Trap 'N' Trace

by Tee O'Fallon

  Being with Dayne and his family hadn’t been awkward at all. It had been nice. Too nice. The only thing she could think of to keep her mind off that was meetings. Lots of meetings.

  “I’m sorry,” she added. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  His brows lowered more, silently voicing what he wouldn’t say out loud: bullshit.

  He’s right. It was bullshit. I never should have agreed to come here tonight. Now that she had, she liked him even more. Liked his family and the way they all were together. She wanted that. With someone.

  The very real possibility that she would wind up an old maid—single, alone, and rambling around the walls of her castle…broke her heart.

  Dayne pulled out his phone. His brows drew together, and his lips compressed into a tight line.

  “Not at the table.” Renee rested her hand on his forearm.

  “Sorry, Mom.” He put the phone away. “It’s work.”

  Meaning, it was about her.

  “Anything wrong?” Bill asked.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.” His eyes met hers and one thing instantly became clear.

  The pleasantries of the evening had just come to a grinding halt.

  …

  Two hours later, Kat had rearranged her sock drawer, rehung everything in her closet according to color, and reorganized all her shoes and boots in their shoe cubbies. Still, the jittery feeling in her belly wouldn’t go away. Not after what Dayne had told her on the way home.

  The text during dinner had come from his boss, Lydia Barstow. One of Rebecca’s cases had resulted in two men—cousins—being arrested for insurance fraud, and Lydia had sent a team of agents out to Long Island to interview both men. One had been found and had an alibi for the nights Rebecca was killed and she was attacked. The other, Jonathan Bale, was missing. And he had a history of violence.

  A thump came from downstairs. Kat flinched, holding her breath. Her heart pounded like a herd of stampeding hippos in her chest.

  The thump came again, sounding like…a pot in the kitchen. Probably just Dayne making coffee.

  She let out her breath with a loud whoosh. Until six days ago, she’d felt perfectly safe in her own home. Now, she didn’t.

  Jonathan Bale had sworn to “kick the shit” out of Rebecca Garman. The motivation was clear. Why he would have come to the Haven and killed Amy was anyone’s guess. But the man was missing and, according to city cameras, had left Long Island earlier this evening, crossed over the Triboro Bridge into Manhattan, and from there, taken the George Washington Bridge into New Jersey. The last camera Bale’s car had shown up on had him heading north on the Palisades Parkway. In the same general direction as the Haven.

  As Dayne had explained, suburbs didn’t have the same extensive system of cameras that New York City did. After Bale had gotten on the Parkway, he’d disappeared. The man could be anywhere. Driving up Tweed Boulevard. Creeping around outside her fence…

  “This is ridiculous.” No way was she getting to sleep anytime soon. She grabbed her favorite pair of beaded slippers and headed downstairs.

  Halfway down the stairs, she smelled it. Not coffee. Chocolate.

  Dayne sat at the counter, scrolling through his phone, but looked up when she came into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep?”

  She shook her head, sliding onto a stool next to him.

  He went to the stove and picked up a small pot, swirling it then pouring the contents into another mug already sitting on the counter. “Here. It’ll help you sleep.”

  “Thank you.” She accepted the mug, her thoughts jumbled at his unexpected thoughtfulness. But it was more than that. He’d gone out of his way and anticipated her needs. She couldn’t recall a man ever doing something like that for her. So simple and genuine. With no expectation of anything in return. “How did you know I’d come downstairs?”

  He shrugged. “Heard you banging around up there. Figured you’d be down sooner or later.”

  “I didn’t realize I was banging so loudly.” She smiled then took a sip. “This is good. But doesn’t chocolate have caffeine in it?”

  “Some. Not as much as coffee or tea. Mom used to make it for me when I couldn’t sleep. All I know is, it worked.” He grinned. “’Course, she might have spiked it with something stronger just to knock me out.”

  For a few minutes they sipped in silence, then she had to ask. “Anything new on Jonathan Bale?”

