by Debra Webb
But no matter that he had done that awful thing to her, she still never wished him dead.
Yet he was dead, and somehow even in death he’d found a way to punish her for being a better doctor than he could be...for working harder than he ever considered working. And for trying to do the right thing when he no longer cared.
She had a right to be happy, and William—alive or dead—had no right to try to take that happiness from her. Anger sparked deep inside her.
“I was far too cocky and too full of myself to be happy on the ranch. I needed adventure. For a long time—” his gaze drifted back to the water “—rounding up the bad guys and bringing them in was enough. But then a really bad one got out of jail after a two-year stint, and went back home and killed his ex-wife. I saw things differently after that. Doing the job no longer held the same appeal. I needed distance and a fresh start.”
“The ex-wife was someone you knew?” She had a terrible feeling the story didn’t end with a job going wrong. His words carried the weight of far more than mere facts or statistics. This was personal.
“She was my fiancée. We were getting married the next month. He killed her just to get back at me for hauling his sorry ass to San Antonio to stand trial the first time.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He nodded, stared down at his hands. “I was out of town when he was released, a week earlier than expected. I had a bail jumper to pick up in El Paso. The local cops took care of the bastard though. He made the mistake of trying to fight back when they cornered him, and they took him out.”
“So you moved away.” She didn’t blame him.
“I needed a change of scenery.”
“The winters are very different here,” she commented, easing the topic of conversation away from his painful past.
“You’re not kidding. But I wanted to work for the best. It was important to me to find work that allowed me to help people before the worst happened. The Colby Agency gave me that opportunity.” He sent her another smile, this one considerably dimmer than the first. “Most of the time anyway.”
“Sometimes there’s just no way to see what’s coming.” Not in a million years would she have suspected William of this behavior. She’d had no idea his fall from grace had taken him so far down.
Lacon placed one of his broad palms over her hand on the railing and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure this out.”
His promise warmed her. Her cell vibrated against her hip, shattering the moment of encouragement. She pulled it from her pocket and checked the screen, expecting it to be Eva or one of the detectives. Blocked Call flashed on the screen. “Marissa Frasier.”
“Hello, Dr. Frasier.”
The deep voice was male, but not one she recognized. She hesitated, waiting for the man to go on.
“You have a very lovely home. I sincerely apologize that my business with your husband caused you any inconvenience.”
Fear rushed over her, and she instinctively grabbed Traynor’s arm. “Who is this?”
“You’ll know soon enough,” the man promised. “For now, I need your help. You see, your husband left me in a very difficult situation. Now you’re going to have to pick up his slack.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she argued. Traynor’s head was next to hers now so he could hear, as well. “William and I divorced a long time ago. Whatever business he had with you has nothing to do with me.”
“You are a doctor, are you not?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to, because he already knew.
“Yes, I know you are. Your late husband bragged about you quite often. He still kept photos of you in his phone. You’re still listed as wife in his cell phone. How does that make you feel, Dr. Frasier?”
The bastard had William’s phone. The police had asked her about his phone. The news about the photos and the way she was listed in William’s phone sent a strangely unnerving sensation chasing along her spine. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel about that announcement. Maybe William simply hadn’t taken the time to clear the past from his phone. Now she would never know. Didn’t matter.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
“Drive into the city, Dr. Frasier. When you reach Division Street, I will send you the address you need to find. Involve the police, and you will regret it. Refuse to come, and you will regret it.”
“Why would I do this when you won’t tell me who you are?”
Her phone vibrated, making her heart skip another beat.
“Have a look at the photo you just received,” he said as if he, too, had felt the vibration.
She drew her phone from her ear and touched the screen to open the text message. A photo of Jeremiah Owens wearing his blue cast appeared on the screen. It was obvious the photo had been taken as he and his mother exited the ER earlier last evening.
“Did you receive the photo?” the man asked.
Marissa didn’t have to question why he sent it. The realization sat like a boulder on her chest. “Yes.”
“Your late husband told me how much you love your patients. I’m certain you will want to ensure little Jeremiah remains safe, no matter the cost or the inconvenience.”
Fury overrode all logic. “I don’t know what sort of game—”
“This is not a game, Dr. Frasier. You will do exactly as I say. Any supplies you require will be provided by my associates. Do not notify the police. Trust me, I have eyes and ears everywhere in this city. Do not make a mistake, or little Jeremiah’s mother will be burying her son while you stand by and wonder why you didn’t listen more carefully to my instructions. I’m certain you do not want that to happen.”
The fury drained instantly, leaving only the fear. Her heart hammered so hard she could scarcely manage a breath. “It’ll take me nearly an hour to get back to the city.”
“I’m counting on you, Dr. Frasier. Respond to the text I sent to let me know when you have arrived at Division. Instructions will follow.”
The call ended.
She lifted her gaze to Traynor’s. “I have to go. I don’t know who this man is or what he expects from me, but I have to go.”
“No.” He took her hand. “We have to go.”
Chapter Four
“You need to drive faster.”
