Trapped (Private Justice Book #2): A Novel by Hannon Irene

Author:Hannon, Irene [Hannon, Irene]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Private investigators—Fiction, FIC042060, FIC042040, FIC027110, Women journalists—Fiction
ISBN: 9781441244529
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2013-08-31T16:00:00+00:00

Mark scrubbed his face dry with a towel and picked up the watch he’d left on the vanity before stepping into the shower. Nine-thirty. He was right on schedule to be in bed by ten—a half hour earlier than his pre-Darcy routine.

But that was fine. Going to bed earlier to compensate for getting up earlier so he could make her lunch and breakfast before he left for work wasn’t a chore. You were supposed to do things like that for people who were important in your life.

He folded the towel, draped it neatly back over the bar, and padded into the bedroom toward his nightstand. The lotion Faith had given him was already beginning to work, and he squeezed a dab onto his palms as he examined his hands. In another few days, after things settled into more of a routine and he didn’t feel the urge to wash his hands as often, the redness should fade and he wouldn’t need high-priced ointments anymore. In the meantime, why not take advantage of Faith’s generosity?

Once the lotion soaked in, he opened the nightstand and removed Lil’s picture. Cradling it in his hands, he examined the fresh, smiling face—so different from the image that lingered in his mind. But this photo represented the real Lil. The woman she was supposed to be. The woman she was before the world led her astray. Before she discovered drugs and alcohol and resorted to other immoral activities. Before her priorities became twisted.

Before she stopped loving him.

He tightened his grip on the gold-edged frame that had tarnished through the years, just as Lil had, and sucked in a breath. “I tried so hard to help you . . . but you wouldn’t let me.”

She smiled back at him, as deaf to his voice now as she’d been at the end. But still he continued to speak, as he had then.

“You could have changed. You could have saved yourself. But you made bad choices, and you wouldn’t mend your ways. I could see how it would end even if you couldn’t.”

His fingers started to itch, but he resisted the urge to get up and wash his hands again. That would negate the effect of the expensive lotion he’d just applied.

Instead, he concentrated on the photo. “There’s a young woman downstairs who reminds me of you. She’s a runaway too, on the brink of making the wrong choices. I didn’t want to mention her until I was sure she was the one. Now I think she is—and I also think I got to her in time. So I’ll save her instead of you. With her, I’ll wipe the slate clean, make amends, and start fresh.”

For several more seconds, he examined the photo. Then he slipped it back in the nightstand, closed the drawer, and dimmed the bedside light.

Silence descended, and he began to drift off. But the muffled slam of a car door from outside pulled him back from the edge of sleep.

The car was close to his house.

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