by Julie Miller
“I’m listening.”
David pulled a business card from one of his voluminous pockets. “Here’s my card. Meet me at that address tonight at nine.”
A college kid with a business card? Either he was being set up for some major payback from their fight, or David Brown was about to deliver Josh to the methamphetamine store. Though his heart pounded in his chest with anticipation of a major bust, he didn’t let it show.
“This is downtown. You want me to walk into some old abandoned building with you?”
“It’s a dance club. There’ll be plenty of people around to watch your back.”
“And just what’s your proposition?”
“I can promise you a steady supply of what Kelly’s selling. In exchange, I need a bodyguard. Lance and Shelton weren’t working out, but I think you’re just the kind of guy who understands the demands of getting the job done right.”
He had no idea.
“Why are you offering the job to me? You have to want something more in return than a little muscle.”
David grinned. “See? I knew you were smart. What I’m looking for is this…I need someone with your—” he thumbed over his shoulder to Rachel’s classroom “—‘connections,’ to sweet-talk a certain professor for me.”
THREE FORTY-FIVE.
“Where are you, Doc?” Josh drummed his fingers against the steering wheel of his truck.
So David Brown wanted him to convince Rachel to forgive the plagiarism and let him back into Community Psych class. Hell. If Rachel Livesay was the kind of woman who could be sweet-talked into anything, he wouldn’t be here right now, parked in the faculty parking lot, waiting to chauffeur her home.
If she could be sweet-talked, he’d have her sequestered in a safe house, surrounded by a police guard. And he’d have her wrapped in his arms, doing all kinds of wicked, wonderful things to that beautiful mouth of hers.
But Rachel didn’t want a personal protector. She didn’t want him for the job, at any rate.
But he’d volunteered. Her stubborn independence and rules of decorum could just learn to live with the fact that he wasn’t going away. Not until they knew who Daddy was, and the bastard was locked up behind bars.
He checked the clock on the dashboard. 3:48.
Josh peered out through the windshield, trying to determine whether or not the lights were still on in her office. But with the afternoon sun reflecting off the exterior of her window, it was impossible to tell.
He’d give her another couple of minutes before he stormed inside and hauled her out of there himself.
Since he didn’t appear to be going anywhere for at least two minutes, he decided it was a good time to call in. He punched in the number on his cell and waited for A.J. to pick up.
“Rodriguez.”
Josh laughed. “You’re not any friendlier in the daytime than you are in the middle of the night.”
“I’m stressed out from baby-sitting you, Taylor.” A.J. gave it right back. “What’s up?”
“You hear anything from my brother Mac?” The forensic expert who’d combed through Rachel’s condo last night was Josh’s second eldest brother. He’d cornered Mac as soon as he came in and put him on guard about his cover. They’d talked like strangers in front of Rachel, but on their own he’d asked his brother to call in every favor the family owed him, to help track down the identity of Daddy.
Just like A.J., Mac had warned him about mixing personal life with an undercover op. Just like A.J., Mac had been told to stick it. Rachel didn’t have a family like the Taylors to turn to in times of trouble. Right now, all she had was him.
And whether or not she believed it was proper, he intended to come through for her.
A.J. relayed what info he had. “Mac doesn’t have his full report in yet, but he said the red stuff on the toy was stage blood. The perp could get it at any costume shop or even the theater department there on campus.”
As in Gwen Sargent, theater professor? Could one of Rachel’s rivals for the Assistant Dean’s position be trying to scare away the competition? Maybe he should have A.J. run a list of students enrolled in both Psych and Theater classes.
And maybe his speculations were getting him nowhere.
“Well, that narrows it down to about anybody.”
“The note was clean, no prints anywhere. However, and he’s not sure what the significance is yet, he says the paper the note was printed on was a high-quality vellum—whatever that is—probably business stationery from somebody with money.”
Only Mac’s penchant for detail would allow him to come up with a clue like that. “Sounds pretty thorough for a report that isn’t done yet. I wonder if Rachel knows any high-class actors.”
