Trap 'N' Trace

by Tee O'Fallon

  Beside him, Paulson exhaled an impatient groan that Dayne ignored. It was obvious the man wanted to get the hell out of there, and Dayne couldn’t figure out why.

  “After you came out of the house to call 911, did anyone else go inside?” he asked.

  “No, I’m sure of it. I sat here the whole time and could see the door.” Again, she shook her head. “I suppose that was stupid. I should have driven away in case whoever did this was still nearby.”

  Maybe so, but he gave her credit for having the backbone to stick around until the PD showed up.

  “Let’s dial this back to when you first got here.” Twenty feet away, the press hounds eyed them like vultures scoping out their next meal. Only the uniforms prevented the reporters and their video guys from charging over. “Sometimes, a witness doesn’t realize they’ve seen things that are critical to an investigation. Try closing your eyes. Visualize everything from the moment you turned onto the street. Say anything that pops into your head, even if you think it’s not important.”

  She took a deep breath and shut her eyes. Perfectly arched brows furrowed. “As soon as I turned onto Kings Highway, I saw the commercial sign on the front lawn then pulled in front of the house and parked.”

  “Was there a vehicle in the driveway?” He glanced at Becca’s Toyota Highlander.

  “Yes.” She nodded, smoothing her hand over the puppy’s head while he chewed on his toy. “A blue SUV. I didn’t notice what kind.”

  “Were there any other vehicles parked in front of you or behind you?”

  Again, her brows furrowed. “There was a gray car parked halfway down the street. When I came back out of the house and got into my car, it drove away.”

  “Was the driver a man or a woman?”

  “I think it was a man. Or a woman with short hair.”

  “Could you tell what the make of the car was?”

  “No.” She rolled her lips inward. “But there was something about the back of the car.”

  “A bumper sticker?” he suggested. “Or a parking sticker?”

  “No, nothing like that. I got it!” Her eyes flew open. “The bumper was dented pretty badly on one side.”

  “Right side or left?”

  “Left.”

  “Could you read the license plate?”

  Again, she closed her eyes. Angus dropped the toy onto his little belly and licked Katrina’s chin. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “What state license plate was it?”

  “New Jersey,” she said firmly. “Black on a beige background.”

  “Good.” Might be nothing, but some murderers liked to stick around for that moment when the body was discovered or when the press showed up. “That’s all I have.”

  “Detective,” one of the uniforms called out, holding up a cell phone. “The chief wants you.”

  “Miss Vandenburg, thank you for your time.” Paulson beat feet to take his boss’s call.

  “If you don’t mind, Mister Dayne,” Katrina said, standing and cradling the puppy in her arms like a baby, “I’d like to leave before Angus pees on my lap.” The dog toy fell to the sidewalk beside the Escalade.

  Dayne scooped up the toy then held it out to Angus, who promptly clamped his jaws around it. The huddle of reporters closed in tighter, some photographers snapping shots.

  “Oh no.” A tortured expression clouded her features. “I hate reporters.”

  Dayne held back a snort. That might be the one and only thing they had in common.

  Katrina twisted her neck in all directions, searching for an escape route. Patrol cars blocked in her Escalade. Dayne’s Interceptor, however, was in the clear.

  She bit her lower lip, looking more panicked by the second. He could never leave a woman in distress. It wasn’t his way. Besides, if he did, his mother would smack him upside the head. When it came to courtesy, his mom was a drill sergeant.

  “Hop in with me. I’ll give you a ride home and you can pick up the Caddy later when the horde of vultures flies away.”

  She glanced again at the reporters then flashed him a wary but considering look, as if taking him up on his offer was the lesser of two evils. “Thank you,” she said then hastily followed him across the street.

  At their approach, Remy stuck her head farther out of the open window. He opened the passenger door and swiveled the mobile computer aside to make room for her and Angus. Using his body as a shield, he stepped in front of the encroaching reporters while Katrina slid onto the seat, clutching the puppy to her chest.