Lacon couldn’t remember the last time anyone had asked him to drive faster. “I’m running ten miles an hour over the speed limit now, Dr. Frasier. We don’t want to risk a traffic stop.”
Frasier twisted around in her seat and stared out the back window, then did the same on the passenger side. She stretched across the console and checked behind him and then in front of him to see his side of the highway. “I don’t see any cops. Please, you need to hurry.”
“Try to calm down,” he urged. Hell, she was making him nervous. He got it. She was a doctor, and this wasn’t part of her daily routine. He’d probably pass out if he had to cut open a patient and poke around their organs. “Bella will be patching through the conference call any second now. We need to keep our heads on straight until we get a better handle on the situation.”
“Bella Lytle?”
“The one and only.” Bella was soon to be Bella Pierce. Dr. Devon Pierce, the Edge administrator, had already popped the question. “She’s coordinating a call between us, Victoria and Chicago PD.”
“What?” Frasier glared at him. “He said no police! He claimed to have eyes and ears in the department.”
Had she not been listening when he called Victoria? “Victoria and Lucas know the police department inside out. They won’t be calling Nader or Watts. Whoever they work with will be someone completely trustworthy. Their connections go well above any possible leaks.”
“Oh, my God.” Frasier hugged herself. “If something happens to that child...”
Lacon made t
he next turn. “He wants you scared, Marissa.” He used her first name in hopes of getting her full attention. “Men like him—whoever the hell he is—use fear as a means to gain power. Don’t give him the power.”
She stared at the cell phone clutched in her hand, the picture of the little boy on the screen. “Mrs. Owens doesn’t have any other children, and she can’t have any more. Her husband was killed in a construction accident two years ago.” She held up the phone, aiming the screen at Lacon. “This child is all she has. I can’t risk taking him away from her, do you understand?”
“I do understand.” He pressed a little harder on the accelerator, adding another five miles per hour to his speed. “I will do everything I can to make sure nothing happens to the child or to you.”
His cell rang, the call coming over the speaker system in the car. He’d set it that way so they could both hear the conversation and respond as needed.
He touched the screen. “Traynor here. I have you on speaker so Dr. Frasier can hear you, as well.”
“Dr. Frasier, this is Victoria Colby-Camp. On the line with me are Lucas Camp, Ian Michaels, Bella Lytle—all from the Colby Agency. From Chicago PD’s Bureau of Detectives we have Chief Connie Staten. We also have Chief Anthony Waller, who commands the Bureau of Organized Crime since, based on what we’ve learned about the late Dr. Bauer, we feel we’re dealing with an element of organized crime.”
“Have you learned something new about William?”
Frasier’s voice sounded small and weary. Lacon hated not being able to take the weight of this fear off her shoulders. Before Victoria or the others could respond, he interjected, “I’ve brought her up to speed on what we had as of this morning.”
“Dr. Frasier, this is Chief Waller. We had been watching Dr. Bauer for about two months. We have reason to believe he was deeply involved with Vito Anastasia. To give you a quick overview of our position, in recent decades we’ve made great strides in eliminating the mob element in Chicago. It still exists, but nothing like it did thirty years ago. Anastasia is doing all within his power to give rise to a new group called the Network. In the last year we’ve seen a startling increase in homicides and all manner of organized crime. We believe Anastasia is behind that deadly increase. Our goal is to take him down as quickly as possible but, as you are aware, I’m sure, we need evidence against him for that. We could use your help toward that end.”
“We will not allow you to use our client in any way that will endanger her life,” Victoria stated, her tone professional but firm.
Lacon was grateful his boss had spoken up. He’d been struggling to hold back that same warning. He had been with the Colby Agency long enough to know Victoria’s feelings on the subject.
“Ms. Colby-Camp—” a female voice joined the conversation “—this is Chief Staten. You have my word that we would never allow an operation that would endanger Dr. Frasier’s life. We’re only asking that she share information with us. The fact of the matter is she’s already in Anastasia’s crosshairs. Whatever his goal, he will not stop until he accomplishes that goal. If anything, we can help protect her.”
“How was William—Dr. Bauer involved?” Frasier demanded.
Lacon glanced at her, wished he could give her arm a squeeze of reassurance, but at this speed he needed both hands on the wheel. He had a bad feeling about this. With people this high up the department food chain involved, Bauer had been more than just involved with Vito Anastasia. Lacon would bet everything he owned that he had been caught by the department and forced to feed them info—acting as a confidential informant. Why else would Anastasia assassinate his doctor? He hadn’t said as much to Frasier, but the murder was a blatant assassination. The mob executed their people when they stole from them and when they ratted them out. Bauer had done one or the other, no question.
“As a doctor, you’re aware that all gunshot victims are reported. Anytime a known criminal shows up in an ER, if he’s recognized, he’s reported. To avoid those types of situations and to keep his family and crew healthy, a man like Anastasia hires a doctor to take care of things discreetly. Dr. Bauer had been working for Anastasia in that capacity for five months.”