“She does run with a wealthy crowd, though.”
“What do you mean?”
A.J. read from his notes. “Your professor is a client at the Washburn Fertility Clinic. I thought ‘fertility clinic…’ Daddy. Maybe somebody there—on the staff or a client—could be your stalker.”
Rachel had said her baby was created at the clinic with one of her eggs and the sperm of an anonymous donor. “What do you think my chances are of getting a court order to unseal Washburn’s medical records?”
“What do you think my chances are of getting you to focus on the campus meth case?”
Josh’s heavy sigh echoed over the phone. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my priorities straight. For your information, I’m meeting with a kid named David Brown at the Thunderbird Dance Club tonight at nine.” He gave A.J. the address. “I don’t know if he’s the big man on campus or just a lieutenant. He says he wants to recruit me. Thinks I have a natural talent for distribution security.”
A.J. didn’t laugh at Josh’s sarcasm. When it came to the job, Detective Rodriguez was deadly serious. “I’ll get there about a half hour ahead of you, then. I’ll bring in another detective familiar with how undercover ops work—Ethan Cross.”
“I know him. He’s a friend of Mac’s.”
“Good, then you’ll recognize us. We can be a second set of eyes for you, and we’ll get you out of there in one piece in case it’s a setup.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” A familiar red hat caught Josh’s attention. Finally. 3:55. “Something’s come up. I gotta go.”
As he tucked the phone inside his coat, he realized that Rachel wasn’t just walking out of the building. She was running.
At least, she was running as fast as a pregnant woman with a cell phone to her ear could go. Josh opened his door to go meet her halfway and see what he could do to help, but she left the sidewalk and ran straight for the truck, waving him back inside the cab.
He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door.
“What’s wrong?” By the time she’d climbed in beside him, he could hear her deep, raspy breathing, aggravated by exertion and cold air. Something had her in a panic. “Dammit, Doc, did Daddy contact you again?”
“No, Lucy,” she was saying into the phone. “Keep your distance from him if you can.”
“Doc?”
She turned and met his gaze. Josh could see her eyes were full of worry, not fear. She was safe. His pulse slowed closer to its normal rate. This was something else.
“I’m on my way.” Rachel turned off the phone and buckled herself in. “A student of mine…the girl from yesterday…” She pressed a hand to her heaving chest and one to her belly, catching her breath. “Lucy Holcomb. She went to tell her boyfriend she was pregnant. She says he’s throwing a fit and is out of control. I’m afraid he’ll hurt her.”
Domestic violence. Oh boy.
“Then, call the cops.”
She shook her head. “She’s so fragile right now. If they take her boyfriend away without any sort of resolution, she could become suicidal. Will you take me to her?”
Rachel had never asked him anything but to leave her alone. Now there was such a genuine plea in those wide green eyes that he couldn’t refuse. “Where to?”
Josh put the truck into gear and steered toward the exit.
“What’s the boyfriend’s name?”
“Kevin Washburn.”
A dime-bag of meth from David Brown.
Josh swore. He slammed his foot on the accelerator and sped out of the parking lot.
FROM THE EXTERIOR, the Washburn mansion was a testament to class and gentility and several generations of money.
But the interior could have been any seedy back alley where drunks and dopers had given up the fight to stay sober.
Not that the place wasn’t filled with designer furniture and priceless antiques. But once people started slashing up seat cushions and artwork, breaking mirrors, and hammering the life out of a grand piano, a place lost its elegant charm.
“My God, it looks like a war zone.” Rachel surveyed the devastation on the black and white marbled entryway. A chandelier lay dented and broken in the middle of the floor, the glass from hundreds of bulbs shattered and strewn beneath their feet. “Where is everyone?”
She and Josh had let themselves in when no one answered the front door. “If we’re lucky, it’s the maid’s day off. If not—”
“Don’t even think that.” She had no trouble envisioning a servant being injured or worse by the young man who had caused such damage. She had no trouble envisioning Lucy Holcomb as an innocent victim, either. “Lucy?”
