosecuted. You know that.”

  “I also know that Martha Lansing will hire the best attorney in south Florida to defend her husband. If he even lives. Any word on his condition?”