Lacon noticed the way Frasier’s hand trembled as she covered her mouth. This was not the man she’d known, the man she’d loved. By the time he was murdered, Bauer had been a stranger. A stranger who had dragged her into a world so vile and so dangerous that she couldn’t possibly comprehend the risk involved with merely being on the bastard’s radar.
“What level of cooperation are you looking for?” Victoria asked the question blazing in Lacon’s brain.
“For now, see what Anastasia wants,” Waller said. “If it turns out he wants Dr. Frasier to assume the position left open by Dr. Bauer, then we would want her to take it for a period of time and feed intelligence to us.”
Lacon couldn’t help it—he laughed. “Why don’t you just ask her to put a gun to her head and pull the trigger? The result would be basically the same.”
That Victoria didn’t caution him to back off spoke volumes. She agreed. The proposal was unreasonable.
The two cops on the call started talking at once, arguing why it made complete sense. Victoria countered their denials, backing Lacon’s concerns.
“I can’t make any promises right now,” Frasier spoke up, her voice loud and firm this time. “All I care about at the moment is making sure Jeremiah Owens is safe. Unless you can do that, we have nothing else to talk about at this time.”
Lacon smiled to himself. Way to go, doc.
“We have undercover surveillance on the Owens home. Mother and son are both inside,” Staten assured her.
Frasier shared a look with Lacon. He knew what she was thinking. “Whatever you do,” he warned the representatives of the department on the line, “under no circumstances can Anastasia discover that we’ve contacted you, so those boots you have on the ground better be damned careful.”
“I am confident Chiefs Staten and Waller will not allow that to happen,” Victoria said, echoing his warning a tad more diplomatically.
The two chiefs gave their assurances that the operation was locked down tight, and the call ended with one final urge from Victoria for Frasier to be careful.
Lacon’s phone immediately rang again. This time it was only Victoria. She reminded him that his sole obligation was to Dr. Frasier and keeping her safe. Frasier thanked her.
When they reached Division Street, Lacon parked at a gas station on the corner of West Division Street and North Winchester Avenue. “Send the text.”
Frasier held his gaze for several seconds before typing, I’m at Division.
Half a minute, maybe more, elapsed and a soft ping announced a response. Corner of 1735 West Hubbard St. at intersection of Hermitage Ave.
Frasier showed him the screen. Lacon nodded. “I know the area.”
Five turns and hardly more than five minutes later, they pulled up in front of a warehouse for lease. Tension rippled through his muscles. Lacon shifted into Park and turned to face her. “Stay close to me. No matter what else happens, stick to me like glue. I do not want you out of my sight for any reason. Got it?”
“Got it.” She swallowed hard, the muscles of her throat working. “How will your people know where we are?”
“Every Colby investigator has a tracking device installed in their personal vehicle. The same goes for my phone. Just remember, no matter what else happens, we cannot be separated.”
She nodded. “Wait. What’s my excuse for having you with me?”
Her voice trembled, and he wished he knew the words to say that would ease her fears, but there were none. “Your ex had been threatening you. You hired personal security through a private firm. I’m your bodyguard.”
She nodded. “Good. Okay.”
“I’ll get out first and open your door.”
She moiste
ned her lips. “Make it look real. Right.”
“Make it look real,” he agreed.
Lacon cleared her fear from his head and reached for the door handle. He emerged from the car and scanned the street in both directions. No traffic. Only a parked car here and there. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door, again surveying the area. As soon as she was out of the car, he ushered her to the front entrance of the building marked 1735.
“Stay behind me,” he said before opening the door.
She nodded. He grasped the knob, gave it a twist and pushed the door inward. She stuck close behind him just like he’d instructed.
Lights were on, but the place looked deserted other than a few stacks of shipping crates. As soon as the door closed behind them, four armed men materialized from behind the crates and fanned out in a circle around them. All four were dressed in black suits, black shirts and full-face masks, also black. One skirted around them until he was behind Lacon and started the expected pat-down. His weapon was removed from his side holster.
Taking a step forward, putting her side by side with him, Frasier said, “I’m Dr. Marissa Frasier. Your boss is expecting me.”
The tallest of the four walked toward them until he stood toe-to-toe with Lacon. “You were instructed to come alone.” He stabbed the muzzle of his .44 caliber automatic against Lacon’s forehead. “Now I have to take care of this excess baggage.”
“If you kill him,” Frasier said, her voice strangely calm, “I won’t do whatever it is your boss called me here to do.”
As much as Lacon appreciated her support, he did not want her to be a hero.
The man in front of Lacon, who appeared to be in charge, turned his head toward her. “Then I’ll have to kill you, too, and the boss will be most unhappy.”
Frasier took a step toward the man. Lacon gritted his teeth. He had to hold himself back from grabbing her. Three weapons shifted their aims toward her head. She ignored them and stared directly at the man in front of Lacon. “Then you might as well do what you have to. This is my personal bodyguard, and wherever I go, he goes. Are we clear?”