  “Oh, come on,” a female reporter with platinum blond hair and fire engine-red lipstick whined. “We only want to ask a few questions.”

  “Not gonna happen.” Reporters and photographers surrounded the vehicle. As soon as he got in, he blasted the air horn, sending the press bolting to avoid being run down. A snide snicker erupted from his throat.

  Katrina laughed. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you?”

  “Yep.” He gunned the SUV down the road to the traffic light, which, thankfully, was green, then shot through the intersection.

  She tucked Angus’s head beneath her chin. “They really are vultures.”

  “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.” It wasn’t that he kept track of her in the newspapers or on TV, but he’d caught a few clips here and there of her being photographed and interviewed at charity events around the city.

  “Well, I’m not used to it, so that’s the second incorrect preconceived notion you have about me.”

  “The second?” He slanted her a sideways look, inhaling her subtle perfume. Roses. “What’s the first?”

  “That I would ever allow my diamonds to get dirty.” There was no hiding the snark in her comeback.

  He’d stepped right into that minefield like a rookie fresh out of Quantico. “Okay, I deserved that.”

  “Yes, you did.” This time, she was the one to snicker. “Do you remember how to get to the Haven?” she asked then gave a startled gasp when Remy shoved her muzzle through the kennel window.

  “Sorry.” He reached over his shoulder and tugged the cage window closed, although that didn’t stop Remy from pressing her snout through the bars as she investigated Angus. “I usually leave it open.”

  “Female?” Katrina eyed his K-9, as did the pup.

  The puppy craned his neck to touch noses with Remy’s. “Yeah. Most people assume she’s a he because of her size.”

  “I spend a lot of time with dogs at the Haven.” She surprised him by touching her fingers to Remy’s snout. “I can usually tell what sex they are by their facial bone structure. She’s beautiful.”

  “That she is,” Dayne agreed, stepping on the gas when the light turned.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Remy.”

  “That’s a fun name. Did you name her after Remy Martin, the French cognac?”

  “No. Remington, the gun.”

  Her laugh was more of a full-blown snort. “I should have guessed. And for the record, Mister Dayne, call me Kat.”

  Not likely. To him, she would always be Miss Katrina Vandenburg.

  Turning onto Tweed Boulevard, he gunned the SUV up the steep road that led to Clausland Mountain and the Canine Haven. Clausland Mountain was a mix of state park land and private property located on the Palisades cliff overlooking the Hudson River some five hundred feet below. Hell, even the dogs at this shelter had a better view than he did.

  At the sign for the Canine Haven, he turned right into the heavily wooded property. Tall evergreens and deciduous trees lined both sides of the road. No fencing. Anyone could waltz right onto the property unannounced and armed to the teeth. At the main entrance, he slowed.

  “Keep going.” She waved a finger. “The house is up ahead.”

  Dayne stepped on the gas. “You’re not dropping Angus off here?”

/>   “He’s so little I think he’ll be more comfortable at the house with me. Besides, I like his company.”

  A large iron gate blocked the road. About ten feet before the gate stood a coded lock box attached to a pole. At least the woman had some kind of security system, although it was laughable at best. Even if the fence surrounded every square inch of the property, any lowlife could scale it and walk right in. He stopped and lowered the window.

  “The code is four-two-six-five.”

  After punching in the code, the gates slowly swung open with an eerie creak and he drove through. Trees gave way to low shrubs and Kat’s house came into view. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever refer to this place as a house.

  A hundred feet ahead, perched near the edge of the cliff, sat a gothic castle, complete with pointed turrets and ivy-covered stone walls. The only things missing were a moat, drawbridge, and the Knights of the freaking Round Table.

  Dayne drove onto a circular white gravel driveway, stopping in front of a wide stone staircase. “If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few more questions.”

  “Okay, sure.” Briefly, she pressed a hand to her forehead, as if she had a headache. She got out and set Angus on the ground. “Remy can come in. She probably needs water.”

