The Defender's Duty

FOUR

Lacey didn’t believe in spending a lot of time worrying. It wasted valuable energy that was better spent enjoying other things. Unfortunately, worry was exactly what she was feeling.

Someone wanted Jude dead.

That was what he’d said, and despite initial doubts, Lacey believed him.

She’d worked with enough paranoid clients to know one when she saw one. She didn’t see one when she looked at Jude. She saw instead a man on a mission. One who knew exactly what he was doing and why.

She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and stared out at the road, praying desperately that she wouldn’t see the car Jude was looking for. If she did, Jude would want her to pull over so that he could confront the driver. Lacey wasn’t sure she could bring herself to do it.

Sure, Jude had a gun…but who knew what the guy in the car had?

She inched down the street in good old Bess, the Mustang’s loud engine masking any sounds from outside the vehicle. A parade of murderers in black sedans could have been speeding up behind her and she wouldn’t have known it.

“You can relax, Lacey. We’re not going to find him tonight.” Jude’s voice was smooth and deep, the kind that could be filled with promises or with threats and still send shivers along the spine.

“Maybe we should call the police.”

“And tell them what?” He snarled the question as Lacey spotted the all-night diner and pulled into the parking lot.

“There’s no need to snap.”

“I’m not snapping. I’m…” He smoothed his hair and turned to face her, the planes and hollows of his face shadowed, his eyes dark. “Snapping. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess if I thought someone wanted me dead, I’d be snapping, too.”

“I already told you, I don’t think it. I know it. I was nearly killed two months ago. It wasn’t an accident. Unfortunately, I don’t have the evidence I need to prove it.”

“You were run down while you were helping a stranded motorist. I’m sure you know how often that happens. The fact that the car accelerated could mean that the person driving it was drunk. It doesn’t necessarily mean he was specifically targeting you.” Lacey made the argument without believing in it. Jude had worked as a homicide detective. She didn’t believe he’d jump to conclusions about what had happened.

“That’s what NYPD said. With no other attacks against me, they had no choice but to call the accident a hit-and-run.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” He met her eyes, searched her face, seemed to see much more than other people did. Much more than Lacey wanted him to see.

“Because it hurts when the people you care about won’t help you.” She knew that more than most, but that was a part of the past she preferred not to dwell on.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head with that one. You said you were hungry. Let’s go eat.” He opened his door, cutting off further conversation.

By the time she got out of the car, Jude was already standing by her door, tapping his fingers impatiently on the roof of the car and scanning the other parked cars. “You move pretty slowly for a woman with two good legs.”

“And you’re awfully impatient for a guy who’s got nothing better to do than stand around waiting for me.”

“Who said I don’t have better things to do?”

“Your brother said you’re on medical leave.”

“I am. That doesn’t mean I’m not working.” He put a hand on her lower back and urged her toward the diner, his touch firm and gentle, his stride hitched but confident.

If she hadn’t been looking so closely, Lacey wouldn’t have noticed the sheen of sweat that beaded his brow or the deep lines that bracketed his mouth. Pain. He was in a lot of it, but a guy like Jude would never admit it.

He held the diner’s door, his mouth set in a grim line, and Lacey decided it was time to take control of the situation. She motioned a waitress over and pointed to a booth that overlooked the parking lot. It was near the door, had wide benches set close enough together that Jude could put his feet up and offered a quick escape if he was feeling too bad to stay. “Do you mind if we sit there?”

“Go ahead. You’re in early, Mr. Sinclair. Or late. Guess it depends on how you look at it.” The young waitress glanced from Jude to Lacey and back again, her kohl-rimmed eyes and pierced brow at odds with the sweet innocence of her face.

“We’ll just call it both.” Jude smiled, but to Lacey it looked more like a grimace. He needed to sit down. Not stand around chatting with the waitress.

“How about we discuss it at the table?” She took his arm, tugging him toward the booth and offering the waitress an apologetic smile. Rudeness wasn’t Lacey’s thing, but taking care of her clients was.

“Want me to bring you your usual, Mr. Sinclair?”

“Coffee would be good, but no pie.”

“How about bread? We’ve got fresh pumpkin bread. I helped Louis make it an hour ago.”

“Sure. Why not?” Jude dropped into the seat, wincing a little as he slid toward the window.

“How about you, ma’am? Can I get you something while you’re looking at the menu?” The girl turned her full attention on Lacey. Bold pink strands of hair were woven liberally through her dark-brown locks, and her stance said she was ready for a fight. To Lacey, looking at her was like looking into the past and seeing herself as she’d been as a teenager. Alone. Scared.

Lacey blinked, surprised that she’d be thinking about that time in her life. The girl she’d been had ceased to exist so long ago it was as if she’d never been. God had given Lacey a second chance, a new life. If she kept focused on that, everything else would be okay. “Coffee would be great. Three creams. Two sugars. A slice of the pumpkin bread and a cup of whatever your soup of the day is.”

