Private Justice

by Marie Ferrarella

  Overhearing this, the tall, seasoned-looking woman in charge of the crime scene investigation told them, “We’ll try to be as fast as we can, but we also need to be thorough.” It sounded as if she’d said those exact same words countless times and they just automatically emerged somewhere during the first couple of hours of evidence-gathering and tagging.

  And then she gave them a piece of information that wasn’t automatic. “Whoever took those shots did it from that building.”

  The woman indicated the tall apartment building visible through the shattered glass. Logically, it was the only explanation. The building, although by no means a high-rise, was the only one that was facing Cindy’s window. Since she lived on the seventh floor, a shot from the building across the street—itself twelve stories high—was highly doable.

  Cindy looked, but she made no effort to take even a single step closer to the window. She was struggling to keep her fear at bay, to keep it from paralyzing her. “Do you know which apartment?” she asked quietly.

  The woman flashed a comforting smile at her. “Not yet. But we will,” she added with confidence.

  “I’d appreciate being informed the moment you know,” Dylan told her.

  Rather than answer, the crime scene investigator glanced at the detective, as if seeking confirmation of the request.

  The man parked his pen between the pages of his pad. “Who are you again?” Detective Weller wanted to know.

  “Dylan Kelley,” Dylan told him, even though he’d repeated his name each time a new wave of police personnel had entered the apartment. “I’m Senator Henry Kelley’s legal counsel.”

  The last part was new information. He’d wanted to keep his father’s name out of this if possible. The man didn’t need any more notoriety, or for someone to begin to connect the dots, but it was obvious that this was now out of his hands. That being the case, he decided to use his father’s name to his advantage for once. Especially since he was convinced that the shooting had something to do with his father’s situation.

  Weller looked more amused than surprised. “I see. Don’t do things the easy way, do you, Mr. Kelley?” the detective chuckled. “Any relation to the senator?” he wanted to know.

  At times it was hard to realize that not everyone was aware of the connection. It was, like it or not, a great part of everything he did. “He’s my father.”

  “Oh.” Weller looked genuinely surprised. “Sorry about that.” He went back to making notes inside his worn pad.

  Dylan wasn’t sure if the detective was apologizing for his initially flippant line about not doing things easily, or for the fact he pitied him because Hank was his father.

  In either case, Dylan decided it was best to leave the matter alone. “Do you need us here any longer?” he wanted to know, nodding at Cindy to include her in the question.

  “No, I think I’ve asked just about everything I need to for now. Where can I get in touch with either of you if I need to?” Weller looked from one to the other, his expression fairly amicable.

  Dylan reached for his wallet and took out one of the business cards. “May I?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and indicating the pen that the detective was currently holding.

  “Sure. Here.” Weller handed over the pen.

  Taking it, Dylan wrote on the back of his card, then held it out to Weller. “That’s my cell number. You can reach me any time.”

  Slipping the card into his stretched-out jacket pocket, Weller turned toward Cindy and asked, “And the young lady?”

  “She’ll be with me,” Dylan assured him before Cindy had the opportunity to open her mouth.

  “I see.” Taking back his pen, the detective nodded knowingly.

  “I will?” Cindy asked the moment the detective went back to confer with the patrolman who had been the first to arrive on the scene.

  Dylan nodded. “I said you were coming with me, remember?” he reminded her. “Put some of your things into a suitcase and we can get out of here.”

  For a moment, she appeared undecided, then pivoted on her heel and went down the very short hallway to her bedroom.

  “Next time you might try asking me instead of telling me,” Cindy pointed out, tossing the words over her shoulder as she walked into her bedroom.

  “Didn’t want to risk an argument,” he told her. Following her into her bedroom, the room that had been a witness to his reawakening as a man, he drew her into his arms without any preamble. Dylan looked down into her face. “Didn’t want to risk you.”

  Cindy sighed. Damn but the man could be so romantic when she least expected it. “You certainly make it hard for a woman to argue with you.”

  “Good,” he pronounced just before he kissed the top of her head.

  Cindy grabbed his arm before he could step back. “What was that?” she demanded.

  He looked at her uncertainly. Where was she going with this? “A kiss.”

  “Yeah—from a doting uncle, maybe.” She frowned. They hadn’t been together long enough for their relationship to devolve to this state yet. “That does not qualify as a kiss from a man to a woman unless one of them is on their deathbed.”

  He grinned at her. He had to stop treating her as if she was about to break, and he knew it.

  “My error.”

  Taking her back into his arms, this time he kissed Cindy properly. Kissed her with all the feeling of a man who had a just been given one hell of a scare that the woman he loved could have been snatched away from him—permanently.

  For a moment Dylan allowed himself to get lost in the folds of the emotions that the kiss had generated. Pulling back, because they were not alone and he really wasn’t at liberty to indulge himself, he looked down into her face. And felt his heart swell. Again.

  “Better?” he asked,

  It was amazing what a calming and yet exhilarating effect his kiss had on her, what kinds of feelings it could stir up within her. There was no doubt in her mind that the touch of his lips against hers instantly made her feel better about everything, even though she knew that logically, nothing had really changed—other than a minor shifting of the earth beneath her feet.

