Trap 'N' Trace

by Tee O'Fallon

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover more Amara titles… Honor Avenged

  Flatline

  Smoke and Mirrors

  Dangerous Desires

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2020 by Tee O’Fallon. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  rights@entangledpublishing.com

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by EDH Graphics

  Cover photography by romancephotos/DepositPhotos

  Andrew F. Kazmierski and shutswis/123.RF

  Eric Isselee/Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-64063-898-3

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2020

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for supporting a small publisher! Entangled prides itself on bringing you the highest quality romance you’ve come to expect, and we couldn’t do it without your continued support. We love romance, and we hope this book leaves you with a smile on your face and joy in your heart.

  xoxo

  Liz Pelletier, Publisher

  To my family, human and canine. To my readers, for your unfailing support and heartfelt appreciation of my books. And to first responders and frontline workers everywhere. Thank you for keeping us safe during this crazy time.

  Chapter One

  “Angus, stop squirming!”

  Kat kicked the Escalade’s door shut, barely able to hold on to the wriggling puppy in her arms. Angus was adorable, but he had enough energy in his furry little body to fuel a jet engine.

  She headed up the brick path to the small ranch house office, noting a blue SUV parked in the driveway. “That’s a good sign, Angus. Somebody’s home.”

  The puppy got in a slobbery kiss on Kat’s chin, making her smile. Angus sure liked to lick. He’d only been staying with her at the Canine Haven since last night, but she missed him already. His bubbly puppy personality had been just the ticket to get her mind off other things. Like getting dumped. That had definitely sucked.

  A large wood sign in the front yard confirmed she was in the right place. Garman Investigations. The phone number on the sign was the same as the one on Angus’s dog tag.

  Kat had called the number twice last night and once this morning. No one had returned her voicemail messages regarding the puppy being found wandering in the neighborhood.

  A plaque on the front door said, Come on in. She hefted Angus against her shoulder, holding him tighter. The door opened into a small reception area with several chairs against a wall and a table littered with magazines.

  “Hello?” She closed the door behind her then waited. No one answered. “Hello? Is anyone here? I have Angus.” The place was deathly quiet.

  She continued through the reception area to a short hallway. An overturned dog bowl and several dog toys lay on the floor by the back door. Kat grimaced at the metallic and sickly, rancid odor. “Ooh.” She held her hand over her nose, as if that could actually filter out the smell. It didn’t.

  The puppy went utterly still, like someone had unplugged his little generator. His tiny black nostrils flared. Whatever the smell was, Angus didn’t like it, either.

  Hair on her nape tingled. Another door off the hallway was open. Cautiously, she moved closer until the edge of a desk came into view. The metallic scent grew more pungent and she began breathing through her mouth, which helped. Some, anyway. A bad feeling edged its way into her mind. At the open doorway, she raised her hand to knock, then gasped.

  Bile rose in her throat. She blinked then blinked again. Oh. God. Not even the worst slasher movie could have prepared her for this.

  A woman’s body lay on the floor. Her eyes open and sightless. The entire torso was covered in various shades of red. Blood.

  Kat stumbled backward. Her shoulder slammed against the doorframe. She sucked in quick, shallow breaths, swallowing repeatedly to keep from throwing up, then darted her eyes to the hallway.

  This can’t be real. But it was.

  What if whoever did this was still here?

  Angus’s high-pitched whimper broke through the haze of shock, and she ran through the reception area, hugging the puppy tightly to her chest. She flung open the door then bolted down the steps and across the front lawn to her car, glancing over her shoulder twice before she made it to the street.

  Breathing heavily, she jerked open the door and hoisted herself and Angus inside. After setting the puppy on the passenger seat, she slammed the door shut and punched the lock button.

  With shaking hands, she fumbled to release her cell phone from the hands-free contraption on the dash. Finally, she clicked open the release. Her fingers were so unsteady she nearly dropped the phone, snagging it in the nick of time.

  Then she did something she’d never done before in her life—dialed 911.

  The operator answered.

  “Blood!” was the only word she managed before having to swallow again or vomit. “So much of it. Please, hurry.”

  But there was no hurry. Not really. The woman was not only dead, she was…

  Desecrated.

  Chapter Two

  Dayne stared at the lifeless, bloody body, pressing his lips together and willing the tightness in his chest to ease. He’d seen his share of homicide victims, but this was different.

  He fisted his hands so tightly, his nails dug into his palms. I’ll find whoever did this, Becca. I swear it.

  FBI Special Agent Rebecca Garman had been Dayne’s mentor when he’d graduated from Quantico and been assigned to the Newark Field Office. Becca retired several years ago and started her own private investigation firm in Tappan, New York. She’d been one hell of an agent, a tenacious PI, and a friend. Now she was dead. He still couldn’t believe it.