“Corn chowder.”

“Great.” Lacey forced a smile and fished in her pocket for the packets of Tylenol she kept there. Like Jude, she’d been through her share of trauma. She still felt the effects of it years later. Right now, Jude needed the pain reliever a lot more than she did. She tore open the pack, dumping two caplets in her hand and holding them out to Jude. “Take these.”

He looked at the medicine and frowned. “What are you? A walking pharmacy?”

“Just a woman who likes to be prepared.”

“I appreciate the effort, but I don’t need it.”

“Sure you do. You just don’t want to man up and admit it.”

“‘Man up’?” His lips quirked in a half smile that softened the hard angles of his face.

“That’s what I said.” She smiled back, staring into his eyes. At the moment they were velvety and warm, inviting in a way she hadn’t noticed when she’d looked into them before.

Dangerous in a way she wouldn’t dare acknowledge.

“All right. You win. This time.” He took the caplets from her hand and swallowed them dry. “I think I could take another three and they wouldn’t touch the pain.”

Lacey covered his hand, squeezing it gently. “Why don’t we go back home? I’m not that hungry, and you obviously need something stronger than a couple of Tylenol.”

“Even if I were back home, I wouldn’t take anything more than what you just gave me.” He flipped his hand, capturing hers before she could pull it away. “So, tell me, Lacey, what convinced you to travel all the way from Chicago to work for a guy like me?”

“I haven’t had my own place in a while. When I was told I would if I came to Lynchburg, I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.” But that was only part of the reason she’d taken the job. The other reason wasn’t as concrete. The feeling she’d gotten when she’d first spoken to Grayson about his brother had chased her into her dreams and refused to let her go. She had to take the job. The more she’d prayed about it, the more she’d understood the necessity of it.

“You drove halfway across the country to have your own place?”

“Exactly.”

He eyed her for a moment, his eyes winter-gray and filled with questions. “I guess you want me to believe that.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Because you don’t seem very materialistic, and I have a feeling you would live in far worse conditions if it meant helping someone in need.”

He was right.

And that bothered Lacey.

Jude had only met her a few hours ago and already knew more about her than most clients learned in a month. “Who says I’m not materialistic?”

“Your car.” His gaze dropped to her faded sweater, but he had the good grace not to mention it.

“Bess is an icon. I’d never replace her.”

“Bess is a piece of junk that needs a new engine and a paint job.”

He was right. Again. “There’s nothing wrong with having an old car.”

“Not for someone who isn’t materialistic. Which brings me back to my main point. I don’t think you came here for the house.”

Obviously, he was going to keep pushing until he got an answer he liked. There wasn’t one, so Lacey gave him what she could. “After I talked to my supervisor and your brother, I prayed about taking the job. It felt like the right thing to do, so I did.”

“You prayed about it?”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“Not at all. I just haven’t met many people who make decisions based on prayer.”

“Maybe that’s why so many people are making so many bad decisions.”

“You’ve got a point there. I know I’ve made a few in my life. Maybe if I’d stopped to pray about them, I wouldn’t have.” He smiled, releasing her hand as the waitress set coffee and plates of pumpkin bread on the table.

“Soup is coming right out. You want to order now, or wait until I bring it?”

“I’d like a grilled cheese sandwich.” Lacey handed the menu back to the waitress, the sleeve of her sweater riding up and revealing the pale white scars that encircled her wrist. She dropped her arm, shooting a glance in Jude’s direction. He seemed occupied with the slice of bread he was devouring. Good. The last thing she wanted were more questions.

“Anything for you, Mr. Sinclair?”

“No. Thanks, Jenna.”

“You sure? We’ve got a great chicken pot pie today.”

“Another time. Thanks, though.”

“Suit yourself.” The young woman scribbled something on her order pad, her lips pressed tightly together. At Jenna’s age, Lacey had been working the same kind of job, and she remembered the nights when she’d calculated the tips and worried about whether or not she was going to earn enough to keep the lights turned on.

“You know, I think I’ll take some of that chicken pot pie.”

“So you want that instead of the grilled cheese?”

“No. I’ll take both. Just box the pot pie so I can take it home for tomorrow. Can you throw in a couple more slices of the pumpkin bread while you’re at it?”

“All right. It’ll be a few minutes. Just raise a hand if you need a refill on the coffee before then.” Jenna walked away, and Lacey grabbed three creamers and dumped them into her coffee.

“You could have just left her a big tip.” Jude spoke quietly.

“That would have been charity. I don’t think Jenna would have appreciated it.”

“Good call. I tried to slip her an extra twenty one time, and she followed me outside to tell me what I could do with it.”

“She did not.” But Lacey knew Jenna had. She would have done the same at that age.

“She did. She informed me that there were a lot of people who were a lot worse off than she was and that I should take the money and give it to one of them.”

“Did you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you found another way to give it to her.”

“I gave it to her boss and asked that it be added to her tips. I found it taped to my front door the next day.”