  “He’s still MIA.” Dayne tapped one long finger on the side of his mug.

  “There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked, taking another sip.

  “The last camera to pick him up was at exit four on the Palisades Parkway.”

  She swallowed. “That’s my exit.” The chocolate turned bitter in her stomach.

  “There’s a statewide BOLO out for him. As soon as he’s spotted, he’ll be pulled over. He’s not getting in here.” Dayne rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Between the guards, me, and Remy, you’re safe.”

  Was she? Kat looked into his eyes, at the fierce expression on his handsome face. For now, yes. But he and Remy wouldn’t be here forever, and they couldn’t protect her indefinitely. All the more reason to keep things as impersonal as possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You need to keep me informed about every aspect of your schedule.” Dayne turned left on Park Avenue, holding back the curse on the tip of his tongue as a taxi cut him off.

  Kat sighed. “I’ll do my best.”

  Yeah, right. It wouldn’t have surprised him one bit if there’d been no scheduled meetings until last night. While they hadn’t talked about it back at the castle, something had happened at his parents’. One minute they’d been having a good time, and the next… She closed down and shut him out.

  Now she was doing everything in her power to put emotional distance between them. Since it made that part of his job easier, he should be happy about it. He gripped the wheel tighter. It had the opposite effect. He was grouchy as hell and had no one else to blame but himself.

  Getting involved with her—on any personal level—was the dumbest thing he could have done. He never should have taken her to his parents’. Seeing how she was with them, how well she fit in, only made everything worse.

  She was right to keep things impersonal. I’m a goddamn federal agent, for shit’s sake.

  “In the spirit of advance notification,” she said, breaking the silence, “I’m attending a charity event this Saturday.”

  He slipped into an illegal spot in front of a forty-story building—Kat’s building. She really did own the damn thing. “Exactly how many buildings do you own?”

  “In New York? The United States? Or the world?” Her countenance was deadpan serious, Jesus. She was serious. “Assuming you’ll be accompanying me, you’ll need a tuxedo.”

  “Not a chance.” His stomach lurched at the thought of wearing a monkey suit. “I don’t wear tuxedos. I don’t even own one.”

  “I’m sorry, but if you want to come with me, then you’ll wear one. It’s black tie.”

  He flipped open the center console and pulled out Remy’s leash. “I don’t care if it’s tie-dye, I’m not wearing one.”

  “Then you’re not going.”

  “Fine.” Although he didn’t think the FBI would foot the bill for a tux.

  “Consider it my gift to you.”

  “What?” He threw a police placard onto the dashboard. “A tuxedo?”

  “I’m forcing you to wear one, so it’s only fair that I pay for it. Since you’re my bodyguard, I’ll consider it an investment in my physical well-being.”

  “I can afford to buy my own clothes,” he growled.

  She faced him. “That’s not the point.”

  “Then what is?” Her mouth opened then closed. She swallowed and looked away for a moment, and he could see the gears t
urning in her head. “Out with it, or you’ll be late for your meetings.” He really was grouchy this morning. Her silence did that to him.

  “Not all tuxedos are created equally. Yours has to be of the highest quality and custom tailored to your body.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded. “You mean, it has to be expensive, and you don’t think I have the fashion sense or good taste to purchase one that will meet your exacting, upscale standards.”

  Amethyst eyes blazed at him, so hot there might as well have been flames shooting at his face. “I’ll arrange for a tailor to come to the house.” She gathered her purse and briefcase.

  “Kat, wait!” Before he could stop her, she was out the door. For Christ’s sake! Why didn’t she have this kind of kick-ass attitude toward those bitchy friends of hers the other night? Why did she have to dump all that feminine fury on his head?

  He bolted out then leashed Remy in record time and sprinted to catch up. Not even three-inch heels or a purple skirt—one so snug he wondered how she could walk in it—slowed her pace. By the time he caught up with her she was already at the entrance where four-foot-high gold lettering announced to the world: VANDENBURG ENTERPRISES.