  From a corner of the reception area, he watched the CSU guys methodically set out evidence tags around the body, the blood-soaked carpet, and then begin photographing every square inch of the office. As he looked into Becca’s lifeless eyes, the backs of his own eyes stung, and for a moment, his vision blurred. He blinked rapidly. No one deserved to die li
ke this, especially not Becca. He’d find the sick fuck that did this to her.

  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, forcing himself to view the crime scene as a trained agent would, not as a friend of the victim.

  Unfortunately, there were no surveillance cameras anywhere. People who hired PIs generally wanted their affairs to remain private. Peep cams would have cut Becca’s clientele in half.

  Stacked on the desk were a few manila file folders. No laptop that he could see, but he didn’t doubt she had one. Several desk drawers were partially open, as if someone had searched them and hadn’t found what they were looking for. Other than that, nothing appeared out of place. Except for Becca.

  She’d been stabbed multiple times in the chest, neck, and abdomen. That level of violence usually indicated either a crime of passion, or one of intense hatred. Becca’s relationship with her husband was solid, so he’d go with intense hatred.

  He didn’t know Ted Garman well but was relieved Becca’s husband was in Seattle on a business trip. They had no reason to believe Ted killed his wife, but when a victim’s body was cut up by so many stab wounds the husband or boyfriend was always at the top of the suspect list. Thankfully, Ted had a rock-solid alibi by virtue of being three thousand miles away. The man was catching a flight home that evening, as were Becca’s adult children.

  The CSU tech’s camera clicked and flashed. Behind him, the detective assigned to the case, Mike Paulson, took down information from the uniformed cop who’d been first on scene. Paulson was about to interview the witness who’d discovered the body.

  According to this witness, the front door had been closed but unlocked. The entire office had already been dusted for prints. If they were lucky, they’d get a hit, but it was never that easy. They’d have to pore through Becca’s files, her laptop, and her cell phone, searching for clues. Then they’d interview all the neighbors in case they saw anything suspicious.

  “I understand you knew the victim.” Paulson waved his pen in the direction of Becca’s body. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He cleared the lump from his throat. “Yeah, thanks.” He felt guilty for not staying in touch with Becca more after she retired. She’d seen things in him no one else had. She made me a better agent. “Mind if I listen in when you talk to the witness?”

  Paulson hesitated, twisting his lips slightly and giving Dayne the clear impression that he did mind. “Sure thing.” The detective executed a stiff about-face and headed for the back door.

  Early in his career Dayne figured out that a lot of PDs resented it when the feds crashed their party. The FBI didn’t normally get involved in straight-up homicides, but because the victim was a former FBI agent, they couldn’t be certain if her murder was connected to a case she worked as a PI, or something she did while employed by the FBI. Dayne had been directed to keep tabs on the case until a determination could be made.

  He followed Paulson down the hall, sidestepping some dog toys and an overturned dog bowl by the back door, although he hadn’t seen a dog anywhere.

  Patrol cars and dark sedans lined the road, their red-and-blue strobes flashing. Several reporters and videographers crowded the sidewalk outside the police tape.

  It was a beautiful early-spring day, warm enough that he’d shed his jacket and lowered the windows of his Interceptor so Remy could get some fresh air. His K-9’s brown and black head stuck out the window, bobbing up and down as she took in all the scents in the air.

  Flowerbeds with bright yellow daffodils and red tulips swaying in the breeze surrounded the house. Becca loved her garden. She’d once told him April flowers were a sign of rebirth.

  Dayne nearly choked on the irony. Today, they were a sign of death and the funeral yet to come.

  A white Escalade sat at the curb, its passenger door open. The woman on the seat held a squirming golden retriever puppy.

  Dayne frowned. Whoa. “Is that Katrina Vandenburg?”

  “The one and only,” the detective said over his shoulder as they took the last few steps down the sloped yard to the sidewalk. “Once it leaked out that she found the body, the press swarmed in like sharks at a feeding frenzy.”

  Great.

  Dayne had only met Katrina Vandenburg once, a month ago when his best friend’s fiancée was picking out a dog at the Canine Haven. He and Katrina hadn’t exactly hit it off.

  He couldn’t think of a single reason why the woman would be meeting with a private investigator. She had enough millions in the bank to buy her way out of anything. Actually, she’s got billions.

  As they approached, Katrina Vandenburg looked up. If he’d had any doubt as to her identity before, there was absolutely none now. Nobody else had eyes like hers. Amethyst. Other than that, she looked nothing like the image he hadn’t realized until now had been seared into his memory.