  “Better,” Cindy replied with a wide, contented smile.

  “Okay, let’s get you packed up and get out of here,” he said, “Before I’m tempted to forget about those people in the next room, close the door and have my way with you.”

  The smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. “Now for that I want a rain check.”

  “Absolutely,” he promised.

  Cindy was packed and ready to go less than twenty minutes later.

  For the sake of simplicity, and just because he couldn’t tolerate the idea of being separated from her just yet, Dylan proposed that they just use his car for now and come by later to pick hers up.

  Feeling too shaken up to drive anyway, Cindy agreed without a protest. That in turn told him just how extremely upsetting the incident had been to her, despite the brave face she was putting on.

  Taking the elevator all the way down to the subterranean third level, Dylan led the way to where he had parked his car earlier. Reaching it, he stopped dead.

  There was a note trapped between his windshield and the windshield wiper that lay dormant against the glass. A quick glance at the cars on either side of his told Dylan him that the eight-by-ten white sheet of paper had not been distributed by some would-be entrepreneur trying to drum up business.

  This was intended for him alone.

  Someone had followed him here. How else could they have known where he had parked?

  “What is it?” Cindy asked, seeing the look on his face.

  “I don’t know yet,” he answered, trying not to alarm her. Taking out his handkerchief from his pocket, he used it to remove the sheet of paper and then turned it around.

  On it, written in block letters with what looked like a permanent laundry marker were the words:

  CONSIDER THIS A WARNING, KELLEY. BACK OFF. NEXT TIME, WE’LL AIM LOWER AND W
E WON’T MISS.

  On his own, he hadn’t made any enemies of this caliber. And he was willing to bet that neither had Cindy. This had to do with his father.

  Damn it, what the hell have you gotten yourself into, old man? And what have you gotten us into?

  Taking his hand, Cindy drew it closer to her and looked down at the note he was holding. Dylan watched as her complexion became an even paler shade.

  “Who wrote this?” she wanted to know, her voice low, tight.

  “I don’t know,” he told her honestly. “It’s not signed and nobody I know block-prints threats. It’s got to have something to do with my father.”

  Cindy nodded, agreeing. “Are you going to turn that over to the police?” she wanted to know, nodding at the note.

  That wasn’t his first inclination. “Not yet. I want to ask my father about it.”

  “All right, then, let’s go,” she said as he unlocked his doors. Dylan slipped the note into a blue folder he had on the backseat, then placed her suitcase into his trunk. Shutting the trunk, he came around to the driver’s side and got in.

  “First I want to stop by the hospital E.R.,” he told her, securing his seatbelt around him.

  She was instantly concerned. “Why? Are you hurt? Why are you being so macho? You should have said something right away.” Though they were both seated, she hadn’t buckled up yet. Leaning over to his side, Cindy started tugging on his jacket, looking for some telltale trace of blood to give her a clue where his injury was. “Where did the bullet—?”

  Dylan caught her frantic hands, stilling them. “I’m not hurt,” he told her.

  She didn’t understand. He wasn’t making any sense. “Then why do you want to go to the E.R.?”

  He’d thought that would be obvious to her. “To get you checked out.”

  Cindy blew out an impatient breath and sat back in her seat, suddenly weary from all these sudden spikes of adrenaline that surged through her.

  “I already told you. I’m fine. You covered me completely, remember?”

  That was his point. “Exactly. I knocked you down.” He could see she was about to protest again. “Remember, there’s not just you to think of anymore. There’s the baby, too.”

  Fleeting confusion gave way to understanding. Since she’d stopped throwing up, what with everything that had happened in these last two weeks she’d completely forgotten that she was pregnant.

  Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. Although, she had to admit, the resentfulness about the entire situation had faded, ushering in resignation in its place.

  “It’s not like you threw me off a second-story balcony,” she pointed out. “I was already sitting on the floor when you pushed me down. Onto a rug,” she emphasized. “The only way it could have been softer is if you’d thrown me into a nest full of feathers—or foam rubber.”

  She wasn’t going to talk him out of it. “I’d still feel better if a professional looked you over.”

  A sensual smile curved her mouth as her eyes drifted over the length of him. “You’re a professional,” she said. “I’ll let you look me over for as long as you want.”

  “Tempting as that offer is, I’m talking about a medical professional,” he stressed.

  She supposed he was right. She really didn’t want to argue with Dylan. But one thing seemed to be very apparent to her. “You’re a lot more concerned about this baby than I am.”

  She had it wrong. “I’m concerned about both of you,” he corrected.

  “Why?” she wanted to know.

  Under the circumstances, this wasn’t the time or the place he would have picked. Dylan shrugged it off for now. “Don’t ask silly questions.”

  But she was determined to get an answer out of him. Needed to get an answer out of him. Needed to have something to hold on to.

  “Why are you so concerned?” she pressed again.

  She wasn’t going to back off. He could see that.

