Damage: The Men of Law (The Men of Law Series Book 2) Page 6

  Dean kept a close eye on the plump woman, subtly following her throughout the business, noting she didn’t actually do any form of work. She made it look as if she was performing a task but in reality did zero to contribute to the running of the show.

  “Is Josie going to be all right?” Marc sidled up to Dean, who leaned against a pillar on the second floor pedicure room.

  Dean gave the man a once over, noting his large biceps and built chest. He stood about six one, around the same height as Josie’s attacker. Marc fit the physical description of the unknown suspect quite well.

  “She’ll be fine.” Dean eyed the man suspiciously. “You have a gym membership, I see. That to keep in shape? Draw in more clients? Aesthetic reasons?”

  Marc grinned, a devilish twinkle in his green eyes. “You have no idea how many women clients I book weekly. I make a fortune off executive wives who want hourly full body massages. The tips are astounding and I’m doing nothing that can’t be done at any other spa. But physically fit also makes me feel good. I was a chubby kid. I hated it. When I got to high school, I started going to the gym and met a trainer that taught me the proper way to keep in shape. Eating right, taking the right nutrients, working out to build muscle and work on cardio. I’m the healthiest I’ve ever been and have never felt better. The primary reason for my regimen is my weight. “

  “Got a girlfriend?”

  Marc barked out a laugh then whispered, “Nope. My boyfriend might kill me if I decided to start swinging for the other team.”

  Huh? Dean didn’t get that vibe from him. How had he missed it?

  Marc answered his unasked question. “I don’t advertise it because my clientele would dry up. It’s all about perception. They think they have a chance to nab me while they get strong hands working out tight muscles in their backs caused by their spouses, children, family, work, whatever. In their minds, I could possibly seduce them if I find them attractive enough. Do you know how many times I’ve walked into a room to find a woman buck naked on the table, playing innocent that she thought she was to strip down completely? Without wrapping herself in the towel?” Marc dramatically rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “I just give them a cute wink, a soothing voice, nimble fingers, and it’s all good.”

  “And Josie knows this?”

  “Josie’s the one who encouraged it. She’s the one who taught me how to play off this.” He motioned up and down his body with a long finger. “And she also told me to not ever quit the gym. She hasn’t led me wrong yet. And I’ve got a BMW Z4 out of it.”

  “Nice,” Dean said. A money car.

  Marc held out his hand to tap knuckles and Dean indulged him. “Yeah, it is.”

  “So Josie’s that supportive of her employees?” Dean surveyed the room again, catching a pregnant manicurist who was being ushered over to a chair by another employee while someone else brought her water.

  “Josie’s the best boss any employee could ask for. She’s kind, she’s fair, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. That total combo can be hard to find in any company. Trust me, I’ve worked plenty of jobs to know.” Marc glanced at his silver Rolex. “Gotta go. Next appointment’s probably waiting.”

  “You bought the watch, too?” Dean knew a nice watch when he saw one. Nick happened to be an expert on timepieces and had a collection going. His partner was forever giving them all lessons on the fine mechanics of a good watch.

  “Nope,” Marc flicked his wrist, “a gift from a CEO’s wife.”

  Dean’s brow arched.

  “Best shoulder massage she’s ever received. Her words.” Marc spun on his heels and sauntered off, a cocky confidence in his gait and posture.

  Dean went back to employee watching when Marc was out of sight, observing the female clientele’s eyes following the young man until he was gone. Josie managed to build a very successful business and gain the loyalty of her employees. Except maybe one. How deep did Becky’s hatred of the fact she couldn’t tap into the finances of the business run? Dean would check on Marc’s story to rule him out, but his instinct said there was no play on the man’s part. Though that didn’t mean Dean couldn't be wrong.

  Josie appeared in the doorway, Nick by her side, his hand on her back, as if helping her move about. Dean straightened. What the hell was Nick doing?

  Dean pushed off the wall and stalked straight to Josie. Nick’s eyes widened as Dean approach. Dean halted right in front of her, a hair’s breath away. A subtle scent of vanilla wafted around him. The sunlight from the high windows spotlighted her dark hair, a few auburn highlights glimmering. A lock of her hair fell into her eyes and he reached up, tucking the strand behind her ear. Everything around him went away. The people, the music, his partner, all faded into the background. Only Josie’s large green eyes that looked confused, frightened, and tired held his attention. God, she was beautiful, even at her less than full healthy state. His thumb brushed over her high cheek bone, admiring the soft skin under his rough fingers. She was so delicate, like a porcelain doll.

  “Detective,” Nick’s stern bite interrupted his admiration of her beauty. “We’ve got all we need from Josie today. She’s agreed to call us to take her home when she’s finished.”

  Josie’s cheeks flushed.

  “I promise,” she said quietly.

  What the hell had come over him? He snatched his hand back, shoving it into his suit pants pocket. He certainly did not need to get himself all caught up in Josie’s natural thrall. He refused to put himself out there for another woman. The payoff wasn’t worth the hurt. He needed to remind himself that he was a professional and Josie was a victim, not a woman to moon over.