  She’d been wearing a glittery, silver evening gown and sporting enough diamonds to fill a display case at Tiffany’s. She’d whipped on a long silk wrap, practically smacking him in the face with it, then slid gracefully into a white limo.

  Today, her attire surprised him. Jeans, sneakers, and a light blue sweatshirt. Deep chestnut hair pulled back into a tight ponytail. The only jewelry were the small diamond studs twinkling from her delicate earlobes.

  “Miss Vandenburg, I’m Detective Paulson with the Orangetown Police Department, and this is FBI Special Agent Andrews.” Paulson indicated Dayne with a quick nod. “I’d like to ask you some questions. I understand you discovered the body.”

  He raised a brow at Paulson’s repeated use of the word I, instead of we, a not too subtle dig that this was Paulson’s interview, not Dayne’s.

  “Yes, I did.” She tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, calling attention to the fact that she wore no makeup and was still pretty as hell.

  “What time did you get here?” Paulson asked.

  “About ten this morning.”

  The puppy, which Dayne guessed was about nine weeks old, wriggled like a worm on a hook. With long, graceful fingers she stroked the dog’s belly, calming him. Short nails, no polish, and no rings.

  “Did you have an appointment with Rebecca Garman?” Paulson’s pen poised over his pad.

  “No, I—” She stared at Dayne. “I know you. Don’t I?” The melodic timbre of her voice lowered. No doubt she was recalling their one and only meeting, which had been about as pleasant as a bee sting.

  “We’ve met,” Dayne admitted. “At the Canine Haven about a month ago.”

  “Oh.” Her eyes widened, giving him an even clearer glimpse of the dark black rings surrounding the light purple irises. “Oh. I remember now. You’re friends with Jesse, Eric, and Tess.” Pink lips compressed, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. “You told me not to get my diamonds dirty.”

  Yep, I did. The snarky comment had flown from his lips before he could stop them, but he’d felt like a dick about it afterward. “That was me.”

  “Well, Mister Just Dayne,” she said, recalling the way she’d addressed him that day, “how…nice to see you again.”

  No missing the sarcasm there. Not that he didn’t deserve it. “Nice seeing you again, too.” He gave her a stiff, subtle bow. He was, after all, a civil servant. Granted, one armed with a big-ass Glock and a partner with teeth sharp enough to bite through sheet metal.

  “Miss Vandenburg,” Paulson continued, “if you didn’t have an appointment with Rebecca Garman, why were you here?”

  “To return Angus.”

  Paulson’s brows met. “Who’s Angus?”

  “The puppy.” She nodded to the squirming ball of fluff on her lap. “One of the women who volunteers at the Canine Haven, Julia Hernandez, lives at the end of this street. Last night, Julia found Angus wandering through the neighborhood. She tried calling the number on the tag, but no one answered. She had to catch a flight to Florida with her family, so I agre
ed to care for Angus at the Haven until I could reach his owner.”

  Paulson pointed his pen in the general direction of Piermont. “Are you talking about that dog pound on Tweed Boulevard?”

  “It’s a rescue shelter,” she corrected. “We take in dogs and find good homes for them or train them to be service animals for the community.”

  “I see.” Paulson scribbled on his pad. “I take it the number on the dog tag came back to Garman Investigations at this address?”

  Katrina nodded. “I did a search and the number popped right up. I tried calling last night and then again, this morning. No one answered, and I had errands to run in the area, so I swung by.”

  Errands? Wouldn’t someone else do those for her?

  “The front door was unlocked, and I went in,” she continued. “That’s when I”—she swallowed, drawing attention to the graceful column of her throat—“found the body.”

  Not many people discovered a dead body, let alone one that had been so heinously ravaged. He expected the waterworks to turn on any second, but she surprised him by keeping her shit together. She hugged Angus, as if the puppy could magically erase the ugliness of what she’d seen.

  Katrina reached down by her feet and grabbed a chewed up rubber toy that looked like a tiny orange dumbbell covered with dark nubby bumps. “You’re teething, aren’t you?” She held the toy in front of Angus’s muzzle. “Here you go, sweetie.”

  Angus bit down and the toy made soft whistling sounds.

  “Was anyone else inside the house when you got here?” Paulson asked.

  Katrina shook her head, and another wisp of thick, chestnut-brown hair escaped her ponytail, cradling her almond-shaped face. “No.”

  “Did you touch anything or move anything?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do after you found the body?”

  “I ran outside to my car and called 911.”

  Paulson made a few more notes then reached into his suit jacket pocket and handed her a business card. “I think that’s it for now. I’ll call if I have any more questions.”

  “Actually,” Dayne interjected as Katrina accepted the card, “I have a few more questions.”