Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2) Page 4

  Dean pulled out his phone and dialed the cleaner he knew. No victim should have to return home to the grisly scene. If Josie’s family allowed her. When Dean spoke to them the day before, they were hovering, making the decision she’d return home with them. Unknown to Josie, of course. The family complained she could be stubborn and set in her ways. He admired the attribute. But Dean couldn’t blame the family for wanting to protect her. If she was his sister or daughter, Josie would be put in a permanent bubble and placed under twenty-four seven protection.

  After he finished arranging the cleaners, Dean wandered through her home again, mentally taking note of every item. He still hadn’t come across the jewelry that Josie claimed had been on the table. It was the only item on their list of objects missing from the house.

  Josie lived alone, a single woman who afforded a mortgage and luxury car. She did well for herself. Dean was impressed. But her home didn’t resemble what he might consider a female den. She decorated in clean lines without many knick-knacks. All bold colors‒dark grays, tans, and navy blues. He went to the kitchen, wet a sponge, and wiped off black powder as he meandered around. He picked up candles and took note of the scents. She seemed to prefer vanilla. He wound up in her bedroom, untouched from after the shower she’d taken two weeks prior, other than the unit, rifling through her items. Nothing seemed terribly out of place. But they didn’t know what she owned. Not until he got her to tour the home with him would they know if anything was truly taken or out of place. They didn’t believe so, but needed her confirmation to be one hundred percent certain.

  He wandered into one of the spare bedrooms she kept fully furnished. It looked lived in, someone obviously utilizing the room. A question he needed to find out if Nick addressed with the family.

  After he finished another complete walk through, Dean grabbed the locks off the dining room table and got to work on the front door. It didn’t take him long before he became absorbed in the project. A domesticated moment. One he relished. His Erin used to add to a list weekly of tasks that needed accomplished. And every week he would grumble about spending his days off doing household chores to upkeep their home. He’d always skip a few items on the list. His wife would smile indulgently and kiss him on the cheek. After he finished, she’d hand him a cold beer and make him sit and watch a movie with her. God he missed her. Every fucking day.

  An ache developed in Dean’s chest that he tried to rub out as he replaced the entire lock mechanism. Why the sudden melancholy? It’d been a few months since thoughts of his deceased wife caused him heartache. He managed to avoid the emotion at all cost by throwing himself into work, booze, and women. What a mockery of a life he lived.

  He pushed his thoughts of Erin aside and concentrated on the lock. With the front door complete, he shoved the new keys into his pocket and went to the back door to change that lock. It took him only ten minutes. The last lock led to the garage, again, taking a short period of time to change. He managed to concentrate solely on that task and avoided the potential of reminiscing by humming and mumbling instructions to himself.

  When completed, he inspected all the locks again, testing them and the keys. Dean made his way around the home and checked all the windows to make certain they remained securely locked as well. In the kitchen, he pulled up on the window sash, the frame sliding up. He stopped. Had CSI opened this window? Had one of her brothers? Her mother? One of the detectives? Or had it been open that day? Allowing the assailant access into the home?

  Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Nick, who answered on the third ring. “Nick, I’m at the Conley home. The kitchen window is open. Had that been the case that day?”

  He hadn’t read over Nick or Jordan’s full reports yet. He avoided the paperwork part of his job, always having a hatred for the tedious task of recording and reading notations. His mind worked much better with verbal recollections than processing the words typed out before him.

  “Yeah, it had been,” Nick said, shuffling papers in the background. “Jordan discovered it. They tested it for fingerprints and only Josie’s came up. But that doesn’t mean anything. The perp wore gloves. There was some residue on the window sill itself. Paint from the front porch.”

  “Paint?”

  “Yep. It was unseasonably hot. The deck had just been painted a day before. That stuff she put on, a brown deck-saver paint, hadn’t dried. It was all over the house with her shoe prints and the prints of another, likely male. She probably didn’t even know she’d tracked the paint in. CSI sent a preliminary report over yesterday. Didn’t you read it?”

  “No.” Damn it. “So could that mean that whoever attacked her, came in through the window? They tried the front door first but it was locked, like she claims she always does.”

  “Possibly,” Nick said. “We’ll have to talk to her about the windows.”

  He locked the window, went to the living room and switched on a lamp and the porch lights, presenting a front as if someone was home. All safety precautions.

  “I’m going by the hospital in a bit. I’ll ask her.”

  “Thanks. Read those damn reports. See you in a few.” Nick disconnected the call.

  Dean took one last jaunt around the home, stopping at Josie’s bedroom archway. He thought of how Erin would handle this situation. She’d be devastated and embarrassed that strangers went through her intimate belongings. Yeah, they knew a lot about Josie but not one object found shoved into the back of lingerie drawers or hidden in side table drawers helped give them answers as to who attacked her. Idly, he wondered how Josie would react when she found out that the entire team had rooted through her bedroom?

  A profound, unwelcome sadness washed over him as his time in Miss Conley’s house came to an end. He had no reason to stay. He strayed long enough. Anything else he did inside the house to help Josie, a woman he didn’t know, would be creepy.