  Well, there was an invitation Remy didn’t get too often. At all, really. Most people were afraid to go anywhere near his dog, let alone invite her in. “Thanks.” As Kat headed for the door, her face looked a little pale.

  Angus peed then bounded around the front of the SUV, charging right up to his K-9. He wasn’t worried about Remy hurting the little guy. Remy might be a cop, but she was also one of the most maternal dogs he’d ever known. She never met a puppy she didn’t like, and Angus was no exception.

  Dayne supervised while Angus yipped and nipped at Remy’s legs. Sure enough, his K-9 took it all in stride and stood there unmoving, content to let the puppy vent its energy. Kat waited on the top step, again pressing a hand to her forehead. Then she wavered unsteadily, staggering sideways like a drunken sailor.

  “Kat?” He’d already started toward her when her eyes rolled back in her head. Shit. He bolted to the stairs.

  Chapter Three

  Kat’s world went dark, misting over with thick gray fog. Then she was floating. No, flying. Something big and warm wrapped around her like a soothing, protective cocoon.

  She snuggled closer to the warmth and found it firm against her cheek. Firm. Hard. And smelling oh-so-good. Like spring showers and fabric softener mingled with an unfamiliar scent. Subtle, masculine, woodsy cologne. Not Chad’s. Good thing, the rat bastard.

  “It’s all right. I’ve got you,” a deep voice rumbled. A sound she liked.

  Pounding shattered the peacefulness surrounding her, followed by shouting. Urgent shouting. “Police, open the door!”

  I didn’t call the police again. Did I?

  “Oh my god! What happened? Is she all right?” Emily. “Come in, come in! Should I call an ambulance?”

  Yipping filtered through the murky haze.

  “Get me a blanket,” the deep voice ordered. No, commanded. Like a soldier barking orders at his troops.

  Soft cushions beneath her back and head. More yipping.

  “Angus.” She struggled to sit up. Strong hands gently pushed her down. “Where’s the puppy?” Her voice was slightly slurred, but she hadn’t been drinking.

  “He’s right here,” the deep voice assured.

  A wet nose nuzzled her hand, and her tension eased. Then the events of the day hit her like a freight train.

  The deep, rumbling voice had come from the FBI agent. Mister Just Dayne aka Special Agent Andrews. The last thing she remembered was walking up the steps then…lights out.

  Slowly, the fog melted away. Clear, emerald-green eyes fringed by the thickest, darkest lashes she’d ever seen on a man stared back at her, so stunning in their intensity they were almost pretty. That’s where the pretty ended.

  A face as ruggedly masculine as his—all granite-jawed and sculpted cheekbones—could never be considered pretty by any stretch. She’d had that exact thought during their two-minute encounter over a month ago. Although it was more than his appearance that had intrigued her then. The man was striking but not in the same manicured way all the men in her world were. Where the men she knew were polished and refined, Special Agent Dayne Andrews was fierce and totally sexy. That’s what she remembered most about him.

  “Here’s that blanket.” Emily, her personal assistant, handed a blanket to Agent Andrews, who knelt on the floor beside her.

  Remy, his enormous German shepherd, sat next to him. Little Angus stood with his paws on the sofa cushion by her right elbow, chomping down on the squeaky toy.

  “Did you eat anything today?” Agent Andrews draped the blanket over her body.

  She started to shake her head then thought better of it when the room began spinning. “No. I didn’t get around to it.”

  “Is she going to be okay?” Emily wrung her hands. “Should I call an ambulance?”

  “No,” she mumbled. “No ambulance.” This was embarrassing enough.

  Agent Andrews nodded to Emily. “Do you have something sweet to drink, like orange juice?”

  “I’ll get some.” Emily rushed to the kitchen, returning quickly with a glass of juice.

  Kat struggled to sit up.

