Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel (17 page)

“I don’t want to get it dirty.” Her words came out in a whisper.

“Admirable. So wash your hands first.” He gestured toward the bathroom.

She followed his instructions, lathering up, taking her time with the process, as he always did. When she rejoined him, he indicated the sleeve. “You can touch that.”

Keeping as much distance between them as possible, she gingerly fingered the lace at the edge of the cuff.

“Do you like it?”

“Yes.” Amazing how easy it was to lie once your survival instincts took over.

“I thought you would. Someday soon I might let you try it on.” As he zipped the dress into the bag, she edged back to her defensive position behind the chair. “Now I’ll go get your dinner. It’s just your leftovers from last night, but if you eat them all, I’ll make fresh salmon tomorrow. How does that sound?”

She gritted her teeth, trying not to barf. “Fine.”

He opened the door and exited. She waited as long as she dared once it clicked shut, in case he was watching her through the peephole.

Then she raced to the bathroom and lost her lunch.

“Would you like some dessert?” Dev indicated the menu the waiter had deposited as he’d cleared their plates. He hoped Laura would say yes; even though it was past eight and he’d promised to get her home early, this had been the nicest evening he’d spent in a very long while. It would be better yet if he could extend it another half hour.

Laura took a sip of her coffee and gave him a quick smile. “What about the cake in your glove compartment?”

He perused the menu. “The apple tart sounds better—and it won’t be squashed.”

“True.” She studied the offerings. “I’ve always been a sucker for chocolate mousse.”

“Sold.” He signaled to the waiter.

She cradled her cup in her hands and looked around the intimate French-country-themed restaurant from the tucked-in-the-corner table he’d requested. “I’m surprised I’ve never heard of this place.”

“It’s more a local spot, but it has a big following.”

“I can see that—and I’m not surprised. The food is great. Do you come here often?”

“No.” Quiet, intimate spots like this were designed for more serious, in-depth, let’s-get-to-know-each-other conversations, and he’d had no interest in setting that kind of tone with any of his dates—until now.

But that was a tidbit he did not intend to share.

She added another splash of cream to her coffee. “I’m honored, then. And I’m glad you introduced me to it.”

So was he—another fact he intended to keep to himself.

The waiter returned, and once he’d given their dessert orders,
Dev settled back in his chair, coffee in hand. Since the moment they’d met, Laura had been taut as a bowstring with worry, and the dark circles under her eyes told him she’d clocked little sleep during the past week.

Tonight, though, the rigid line of her shoulders had eased and her lips had softened a fraction.

He didn’t flatter himself the change was due to his company, much as he wished it was. More likely it was the soothing ambiance of the restaurant, the lighthearted conversation he’d initiated, and a decent meal . . . not that she’d eaten all of it.

“You seem deep in thought.” She regarded him over the flickering candle that rested in the middle of the linen-covered café table.

He refocused. “I was just thinking how some people eat when they’re stressed; my guess is you do the opposite.”

“Guilty as charged. Stress may not be healthy for my heart, but it benefits my waistline.”

“As if you need to worry.”
Too personal, Devlin. Watch it.

“Thanks, but trust me, I do watch my weight. Those unforgiving fencing outfits give me an excellent incentive to stay in shape.”

An image of her in white, form-fitting fencing gear, saber in hand, appeared in his mind—and elevated his pulse.

He quashed it at once . . . or tried to.

“So what about you? Do you eat or fast when you’re stressed?” She took a sip of her coffee, watching him over the rim of the cup. The waiter appeared with their desserts, giving him a few seconds to frame a response that was vague but truthful. “Usually stress doesn’t affect my appetite one way or the other.”

Unfortunately, Laura homed in on the vague part as she spooned up a bite of her mousse. “Implying there are exceptions?”

Oh yeah.

He looked down at his dessert. The warmth from the apple pastry was melting the scoop of vanilla bean ice cream, and he edged it away. But he couldn’t move it far enough, and the ice cream continued to thaw.