“Kevin!” A loud crash and a hoarse, croaking cry led them through the archway on the right into a long dining room. Lucy stood at one end of a polished mahogany table that seated at least twenty people. She clutched her arms around her middle and sobbed.
Kevin stood on the center of the table, stomping about on his precarious perch, shouting triumphantly about the shards of broken glass that had once been a mirror above the stone hearth. “You take that, you son of a bitch!” He waved a long brass candlestick in his fist. A matching candlestick lay on the hearth amidst the glass. “I never want to see your face again!”
“Lucy?” Rachel called to her in a soft voice, not wanting to draw Kevin’s attention.
“Dr. Livesay?” Lucy turned her red, swollen eyes to her and ran straight into Rachel’s arms. “He’s so angry. Why is he so angry?”
Rachel offered the girl the hug she needed, then pulled away to demand some answers. “Are you all right?”
The girl, exhausted from endless crying, could barely lift her shoulders as she sobbed. “Kevin hasn’t hurt me. He just keeps breaking things. Anything that has a picture of him or shows his reflection.”
“I hate you!” Kevin yelled at his image on the polished tabletop. Wielding the candlestick like a club, he pounded the table at his feet in a strike so powerful, the walls and floor shook around them.
She felt Josh’s steady hand on her shoulder. “I’m calling the cops and an ambulance.”
“Let me try to talk to him first.”
“I don’t think so, Doc. That kid’s wired.”
Lucy sniffed and looked over Rachel’s shoulder at the tall, wary man behind her. “Who’s he?”
Just how did she explain Josh without upsetting Lucy further? “A friend of mine. His name is Josh.”
“I’m a friend of Kevin’s, too.”
Thank God. Even though his defensive presence was imposing, Josh’s tone was hushed and gentle.
“He’s never mentioned you,” said Lucy.
Josh was looking around the room, taking careful note of their surroundings. “I’ll bet Kevin doesn’t talk about much of anything anymore, does he?”
“No.” Confused by Josh’s amateur speculation, Lucy looked to Rachel. “Not since our baby died.”
Kevin struck the table again, swearing at his reflection there. Josh had shifted his attention to Kevin. “That’s probably what pushed him back to the drugs. It’s hard to cope with tragedy when you’re an addict.”
Enough. With Lucy tucked beneath a protective arm, Rachel turned and challenged Josh. “Just how well do you know Kevin?”
“I only met him a few days ago. But I know his type.”
“His type?” she parroted with incredulity. “How do you know he’s an addict?”
“Because I saw Kevin buy a pack of meth this morning. I’m guessing he’s already smoked it. And judging by his reaction, either the drug was tainted or he came close to ODing.”
“Kevin?” Josh’s stark assessment of Kevin’s violent behavior sent Lucy into another bout of tears.
“Will you be quiet?” she cautioned Josh. Though she didn’t run a drug rehab program, she had worked with clients who were recovering from various addictions. “I may be able to help. I’ll see if I can talk him into giving up the weapon. Then we can call the cops.”
Josh’s hands were splayed at his hips, extending the expanse of his chest and shoulders and, if possible, making him look even more imposing. “If I leave, you’re coming with me.”
Lucy tugged on Rachel’s sleeve. “Will somebody please just help Kevin?”
She and Josh both spared a moment from their personal debate to comfort the distraught girl. Josh relented first. He exhaled loudly. His mouth was set in a straight, grim line. “Give it a shot. But be careful. I’ll take her out to the truck and then I’ll be back. I’ll be gone one minute tops. I’ll stay out of sight, but I’ll be right here on the other side of this archway. Understand?”
Rachel nodded.
“Keep your distance. One minute.” It was both a reminder and a reassurance.
He wrapped his arm around Lucy and took her out of the dining room. Rachel removed her gloves and wiped her sweating palms on her coat. She just had to get Kevin talking. If she could get him to talk, she could quiet him down.