  “Do you have a death wish? I thought we already established that you don’t get out of the vehicle until I tell you it’s safe.” Her cavalier attitude toward her own safety was driving him up the frigging wall.

  Ignoring him, she strode to the revolving door and stepped in, effectively cutting him off.

  He yanked open the adjacent door and led Remy inside.

  “Good morning, Miss Vandenburg,” a woman said from the front desk.

  “Good morning, Angela.” Kat waved to the young woman and continued on to the elevators.

  “I’m sorry, sir.” Angela waved to a security guard in a navy-blue suit. “Only service dogs are allowed in the building.”

  Dayne reached into his back pocket, readying to flash his badge.

  “That’s all right,” Kat called out over her shoulder. “He’s with me.”

  Of course it was all right. Considering she owned the building.

  Seconds later, they were in the elevator, shooting up forty or so floors to the executive offices. Dayne stood directly in front of the doors, readying to block her path until he could verify the floor was secure. The elevator was dead silent, yet the hostile atmosphere humming between them was as loud as a machine gun.

  The doors opened, and Dayne did a quick sneak and peak in either direction before stepping aside. Without so much as a passing glance, she glided past him to the reception desk.

  “Good morning, Miss Vandenburg,” another woman said.

  “How are you, Kenya?” Kat went around the desk and gave the receptionist a warm hug.

  “I’m doing well, Miss Vandenburg.”

  “How is your father recovering from his surgery?” Kat asked.

  “He’s doing physical therapy and not happy about it.” The woman returned to her seat. “Thank you for asking. They’re waiting for you in the boardroom.”

  “Thank you.” Kat glided past the desk.

  Dayne grunted. Seemed like she was on a first name basis with everyone that worked for her. In this building alone that could be hundreds. In the world…thousands.

  “Uh, Miss Vandenburg?” Kenya pointed questioningly to Dayne and Remy.

  “They’re FBI bodyguards,” she answered, again without looking at him.

  Dayne followed her down a hallway, along which she stopped to greet half a dozen people as if they were her next-door neighbors. At the end of the hallway loomed two enormous wood double doors, standing by which were three stuffy-looking men who greeted Kat overly solicitously.

  “It’s so good to see you.”

  “Welcome back, Miss Vandenburg.”

  “Everyone is waiting inside for you.”

  They all eyed Remy with a mixture of fear and disdain.

  Dayne snorted. Guess not a log of dogs have graced these hallowed halls.

  Kat gave a brief nod. “My FBI bodyguards.”

  As if on cue, each man again had a response.

  “Oh my. Yes, we read about you discovering a body last week.”

  “Bodyguards? The dog, too?”

  “FBI? Is something amiss?”

  Amiss? Dayne held back another snort. Did anyone really use that word?

  He followed Kat into the boardroom, ignoring the concerned looks of the three men, along with the curious expressions on the faces of the dozen or so people seated around the table that was as long as a stretch limo. He settled into a chair in the corner of the room and pointed to the floor. Remy lay down and rested her snout between her paws.

  One of the men who’d greeted her at the door held out a chair for Kat at the head of the table. Another approached Dayne cautiously, giving Remy a wide berth.

  “We don’t normally allow outsiders to attend board meetings,” the man said. “Perhaps you’d be more comfortable waiting outside.”

  “Perhaps I would, but I’ll be staying right here. Thank you for the kind offer.”

  “I don’t think you understand—”

  “I understand perfectly.” Dayne tugged his cell from his belt, preparing to fill the time catching up on emails. “Pretend I’m not here.”

  “Ernst,” Kat intervened from her presiding position at the table. “I’m quite certain he won’t divulge any confidential matters we discuss here today.”

  With an audible grumble, Ernst turned and took the seat to Kat’s right. Apparently, Ernst was accustomed to getting his way.