Kind of like his heart did when he was around Laura.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was soft, her expression apologetic, as she reached over to touch the back of his hand. “I didn’t mean to pry. Forgive me?”

In the glow of the candlelight, her blue eyes reminded him of the summer skies of his Minnesota youth—clear and vast, filled with wonder and welcome and possibilities. They called to him, seeming to offer release and freedom, just as those endless heavens once had.

All at once he was transported back to his seventeenth summer, to the day he and a buddy had forked out a chunk of their hard-earned summer-job money to go hang gliding. They’d wanted to soar above the world, leave all its cares behind. And the feeling of exhilaration and freedom had been everything he’d expected. Even though his parents had later gotten wind of his escapade and grounded him for a month, he’d never regretted taking that risk.

Did he have the courage to do the same now?

As he debated that question, distress etched Laura’s features, and the tension that had dissipated during dinner crept back into her posture.

Time for damage control.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” The words came out stiffer than he intended, and she dropped her gaze.

He poked his fork into a piece of tart, swirled it in the melted ice cream, and put it in his mouth. But his taste buds had shut down, just as they had five and a half years ago during the darkest period of his life, when he’d lost twenty pounds in ten weeks.

No longer hungry, he set the fork down and picked up his coffee instead.

Laura set her spoon down too.

Great. Now he’d ruined what up till a minute ago had been an enjoyable evening.

He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “I think it’s my turn to apologize. I didn’t mean to cast a pall over the evening. Your question just brought back some unpleasant memories.”

“I gathered that.” With a fingertip, she traced the trail from a bead of condensation down the side of her water glass. “It goes back to that comment you made the night we had the pizza, doesn’t it? About how people often upend their life because of a romance gone bad.”

He swallowed past the lump that rose in his throat. “Yeah.”

“I should have remembered that and not pressed. But if . . .” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Look, I don’t want to sound pushy or invade your turf. But if you ever need a sounding board, I’ve been told I’m a decent listener—not by Darcy, but by others.” She flashed him the barest hint of a smile.

He tried to respond in kind. Couldn’t get his lips to cooperate. “You have enough on your plate without listening to my tale of woe.”

A beat of silence passed as she appraised him. “I’m not sure if that’s a brush-off or if you’re just being thoughtful, but if it’s the latter, there’s still room on my plate. You’ve listened to my angst over the past few days, and I’d be happy to return the favor. You could think of it as a birthday present, if you like.”

His breath jammed in his throat, the same way it had the day he’d stood at the edge of the cliff, preparing to put his trust in the flimsy gliding rig attached to his body while he jumped into an abyss. There had been danger then. A risk to his physical safety.

And there was danger now too—except this leap would put his heart at risk.

That was even scarier.

The waiter stopped beside their table, pitcher of water in hand. “Is there anything else you need?”

Laura laid her napkin on the table beside her barely touched dessert. “You could point me to the ladies’ room.”

“Straight back, past the kitchen, on your left.”

“Thanks.” She rose as the waiter moved off, giving him a smile that seemed forced. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”

He stood too, but she didn’t wait for a response.

As she wove through the tables, he slowly sat again. The ladies’ room was a ruse. She’d sensed his indecision, picked up on his turbulent emotions, and was giving him space to work things out in his mind. He also knew she’d let him take the lead on the conversation after she returned, giving him the choice to accept her offer or simply change the subject.

The lady was one class act.

As for those empathetic eyes . . . they sucked him in, undermining his resolve to refrain from burdening her with his problems while she was in the midst of her own. How odd was that, when no one else—not his family, not his buddies, not the counselor he’d met with for a while after the incident—had managed to persuade him to spill his guts? Yet Laura had won his trust without even trying.

It had to be due to the potent chemistry thing going on between them. Despite their short acquaintance, he felt linked to her in a way he never had with anyone else—including Cat. He’d lay odds Laura felt it too. And because of it, he had a feeling she could be the catalyst that would help him let go of the past and move on . . . a task that had taken on a much higher priority since she’d entered his life—for reasons he wasn’t ready to examine.