  “Thank you, Miss Conley.” He purposely utilized her less personal last name.

  Nick’s brows slid together as his eyes bounced back and forth between Josie and Dean. His partner better not ask any questions or he’d feel inclined to punch him in the damn face.

  11

  Josie hit a wall faster than she’d thought she would. She’d only been at the salon for a couple hours, one of which had been purely occupied by Detectives Rooney and Butler. Her body ached painfully. Her muscles tired, barely able to keep her standing. She stretched her neck, her body tight. And not just from the pain.

  Josie’s hand lingered above the office phone, debating on whether to call Dean. She didn’t want to. Dean’s presence made her antsy, in an indiscernible manner. Something about him drew her toward him. She was safe when he was around. But she couldn’t allow herself to get tangled with an officer, let alone contemplate what it’d be like to be in the man’s life. Hell, she couldn’t let herself get close to any man. She’d learned her lesson years ago. Men couldn’t seem to handle her drive as the owner of a thriving business. She put all her energy into making her salon a success, taking up most of her waking time. Which didn’t leave much room for dating. She’d found that men tended to get jealous of her salon. As if it was a third wheel in their relationship. Another man to compete against. Time after time she’d been told, over the phone or through an emotionless email or a cold message, that things weren’t working out because she didn’t have time for them. Talk about brutal honesty. Though she should appreciate their straightforwardness. It saved her from making mistakes in her love life.

  The only man who had accepted her commitment to making her business flourish was Steve. He’d stuck by her the longest. But he’d tried to stifle her, telling how she should run her business, as if she was incapable. She’d been the one to break up with Steve, which hadn’t gone well. He continued to contact her, even making a pass at her a few weeks ago. So much for civility.

  But Josie didn’t want to call on her family to pick her up from the salon. Their few hours reprieve from worrying about her hopefully did them good, gave them a semblance of peace. She didn’t want to interrupt whatever tasks they decided to accomplish while she tended to her shop. She sighed, the hatred of being a burden, having to be at the mercy of relying on others weighing on her, along wit
h the knowledge that she remained in danger. She loathed the feeling. In her thirty-two years, she couldn’t remember a time she leaned heavily on others to help care for her or had to constantly look over her shoulder in fear.

  Screw it. She needed to get home, take an ibuprofen, and climb into bed and not move a muscle, maybe eat a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. Josie punched Dean’s digits into the phone.

  “Rooney,” he answered, his voice like gravel.

  She hesitated.

  “Hello?”

  “Detective, this is Josie Conley.” She picked up a pen and scribbled circles on a pad.

  “Yes, Miss Conley.”

  His formality didn’t go over her head. She’d noticed the change earlier, when he’d gently tucked her escaped lock behind her ear and ran a thumb over her cheek. At the time, she’d been entranced by his smell of musk and masculinity. A combination she continued to catch a whiff of. Probably because he’d been in her office for a long period of time, his heady scent lingering. His gentle touch had surprised her. She couldn’t deny that she liked the feel of his calloused finger caressing her skin.

  “Are you ready for a pick-up?”

  That didn’t sound informal at all.

  “If you wouldn’t mind. If you’re busy, I can call my family.” She now regretted her decision to reach out to him and hoped he’d refuse her. Damn it. She should have asked Marc for a ride.

  “I’ll be there in five.” He disconnected before she could counter or change her mind.

  She stared at the phone, pure trepidation pouring out of her. The position she was in sucked. She didn’t know who to count on, where to turn. And the pain that tore through her body with every movement didn’t help her to mentally process clearly. She had to throw her hands up in defeat for the day.

  Josie gingerly pulled herself up from the chair and sluggishly made her way to the front of the salon. Early afternoon on a Saturday and the place buzzed with customers, light holiday background music, and the potent smell of hair chemicals and scented candles blended together added to her dismay. This business was her home. She should be running around, looking for supplies that a staff member moved, or taking phone calls of women desperate to schedule appointments for their holiday parties. Not dragging her damaged body to the door to leave.

  Marc appeared by her side, taking her hand. “Let me help you.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Sure you are. And I’m straight.”

  Josie snorted and then cried out, her hand going to her stomach. “Stop that.”

  “Sorry.” They got to the entrance and Marc yanked a chair to her. “Who’s picking you up?”

  “Detective Rooney.”

  Marc’s eyes glittered and he waggled his brows. “Detective Rooney. I’d love for him to investigate me.”

  “Is he single?”

  Marc laughed, a buoyant sound. “Oh, he’s single. He wore no ring and I did a bit of my own investigating, quizzing Detective Butler, who is also single. Nick—”

  “Nick?”

  “Yeah, Detective Butler is too formal for that sexy man.” Marc pulled a chair up next to her and plopped down, crossing his leg over his knee and stretching his arm across the back of her chair. Always a man who was laid back and never took life seriously. “Nick apparently went through a really bad divorce.”

  “He certainly didn’t give you that information.”