  He opened up the first of many emails from Paulson, the one concerning Becca’s Facebook business account.

  “The monthly meeting of the Vandenburg Enterprises charity board is called to order,” Ernst announced. “There are five charities on the agenda for our review.”

  Kat flipped open a bound document, as did everyone else. “Are the two I specifically wanted included in this list?”

  “Yes, however only one of them meets our guidelines,” Ernst said. “Vets of Valor didn’t make the cut.”

  “Why not?” Kat’s brows rose. Yeah, why not? Even Dayne had heard that was a good charity. “I recommended that organization myself. They had excellent prospects for approval. Their program and mission were very well articulated, and their preliminary budget sheet looked good, especially their overhead ratio.”

  You go, girl.

  Ernst set down his booklet. “They were unable to provide a well-defined method of measuring their overall success.”

  “Did they give us a description of their long- and short-term goals?” She turned the page. “I see they did.”

  This was a side of Miss Katrina Vandenburg’s persona he hadn’t known existed. The kick-ass side.

  “Yes.” Ernst tugged off his glasses. “But they failed to provide a method detailing how they plan to measure the success of their program.”

  “Then we’ll ask them to rework their proposal for consideration next month.” Kat picked up a pen and jotted something down.

  “Katrina.” Ernst’s patently false smile and placating tone made Dayne want to tell the man where to shove it. It was as if the guy were talking to a small child. “There are several other more worthy charities on our agenda this month. The one on page two, for example. Books for Bairns. They have an extremely articulate proposal that meets all our guidelines.”

  Kat took a moment to review the document, then for the next ten minutes listened patiently while Ernst sang the charity’s praises. Dayne had to admit it also sounded like a worthy cause. Kat set the agenda on the table, clasping her hands on top of the document.

  Sorry, Ernst. Looks like you’re not getting your way today. Yeah, he knew her well enough to decipher her body language. She wasn’t buying it. More to the point, she knew Ernst was trying to bully her, and in cl
assic, composed Kat fashion, she was about to put the guy in his place. Politely, of course.

  “This is an extremely comprehensive proposal. So comprehensive, in fact, it’s almost as if it was written by one of our board members.” She paused to look around the table. Sure enough, one of the younger board members slunk in his chair, looking guilty as hell. “While it does appear to meet our guidelines,” Kat continued, “and it is certainly a worthy cause, aren’t we already donating to at least two other charities with nearly identical programs and mission statements?”

  “Why, yes, but—”

  “And isn’t this charity chaired by the mayor’s wife?” All eyes turned to Ernst.

  “Katrina.” Ernst held out his arms. “Your parents always believed that the key to success in New York City lay in maintaining appropriate liaisons with key people in government. The city’s First Lady is a critical component of—”

  “Let me be clear here,” Kat interrupted. “While I’d love nothing more than to see my parents seated at this table, we both know that isn’t possible. And while I don’t particularly feel the need to say it, I will anyway. My parents entrusted the future of this company into my hands.”

  Dayne smirked. This was getting good.

  “Furthermore,” she continued, “pandering to government officials, or their wives, is not our priority now, nor will it ever be. What is our priority—is diversification. I want Vandenburg Enterprises to donate across all lines of society.

  “One area we’re severely behind in is military veteran programs. Frankly, I can’t believe we aren’t stronger in this category. That’s why I suggested Vets of Valor.” Ernst opened his mouth to speak, but she held up her hand. “Mario.” She turned to the man seated to her left. “Please reach out to their chairperson and courteously suggest they revise their proposal so it better meets our guidelines. Be sure to outline our area of concern. Give them a two-week deadline so it can be ready for next month’s meeting.”

  “Yes, Miss Vandenburg.”

  He liked this side of her. Not only did the woman know her shit, but she put that pompous old fart in his place without missing a beat. He was torn between clapping, doing a hoo-yah fist pump, and giving her a high five.