He picked up his coffee, frowning at the slight tremor in his fingers. He was always steady under pressure. Always. Nothing made him lose his cool. Ever.

Then again, there weren’t many times in a man’s life when he was called on to put his heart on the line.

But this night was one of them.

Y
ou idiot!

Laura stared in disgust at her reflection in the ladies’ room mirror. How could she have been so stupid? Dev had referenced a tragic incident just days ago. She should have realized his ambiguous answer to her question about his behavior under stress might be vague for a reason and backed off.

Now she’d ruined his birthday dinner.

Way to go, Laura.

Too bad she couldn’t slink out and catch a cab home.

But that would be cowardly. So she’d march back out there, change the subject . . . and hope he didn’t hold her faux pas against her.

Straightening her shoulders, she tucked a few rebellious wisps of hair into her French braid and headed back to the table.

Dev smiled and rose as she approached—an encouraging sign.

She forced her own lips up and adopted a bright tone. “You know, I feel like I’ve gone to France without ever leaving St. Louis. This place seems very authentic. Of course, I wouldn’t know for sure, since I’ve never been overseas. How about you?” Not the smoothest segue, and the words had come out a bit breathless, but it definitely moved the conversation to a safer topic.

Except much to her surprise, Dev didn’t take her cue. Instead, his expression sobered as he sat.

“I’ve made a few trips to Europe. But if you haven’t changed
your mind, I’d rather take advantage of those listening skills you mentioned than talk about foreign travel.”

Her pulse gave a little flutter at the unexpected turn of events. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

“There’s one small caveat, though. You have to finish your dessert. It would be a crime to let that mousse go to waste.”

She looked at his place. The plate of apple tart and ice cream had disappeared during her absence. Had he finished it . . . or asked the waiter to take it away?

This time she left her question unasked.

Transferring her attention to her own dessert, she inspected the generous serving. “I can try.” It was the best she could promise.

“Fair enough.” He waited until she picked up her spoon, then rested his elbows on the table and linked his fingers. “I told you a few days ago that I used to be an undercover ATF agent, but in the beginning I was a regular agent. I only did undercover work during my last two years with the Bureau.”

He lifted his coffee, took a sip, and assessed her progress. She spooned up another bite of her chocolate mousse as he continued.

“During my first six months undercover, I worked a storefront sting operation. That’s a decent place to get your feet wet, see if you’re comfortable with that type of work. We were targeting gunrunners, illegal gun purchasers, and felons who were carrying guns. Even though we had a few dicey moments, the operation was clean overall and successful. We got sixty-five indictments, removed a lot of guns and drugs from the streets, and all the ATF agents walked away whole.”

He paused again, and Laura had a hard time swallowing the bite of mousse she’d just taken. Whatever he was going to tell her next, she had a feeling
clean
,
successful
, and
walking away whole
weren’t going to be part of the story.

His subsequent words confirmed that. “My second assignment didn’t have the same kind of ending. Are you still certain you want to hear this? It’s not pretty.”

In truth, she wasn’t. But the fact that Dev was willing to trust her with details he’d never revealed to anyone else awed—and touched—her. And while his story might be disturbing, the sharing of it would also forge a stronger bond between them. One she hoped would long outlive their professional relationship.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to prepare herself for an emotional avalanche. “Yes, I’d still like to hear it.”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, then looked off toward a shadowy corner of the restaurant. She doubted he was seeing the racks of wine stored there. Rather, his gaze seemed aimed on the past. So much so, he didn’t notice when she slipped her spoon back onto the table and set aside the remainder of her mousse.

“Another agent and I were assigned to infiltrate a new gang operating in the Southwest. The job was supposed to last about a year, and our mission was to befriend them, get inside the organization, and see what they were up to. I won’t go into the details of how we got inside, but let’s just say it involved lots of black hair dye for me and the faked murder of a rival start-up gang member.”