  “Because I love you,” he all but shouted. “Okay?” Aware how loudly that had come out, he lowered his voice. “Because my heart stopped when I realized someone was firing at us. When I thought about what could have happened to you if the shots had been aimed lower. Or if I hadn’t been there to get you down to the floor—”

  “But the shots weren’t meant for me,” Cindy pointed out. “You said you thought it was about the senator, remember? And that note all but confirmed it.”

  There was a twist to this that had just occurred to him. “And you’re the senator’s Chief Staff Assistant, remember? Whoever is behind the shooting might have been looking to make an example out of you to get to my father—and to me.” He found that really ironic, that the same person meant something to both of them. He couldn’t remember the last time he and his father had felt the same about anything. “In effect, getting two birds with one stone.” Maybe she had hit her head without realizing it. Her brain wasn’t processing information quickly enough. His words came echoing back to her. Startled, she needed him to repeat them.

  “Back up a minute,” she said, shifting in her seat to get a better look at him. “You used the word love a minute ago.”

  “I was wondering if you’d even heard me,” he told her. She’d passed over the crucial phrase without a comment the first time around. It made him think that she was politely trying to ignore the way he felt about her. Because she didn’t feel the same way.

  Since she was asking him about it, he felt a glimmer of hope that he’d been wrong.

  “Was that just a throwaway word?” Cindy asked.

  He looked at her for a long moment, his silence saying things more eloquently than any words. “What do you think?”

  “I think I’d like to hear an answer to my question—and no lawyer-speak, please,” she requested. “I want to know if you actually meant what you just shouted at me.”

  He looked a tad apologetic. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

  That wasn’t the point she was seeking to clarify and he knew it. “You’re being evasive.”

  No, he was being nervous, he realized, something he was relatively unaccustomed to being. Time to be straightforward, he told himself.

  “Yes, I love you. And I want you in my life on a permanent basis.” He took a breath. “I want you to marry me. When you’re ready.”

  It was the last sentence that made her eyes sting as tears suddenly gathered, threatening to spill out. Could someone possibly be this kind, this loving? Almost afraid to ruin the moment, she still had to ask, had to know. “And this baby I’m carrying, it doesn’t make a difference to you?”

  “Of course it makes a difference.” He saw the glimmer of fear in her eyes. How was he ever going to make her understand? “I like the idea of having a family. And I want to be there with you every step of the way with this child. I want to be there when the baby’s born, I want to be the one who cuts the cord.”

  She wanted this, oh God, how she wanted this, but she was more than a little afraid to reach for it. Afraid that if she closed her fingers around it, there would be nothing but air in her hand.

  “But the baby’s not yours,” she said quietly. Would he grow to hate the child, to see the embodiment of her ex-husband in the child’s features? Would it ultimately wind up tearing them apart?

  He could only smile at her. She still didn’t get how he felt. But she would. “Haven’t you heard? Possession is nine-tenths of the law.”

  Cindy wiped away the tears that insisted on sliding down her cheeks, the tears that refused to be blinked back. A relieved smile curved her mouth. “I should know better than to try to argue with a lawyer.”

  “That’s right, you should.” He started up his car. “Now let’s get you to the hospital.” Looking over his shoulder for any stray vehicle pulling out or coming in, Dylan began to back out of the guest parking space.

  “I love you, too.”

  He slammed on the brake much the way he felt his heart had just slammed against his rib cage. Who would have thoug
ht that such a little word contained so much firepower?

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said I love you, too. I just thought you should know. I was just afraid to say it or feel it,” she confessed, “because…” She couldn’t bring herself to put it into words. “Well, you know why.”

  He didn’t want her going through any extra angst on his account, so he didn’t challenge her dogged misconception. Eventually, she’d learn he wasn’t her ex. “Yes, I know.”

  He started to back the car up again.

  “But you’re not going to become like him—like Dean—” she forced herself to say her ex-husband’s name “—are you?”

  Did she even have to ask? But he saw by the expression on her face that she did. Whatever it took, he decided. He was going to be there for her no matter what. “Nope. All I want to do is spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

  “Stop the car,” she ordered.

  Concerned, Dylan immediately stopped backing out again and pulled up the hand brake, putting the car into Park. “Are you feeling sick?”

  She shook her head. “No, I just don’t want you slamming on the brakes again when I tell you.”

  He had no idea what she was referring to. She’d already rocked his world by telling him she loved him. “Tell me what?”

  Her eyes were smiling at him as she uttered the single word. “Yes.”

  He approached the declaration cautiously, as if she were a rare bird that, feeling threatened, might take flight at any second. He didn’t want her to feel pressured to accept his proposal before she was absolutely ready. Now that he had found her, he was willing to wait for her.

  “Are you telling me that you’re willing to marry me?” he asked.

  “Willing, ready and able,” she added. “Just name the time and the place.”

  That was something to be decided by both of them after careful thought and a long discussion. At this moment, it was enough just to hear her agree to be his wife. “Right now, all I want to do is kiss you.”