  “Wait.” Agent Andrews slid his arm beneath her back, lifting her upper body then wedging himself between her and the sofa. His very hard, very muscular chest pressed against her back. He held out his hand, and Emily handed him the glass. “Think you can drink some of this?” He held the glass to her lips. Her hands automatically came around his. “I’ve got this. Just drink.”

  She did as ordered, and the tangy-sweet juice hit her taste buds then trickled down her throat, gradually reawakening her senses.

  “What happened?” She looked at Emily’s concerned hazel eyes. The woman was not only Kat’s assistant but one of her few trusted friends.

  “You fainted,” Agent Andrews said matter-of-factly.

  “Fainted?” When she twisted her neck to look at him, her cheek grazed his chin. A very chiseled chin with a fine bristle of dark hair. “I never faint.”

  “You did today.” He chuckled against the side of her face.

  The sensation wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Despite the blanket and the warmth provided by his broad chest pressing so intimately against her body, she shivered.

  Emily sat in the Chippendale armchair facing the sofa. Worry lines creased her forehead. “Can I get you anything else?”

  She shook her head, feeling better already. “No. Thank you. But I don’t think we’ll be doing any kickboxing today.”

  “Probably a wise decision,” Emily agreed.

  “You kickbox?” Agent Andrews asked.

  She turned to find his dark brows raised. “What? Only men are allowed to work out and get sweaty?” Yet again, he’d made a snap judgment about her. Most people did, and she hated being a foregone conclusion. “I’ve got a great gym in the basement. Emily and I work out together almost every day. Keeps us in shape, and it’s a great way to vent frustration.” Why am I telling him this? The man could care less about her physical fitness, let alone her personal issues.

  Angus whimpered and tried hopping up beside her, but his front paws barely made it to the top cushion. Remy dipped her head and gave the puppy a shove with her snout, launching him onto Kat’s lap where he promptly curled up with his toy. “Remy seems to know just what Angus needs.”

  In an unexpectedly tender gesture, Agent Andrews stroked the top of his dog’s head. “There are three things she loves most in the world. Me, catching bad guys, and puppies.”

  She rubbed the shepherd’s soft ears and was rewarded with a contented groan. “I don’t understand why I fainted.”

&
nbsp; “Part of your problem is low blood sugar. Think you can hold this by yourself?” She nodded, and he eased his hands from beneath hers on the glass.

  “What’s the other part?” she asked between sips.

  “Shock and stress.” Warm breath feathered her ear, sending tingles down her neck and back. “Finding a dead body is enough to yank the rug out from under anyone.”

  “What dead body?” Emily straightened, glaring at Kat. “You didn’t say anything about a dead body.”

  “I was taking Angus back to his owner,” Kat began, only now realizing Emily still had no idea what was going on. “Unfortunately, she was…dead.”

  Emily’s eyes went wide. “Holy shit.”

  “There was so much blood. All those cuts on her body… What kind of animal would do such a thing?”

  “That’s what I’m here to find out.” His jaw tightened, reemphasizing the rugged masculinity of his face.

  “Does the FBI investigate all murders?” Most of what she knew about the FBI from the news concerned things like terrorism and bank robberies.

  “No.” A long moment of dead silence followed before he added, “The Orangetown PD has primary jurisdiction, but Rebecca Garman was an FBI agent before she became a private investigator. I’m assisting in case it turns out she was killed because of something she did for the FBI.”

  “How will you figure that out?” She found herself suddenly intrigued by the investigative process.

  “By sticking close to Detective Paulson and by reviewing every stitch of evidence.”

  Feeling awkward about his proximity, she tugged the blanket closer around her shoulders. “Did you know Rebecca Garman personally?”

  “Yeah.” A shadow darkened his eyes, something more than just anger. Grief. She easily recognized it. “When I graduated from the academy, she was my training agent.”

  “I’m sorry.” It couldn’t be easy losing a mentor. She suspected Rebecca Garman had also been his friend.

  “Thanks.” There was deep emotion in that one word. After their first encounter, perhaps she, too, was guilty of prejudgment. Maybe he was human after all.