She took a steadying breath and crossed to the end of the table where Lucy had stood. “Hi, Kevin. I’m Dr. Livesay.”
His hair was a wild, scraggly mess, his eyes, unfocused. “My dad’s a doctor. I’m a loser.”
“That’s not what I hear, Kevin.”
For the next ten minutes, Rachel talked. She knew Josh was close by. Supporting her. Protecting her.
Kevin shouted and mumbled. But in between the delusional spells, she gathered a great deal of information. Kevin was an unhappy young man. He didn’t measure up to his father’s standards. He didn’t make friends easily. He liked to write poetry, but his father wanted him to go into medicine. He’d given up the battle to stay clean and sober.
And he blamed himself for the death of Lucy’s baby.
Kevin crossed his legs, pretzel-style, and sank on top of the ruined table. Rachel pulled out a chair and sat as well. She didn’t want him to see her as being on a superior level and feel threatened. “Why do you say that, Kevin?”
He was on the downward spiral of his manic high, though his dilated pupils indicated the methamphetamine still had a powerful control over his system. “I didn’t make the baby strong enough. He was weak. Like me.”
“What do you mean?”
“He didn’t live.”
“But you’re alive, Kevin.”
“I’m not very good at it. I want to be better.”
His gentle soul tugged at Rachel’s heart. There were no small problems here. Nothing she could help him fix in a few minutes’ time. But for this minute, she could keep him from self-destructing. Keep him from hurting anyone else.
“I’m glad you’re talking to me, Kevin. It makes me feel good, knowing—”
The front door slammed. A deep, cultured voice demanded, “What’s going on here?”
Kevin’s head snapped toward the sound. “Daddy’s home.”
Daddy?
A frisson of familiar panic tightened Rachel’s hands into fists. She hid them in her lap, not wanting to feed the tension she could read thrumming through Kevin’s posture.
She heard Josh’s footsteps heading toward the front door. “Sir, I need you to st
ay with me.”
“This is my house. I’ll go where I damn well please. Now somebody tell me what’s going on. Have we been robbed?” She recognized the sound of Andrew Washburn’s voice. “Kevin?”
Kevin jumped to his feet and swung the candlestick back like a baseball bat. “I hate you!”
He hit the table hard, splintering the wood. Rachel shoved the chair back as the table collapsed, scrambling to her feet as Kevin crashed to the floor.
“Doc!”
She spun around at the violent fear she heard in his voice. Fear for her. “No,” she warned. “Don’t come in. You’ll set him off again—”
“Doc?” Josh charged in through the archway, the look on his face as fierce as on the night of David’s attack. He backpedaled to a halt at the pleading gesture of her outstretched hands.
“I’m okay.”
His eyes darted to the left, warning her a split second before the crack of breaking wood behind her made her turn. Kevin had risen to his feet. The candlestick dangled from his fist.
“You lied to me.”
He leveled the accusation at Rachel.
She shook her head. “I didn’t.”
“Doc!”
Kevin hurled the candlestick. Rachel ducked. She hit the chair and tripped, crashing to the floor as the heavy chunk of brass caromed past her head with the sonic roar of a missile shot.
Josh leapt through the air and tackled Kevin. Though she heard the sounds of a struggle, she knew it would be an unfair match. Josh was sober. Josh was bigger. And Josh was protecting her.
She rolled onto her side and saw a flurry of arms and legs, and heard a stream of curses and shouts. In a matter of seconds it was done. Josh had Kevin pinned, facedown, to the floor.
“Oh my God. Kevin.”
Dr. Andrew Washburn walked into the room a blustery, powerful man. He took one look at the destruction around him and his son in the middle of it all, and transformed into a pale, stooped figure who had aged way beyond his sixty-something years.
Taking pity on the beleaguered father, Rachel sat up. She clenched her teeth against the sudden pain at the small of her back.
Josh, however, had his hands too full to mess with pity. “Help her,” he commanded.