  “Nope, but it’s amazing what you can find online when you plug in a name. It’s quite disturbing. That man got his ass handed to him, forking over half of everything, including a hefty trust fund left by his parents. Do you know how much he had to give her because there was no prenup?”

  She didn’t want to know. For some reason, this information felt like a dirty little secret she should not be privy to.

  “Five million dollars. Yep, Detective Butler is a millionaire.” He whistled low.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Why is he working as a detective? I’d think that would be long hours and low pay.”

  “No family.”

  “What?”

  “He’s an only child and his parents passed away a few years ago. I would assume being a cop gives him a family.”

  Josie thought about that. Was that the reason for the bleakness behind his eyes?

  “Want to know about Detective Rooney?” Marc’s voice lost its playfulness.

  “I don’t, Marc,” she said, doubtful. “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this information. I really shouldn’t know the intimate details of their lives. It’s intrusive.”

  Marc went to reply but the door swung open and Detective Rooney waltzed in, large, looming and taking up the space in the doorway. His jacket gone, his physique became more prominent, his broad chest straining against his white oxford.

  “Miss Conley, are you all right?” He got down on his haunches in front of her. “You feeling okay?”

  “Just a bit tired.”

  Marc scoffed. “She’s exhausted, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. This is your first day back after...” He cleared his throat. “Your body has a massive amount of healing to do.”

  Dean patted her knee in a friendly fashion. In no way could it be construed as anything but polite encouragement. “He’s right. Let’s get you up and into the car so I can take you to your mother’s home. That is where you’re going, right?”

  “Yes.” Though she needed to break the news to her family that her stay with her mom and brothers was coming to an end.

  Dean rose, holding out his hand, placing a warm palm on the small of her back to steady her.

  “See ya later, boss lady.” Marc held open the door as she left the building.

  Dean helped her into his black sedan and shut the door. The car wasn’t inviting. A police scanner was attached on the console, a gun holster sat empty in a side pocket, and crumpled paper coffee cups littered the backseat.

  Dean slid behind the wheel to drive her the ten minutes to her mother’s house. He merged into traffic, both remaining uncomfortably mute. The vehicle stopped at a red light, the soft drones of dispatch coming through the scanner the only noise. Josie stretched her neck, trying to adjust to the heavy warmth of the car interior. She slid a glance over to the detective, his large biceps flexing through the material of his shirt as his arm steered the vehicle. Her temperature rose as she quickly diverted her gaze. She pushed the arms of her long sleeve black T-shirt to her elbows. She slid another glance Dean’s direction, focusing on those biceps as his arm stretched over the wheel. So large, so powerful, so capable of killing.

  Josie’s chest constricted, the air stifling around her. She reached down and cracked the window, the cool winter air rushing into the car. She breathed it in, the crisp air filling her lungs. Her head pounded. Her chest tightened. Another sharp look at his arms. She fidgeted in her seat, the belt compressing against her chest. Her breath labored. “Stop the car.”

  She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t look at Dean’s overpowering form with those bulky arms that could trap her.

  “Josie?”

  His voice made her shrink back. She pushed herself against the door, to get as much distance from him as possible.

  “Stop the car,” she said, desperate and pleading.

  “Josie—”

  “Pull over the car!” She scrambled to take off her seat belt, fumbling with the lock mechanism.

  Dean stopped the car in middle of the street. Josie flung open the car door, flying out of the vehicle, the cool wind slapping her face. She inhaled deeply as she stumbled to the sidewalk, falling to the ground, the cold concrete a relief against her flushed cheek. A smarting pain ricocheted across her stomach. Hot tears streamed down her face. The cold December air flushed down her lungs, contrasting with the rising heat of her skin. She couldn’t breathe.

  “Shhh.” Dean kneeled beside her, cradling her up in his arms.

  She was vaguely aware that people on the sidewalk stopped to see if she needed help. S
he heard Dean on the phone. Josie sobbed incoherently, her body shaking, her chest a vice against her lungs. Her heartbeat sped and her blood pumped in her ears. She couldn’t focus. Her surroundings spun vertically and her world went black.

  12

  “She had a panic attack.” The ER doctor’s statement was as clinical as his white coat.

  A panic attack? What set Josie off? Something had to trigger her reaction. She’d been perfectly fine when Dean placed her in his car. “Can I see her?”

  The doctor nodded, absently writing in a chart. “The nurse will take you back.”

  Dean followed the nurse, stepping through the patient room doorway in the ER. His heart sank for the fragile woman in the large, sterile hospital bed. Josie was the epitome of strength, on the outside, but what she’d been through obviously would take time for her to deal with mentally. If she ever did. He knew countless victims that never got a handle on their trauma, no matter how much time passed.

  Her heavy eyes lifted from her hands on her lap, fiddling with the blanket.

  “Hi.” Dean carefully approached the side of her bed.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice small and raspy. “Thank you for calling an ambulance. I don’t think I could have gotten back into your car.”

  So it had been him. He wanted to know why. He wanted to know what happened. What did he do? So he’d never do it again to harm her. The last thing Dean wanted was to cause her any undue stress.