  Dean slowly made his way out the door, taking a glance behind him. His stomach turned and that dull ache in the center of his chest increased, threatening to punch its way out. His mind conflicted with his heart. He desperately wanted to return to his domestic days, wishing his Erin was alive and well and by his side. But that would never happen, except nightly in his dreams, where she often visited him, holding their unborn son’s hand. If he was to be honest with himself, in order to gain a settled happiness, he’d have to move on and leave his former life behind. Forever closing the door on Erin and his baby. How could he do that to them? And if he could, it would entail opening himself up for the potential loss of another spouse, again. Because who knew what fate held from day to day. He’d learned that the cruel bitch of destiny could be the harshest reality a man experienced. He couldn’t go through a loss a second time and survive. He only functioned currently by stepping one foot in front of the other day to day. A repeat, and they might as well bury him next to the woman who captured his heart.

  Funny how Josie’s small home brought out this gut-wrenching feeling. Why? It was no different than any other home the team had been to for cases. Why this home at this time?

  Dean closed and locked the door behind him. Time to meet his buddies and get his ass drunk. Maybe find a woman to lose himself in. Good plan.

  7

  “I’m going home,” Josie insisted, agitated.

  Her brothers and mother annoyingly lingered as they fought over which home she’d return to. Did she sound like a petulant child? Yes. Which she chastised her thirty-two-year-old self. She literally had her arms crossed over her chest.

  Frustrated with her family and herself, she uncrossed her arms and tossed her legs over the edge of the bed. An hour before, the doctor came in and said she could be released. Two weeks in the hospital was far too long for her liking. Especially when she couldn’t escape her anxiously concerned mother and brothers.

  “It’s not safe for you at your house.” David held her overnight bag, as if that would stop her from returning to her home.

  “Did you change the locks yet?” sh
e asked edgy.

  “No,” he answered sheepishly.

  “I changed them yesterday,” a deep voice said from the doorway.

  They all spun to find Detective Rooney standing in the doorway, several sets of keys dangling from his fingers. “I stopped by your home.”

  He stepped into the room, his over six-foot frame massive in the small hospital room, his presence just as large. “I changed the front and back doors and the garage door.”

  “Thank you.” Josie took the keys from his hand that engulfed hers, his touch lingering, briefly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  His eyes twinkled. “I did.”

  Josie hit her brothers with a glare. David had the sense to look chagrined. Harry glared the detective’s direction.

  “She wants to return to her home,” her mother tattled. “I don’t feel it’s safe, Detective. Do you agree?”

  Dean shoved his hands into his navy blue suit pockets and studied her. Under his steely gaze, she squirmed. “Why do you want to return home, Josie?”

  She couldn’t say exactly why. Except a strong part of her refused to distance herself from the house she worked so hard to obtain on her own.

  She perched herself on the edge of the bed, her body quickly losing energy. Something she loathed. She hated growing tired so easily. She winced, the pain shooting through her. Breathing or any type of movement continued to strain her. Harry and David rushed to her side, hovering like two mother hens. She waved them off.

  “I don’t want to be afraid to return home. I’m more worried about losing my nerve and never going back than actually being frightened of another attack. I have an alarm company scheduled to come today. I was going to have them change the locks but that’s already taken care of. I worked so hard to buy my own house, furnish it, pay the bills. I don’t want to let an asshole take away the life I’ve built.” Hot tears stung her eyes, threatening to spill over. She blinked them back. She wouldn’t allow another man to destroy her. Steve had tried to place her in a gilded cage. He grew jealous of her independence and business success. She found herself conforming to his demands and wishes to please him. What to wear, what to eat, who she could talk to or remain friends with. She even pushed away from her own family. It had taken years for her to straighten her spine and fight for herself and her wants and needs. She refused to allow another man control her, especially with fear.

  “But your safety should come first,” the handsome detective said factually, leaning casually against the end of the bed.

  Reasonably that was true. “I’ll be fine.”

  “They haven’t caught the guy, Josie,” David said, his tone pleading. “Just stay with us for a couple weeks until the police capture the man who attacked you.”

  “We haven’t been able to clean the house, yet,” her mother whispered. “I haven’t been able to get myself up to go to your home, honey. I’m sorry.”

  Dean cleared his throat. “I had professionals come in and clean this morning.”

  Josie's eyebrows knitted together. Why would he do that? Was that a service the police department normally provided?

  “I didn’t realize the police handled that,” Harry said, scowling.

  “They don’t. But when I changed the locks, I couldn’t, in good conscience, allow the house to remain how it was. CSI left a mess.”

  Josie didn’t even want to think about what the scene had looked like. Truth was, she hadn’t considered her home needed cleaned. She figured her family would have that taken care of. But of course, they harassed and demanded and pleaded, but when it came to the real important stuff, they slacked.

  “Thank you.” She was grateful that he’d at least thought ahead to her homecoming.

  Dean’s eyes softened and he gave a playful smile and winked. “You know, it’s not like I’m doing anything else.”

  David and Harry growled.