He picked up his glass of water. After taking a long sip, he refocused on the shadowy wall. “The group was every bit as bad as we suspected. During the nine months we were inside, we saw it all—drugs, gun trafficking, violence, intimidation, extortion. We lived in seedy trailer parks, watched people zone out on meth, saw enough needles and heroin to last a lifetime. There was zero glamour in the work, despite what you see on TV. But Cat and I believed we could bring the bad guys to justice and that the world would be better because of our sacrifices.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “I’ve never met anyone more passionate about their work than she was.”

She?

A wave of shock rippled through Laura as she digested that news. “Your partner was a woman?”

He seemed to pull himself back from some faraway place. “Yes. Catalina. She was Hispanic, and she knew her way around the
streets of Phoenix. I speak fluent Spanish and looked the part once I finished with the dye and some temporary tattoos, but she’s the main reason we got into the group. I posed as her boyfriend, which allowed both of us to avoid any . . . personal involvement with gang members.”

Laura began to get a glimmer of where this was headed. “But you didn’t manage to avoid personal involvement with each other.”

“No.” His Adam’s apple bobbed again, and he cleared his throat. “Living in forced proximity, playing the part of lovers in public . . .” He gave a stiff shrug. “Somewhere along the way, the line between acting and real life faded. We fell in love. Cat handled it better than I did. She was able to separate personal feelings from professional duties, but for me, it was a struggle. I started to worry about her too much—and that was our undoing. What happened in the end was totally my fault.” His voice choked, and he took another sip of water.

Laura’s fingers clenched the napkin in her lap. Was it possible the consummate professional sitting across from her had slipped and made a mistake that put someone at risk?

Maybe.

When you loved someone—spouse, parent, child . . . sister—and they were in danger, fear could cloud your judgment. Her own turmoil over Darcy had taught her that. That’s why she’d been relieved to have an impartial, clear-thinking pro handling the case.

Yet mistakes could happen on both sides, couldn’t they? Especially in a high-risk undercover assignment. Was Dev shouldering all the blame for a situation that might have had multiple causes?

“You once told me I was being too hard on myself about Darcy.” She spoke quietly, choosing her words with care. “Do you think the same might be true in your case?”

“No.” His jaw hardened, and his lips flattened into an unforgiving line. “I wish it was. I was the one who stepped over the line. I wanted Cat out of the assignment, despite the fact we were getting close to wrapping things up. We had a huge argument about it,
and she refused to back down no matter how hard I pushed. She’d seen her own brother die of an overdose after getting involved with a similar gang, and I suspect she looked upon this assignment as a way to avenge his death—though she never admitted that. The disagreement strained our relationship and compromised our communication. And when you aren’t in sync in a situation like that, people die.”

He stopped—but Laura knew where the story would end, even if he decided not to continue. Knew, also, that he’d borne a heavy burden of guilt every single day since the tragedy that had taken the life of his partner . . . and the woman he’d loved.

As he lifted the glass of water once more, the sight of the ever-so-slight tremble in his fingers tightened her throat. Without thinking, she leaned forward and placed her hand on his as he set the glass down.

He dropped his chin and concentrated on her fingers as he finished the story.

“Three weeks after our argument, the takedown opportunity we’d been waiting for came up. A major transaction with some European gunrunners was scheduled. It was a tailor-made scenario for the Bureau and our other law enforcement partners to move in and make multiple arrests. We had enough evidence on that group to send dozens of them to prison for a very long time. But nothing went according to plan.” He expelled a long breath and wiped a hand down his face.

When he continued, his words were steadier, but they were more clinical and devoid of emotion. “For whatever reason, the gang leader got suspicious and backed out of the meeting at the very last minute. He sent me and one of his right-hand men instead. I was worried, but there was no way I could get a message at that point to my contacts without arousing further suspicion. I hoped I was wrong—and I hoped Cat would pick up on the bad vibes and find a way to alert our people things might have gone south. But I wasn’t—and she didn’t. If we’d been sticking tighter together,
though, she’d have been with me when the gang leader backed out. Her guard would have been up, and the outcome might have been very different.”