  Josie tilted her head. Did he realize how inappropriate that statement‒

  “Oh shit,” Dean said. Regret washed over his striking features. A slanted nose that had been broken a time or two. Square jaw. High cheek bones on a man. Actually, he looked more like a male model than a detective. “I’m sorry, Josie. I tend to shoot off from the mouth without thinking.”

  She raised a brow. “I would think that’d be unusual for a cop.”

  “Detective.”

  “Same thing.”

  “Not quite.”

  The room fell uncomfortably silent. Dean ran a hand over his short, dark brown hair. “Do you remember if you left your kitchen window open?”

  She had to think. “I believe so. It was hot. My air conditioning unit was already covered. I needed a breeze in the house.”

  “Do you leave your window open often?”

  “Yes.” She liked fresh air and the fall breeze whipping through her home. Though it’d been stifling warm that day. “Why?”

  “We found the window open and weren’t sure if you’d left it open or if the man had opened it.” He stepped back toward the door. “I’m going to head out. I just wanted to drop off the keys. If you do return home, please call Detective Butler or me and let us know. We’ll want to check in on you. Also, we’ll be stopping by your business tomorrow to question you and your staff further.”

  “My staff?”

  Dean looked at her quizzically. “We have to rule out everyone. Including your employees. You could have someone on your staff jealous. Or maybe an enthralled customer that one of the staff can point us to. We’ve already interviewed your employees. But we’d like to speak with them again. We have some follow up questions and we’d like to do it at your shop.”

  “No one on my staff would attack me,” she said, defensive. She got along fabulously with the girls. They were all loyal and terrific employees who kept her business running while she remained in the hospital during the busiest time of year.

  Dean smiled sympathetically. “We never know what’s really going on in someone’s mind, Josie.”

  “True.” David nodded.

  Harry punched him in the arm. “Stop it. Don’t add to her anxiety.”

  “Both of you knock it off,” her mom scolded.

  Josie couldn’t imagine one of her girls having so much hatred that having a man attack her would be their course of action. She refused to buy into the theory. But if answering their questions meant taking her employees off a short list, then she’d she would so they could focus on catching the real assailant.

  “Let me know what time you’ll be there and I’ll try my best to get there. I’m having a hard time moving around.” She hated to admit that the knife wound hindered her. Who knew how long it’d take for her to heal? One of the doctors warned her she could feel the effects for years to come. Scar tissue could build up, making certain movements painful. The plastic surgeon already said she’d be put on a stomach workout program in a few weeks to strengthen those muscles. She couldn’t imagine taking on that task now. Not when it hurt to sneeze, laugh, pee, or move any appendage. She got a crash course lesson in how so much of the body was connected to the stomach.

  “Don’t over exert yourself,” Dean said, placing a hand on her shoulder and getting to eye level. “We’ll come to you if necessary.”

  She gave a wan smile. “Thanks.”

  But she would do her damndest to make it to the shop. She didn’t want the detectives to intimidate or frighten her girls.

  “I would like to escort you home, if you are returning to your house today.” Dean stood upright, his warm hand leaving her shoulder.

  Josie studied the man, not understanding the whirlwind that was happening in her life. She couldn’t grasp the legal aspects the police were coming from. She didn’t comprehend the entire crime lab stuff, like them digging under her fingernails for possible skin samples or why nothing from the swabs came back except for her own DNA. And she definitely couldn’t discern Detective Dean Rooney. She barely communicated with Detective Butler, who she had been told was the lead investigator. Sinc
e he first appeared, Dean made himself available, front and center. Even if it meant his overwhelming presence seated in a corner chair, watching the interaction between her family. Josie wasn’t sure if he was taking notes or just a sideline spectator.

  “Josie, honey, you need to come home with us,” her mom said, her eyes imploring. “You need help taking care of yourself. You can’t even sit up in bed on your own right now.”

  “Yeah,” David piped in. “And if you don’t come home with us. We’ll just have to stay at your place.”

  Oh god, she couldn’t allow that to happen. Her mom would redecorate her entire house. Her brothers would turn her home into a bachelor pad, placing large screen TVs in every room.

  She sighed, defeated. She wasn’t going to win this round. “Fine. But only for a week, until I’m able to move around on my own.”

  “We’ll see.” A winning smile curled David’s lips. He was always the competitive one.

  Damn it, her family was going to drive her insane.

  She spared a glance at Dean, whose amazing eyes glittered with humor. She glared his direction, which caused him to chuckle. So he was on their side, too. Damn it to hell.

  8

  Dean rummaged through stacks of note cards Josie’s admirers sent her. A pang of something indefinable rifled through him as he read each one. Most of the cards were personal thank you notes for Josie’s salon services. Showcasing how much her customers valued her. But a couple professed their undying love, signed by men. Those bordered inappropriate, in his opinion.

  Nick stepped in to the office. “There is one employee who raises eyebrows but I still want background checks on all of them.”

  “Has Josie arrived?” Dean asked quickly, then catching himself.

  Nick picked up a pile of bills on the desk and shuffled through them, ignoring Dean’s anticipation of her arrival. “No, but the receptionist stated she was on her way.”