He twined his fingers with hers, holding on tight as if he needed an anchor to get through this final part. “We did end up making a lot of arrests that day, even though the gang had scattered. I managed to avoid the bullets that were flying—but they got Cat. They shot her up with heroin and left her locked in a bathroom in a dumpy trailer they sometimes used for meetings. She died of an overdose, just like her brother . . . except his heroin was self-administered.”

Laura closed her eyes, squeezing back tears as Dev clung to her hand. What could she say that would let him know how much her heart ached for him? That would console and comfort him? That would mitigate his guilt and sorrow and the burden he’d shouldered for five and a half long years?

No words came to mind except the ones she uttered, which were trite and lame. “I’m so sorry, Dev.”

He looked at her with eyes as bleak as the winter landscape outside. “So am I.”

Desperately she searched for something—anything—else she could say to ease his burden of grief and guilt.

“A lot of those people were prosecuted though, right?” It was the sole consolation she could think to offer. “Some good came out of the bad, didn’t it?”

A muscle in his cheek clenched. “Very little. The ATF and US Attorneys’ Office got into a dispute over evidence, and the majority of the serious charges were dropped. Only a couple of the gang members were tried for RICO violations. So in the end, Cat died for nothing.”

There was no response to that—nor did Dev seem to expect one.

He took a sip of coffee and carefully set the cup back on the saucer. “I took a leave of absence after the case fell apart, and six months later, when Cal approached me about opening Phoenix, I chucked the ATF and all the protocol garbage and endless red tape. That was five years ago, and I’ve never looked back—until tonight.”

As he locked gazes with her, Laura searched his eyes. Past the pain, past the regret, past the self-recrimination, she saw a tiny glimmer of . . . hope? Longing? A plea for understanding?

Whatever it was, she knew her response had to be spot-on. That what she said in the next few seconds could have a huge impact on both of their futures.

Please, Lord . . . give me the right words.

Leaning closer, she placed her free hand atop their joined fingers. “I haven’t known you very long, but my sense is that you’re a man of integrity and character, and that any culpability you bear for what happened to your partner has been atoned for by the burden of guilt and grief you’ve carried all these years. The other thing to remember is that God doesn’t expect perfection. All he asks is that we learn from our mistakes and try to do better in the future. He forgives us far more easily than we often forgive ourselves. He also heals the brokenhearted and saves those whose spirit is crushed.”

“Psalms.”

Laura blinked. Somehow, she hadn’t expected Dev to have a close enough acquaintance with the Bible to be able to identify an ad-libbed passage.

“I can quote an applicable verse from Isaiah too. ‘Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not.’ I searched for consolation for a long time, in a lot of places.”

His knowledge of Scripture was impressive. But his weary inflection suggested the good book had given him little comfort.

“Your forays into the Bible didn’t help, though, did they?” She kept her tone gentle and nonjudgmental.

“The truth? No. I grew up in a faith-filled home, and my belief in God has never wavered. That’s why I turned to his book in those dark days. But I’ve seen the worst the world has to offer, and I’ve come to believe God may have given up on the human race and walked away in disgust. To be honest, I wouldn’t blame him if he did. We’ve made a royal mess of things.”

“I felt like that a lot too, during the year Mom and I lived in the tenement.”

“But you don’t anymore.”

She heard the query underneath his statement.

“No. When things got really bad back then, I tried to remember what my father had always told me whenever I got mad at God or complained he wasn’t paying attention to my prayers. He said the tougher things got, the harder I had to look to see God. But if I did look hard, I’d find him.”

Dev’s expression grew skeptical. “Even in a tenement?”

“That’s what I thought at first too, but you know what? It worked. Bad as things were there, I did see God. In the woman at the corner grocery store who always saved me the out-of-date Hostess cupcakes because she knew I didn’t have the money to buy fresh ones. In the librarian at school who went out of her way to find special books for me so I could escape to a different world through the pages of a story instead of through the drugs that were rampant in our neighborhood. In the janitor of our building, who hung around when the school bus dropped me off to make sure none of the bigger kids harassed me in the hall.”