“Good for Jenna.”

“You think? The way I see it, pride goeth before a fall. Jenna may be on her way to falling hard.”

“If she does, she’ll learn from it.”

“You sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

“Everyone falls sometimes, Jude.” Some people just fall harder than others.

“Yeah. That’s something I’m learning.” He grabbed a second piece of pumpkin bread, and Lacey frowned.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

“She tried.” He grinned, split the piece and handed her half. “Happy now?”

“I’d be happier if you’d given me the whole piece.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

“My mother didn’t teach me much of anything.” The words slipped out before she thought them through, and Lacey wished them back immediately.

“You know that comment begs me to ask a dozen questions, right?”

“You can ask. That doesn’t mean I’ll answer.” She met Jude’s gaze, refusing to fidget beneath his scrutiny.

“Understood. So I’ll go ahead and start asking. You don’t get along with your mom?” he asked, as Jenna set a plate of food and a brown paper bag in front of Lacey.

“There you go,” Jenna said. “I’m off shift. If you need anything else, you’ll have to flag down one of the other waitresses.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Lacey dug through her wallet, pulling out her last two twenties. “You can ring up our tab before you go.”

“I’ll have your change for you in a minute.”

“Make it my change and keep it.” Jude nudged Lacey’s money aside and pressed several bills into Jenna’s hand.

She thanked him and hurried away, leaving Lacey with her two twenties still waving in the breeze.

“Here.” Lacey held out the money, frowning when Jude waved it away. “Take the money, Jude. I like to pay my own way.”

“I’m sure you do, but we don’t have time for an argument. Take a look outside. What do you see?”

She looked and shrugged. “The parking lot.”

“Can you see your car?”

“Sure. It’s parked under the streetlight. Why?”

“See the car to its left?”

“Yeah. It’s a black sedan.” Her heart skipped a beat as she said the words, and she leaned closer to the glass. “You don’t think that’s the same car, do you?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”

Lacey scooped up the grilled cheese sandwich and shoved it into the carryout bag. “Let’s go.”

He eyed her for a moment, his jaw set, his gaze hot. “We’re not going anywhere. You are staying here. I am going to talk to the driver of that car.”

“I think we’ve been down this road before, and I’m pretty sure we both know where it leads.”

“It leads to you getting fired. Stay put until I get back or forget about having a place of your own for a month.” He stood and limped away, not even giving Lacey a second glance as he crossed the room and headed into the kitchen area.

Probably heading for a back door.

Lacey gave him a one-minute head start and then followed, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end and issuing a warning she couldn’t ignore. Danger. It was somewhere close by again, and there was no way she was going to let Jude walk into it alone. If he fired her, so be it. As a matter of fact, if he fired her, it might be for the best. Jude wasn’t the kind of client she was used to working for. Sure, there’d been other young men, but none of them had seemed quite as vital or alive as Jude. She told herself that it made her uncomfortable because he didn’t seem to need her, and Lacey didn’t want to be where she wasn’t needed. Told herself that, but didn’t quite believe it. Jude was trouble. And not just because someone was trying to kill him. On the other hand, she’d felt absolutely certain moving to Lynchburg was what God wanted her to do.

“So, which is it, Lord? Right or wrong?” She whispered the words as she slipped into the diner’s hot kitchen. A cook glared at her, but she ignored him. Until she knew for sure why God had brought her to Lynchburg, Lacey could only do what she’d been paid to—make sure Jude was okay. Even if that meant putting herself in danger.

Lacey took a deep breath, prayed that whoever was in the car didn’t have a weapon and pushed open the door. The area behind the diner was dark and silent, the shadow of the building hiding her as she stepped into the parking lot. There were no cars there, just empty spaces ready for the breakfast rush. The emptiness should have comforted Lacey. Instead, it reminded her of how alone she was. Maybe waiting inside the diner would have been a better idea, but Lacey wasn’t good at waiting and didn’t believe in leaving others to fight their battles alone. Jude was about to face his enemy. She had every intention of being with him when he did. Heart slamming in her chest, pulse racing, she hurried around the side of the building and headed toward whatever trouble waited.

FIVE

Jude eased around the corner of the restaurant, the dark alleyway offering him perfect cover as he peered into the parking lot. The car he’d spotted through the window of the restaurant was still parked beside Lacey’s. Black. Four-door. Honda. It matched the one that had pulled up in front of his house and the one that had run him down in New York.

He needed to get closer.

A soft sound came from behind him. A rustle of fabric. A sigh of breath. Spring rain and wildflowers carried on the cold night air. Lacey.

Of course.

“I told you you were going to be fired if you didn’t stay where you were.”

“Do you know how many times someone has threatened to fire me?”

“Based on what I’ve seen so far, a lot.”

“Some of my clients fire me ten or twenty times a day.”

“Then I guess I’ve got a ways to go.” Jude reached back and grabbed her hand, pulling her up beside him.

“Is the car still there?”

“Yeah.”

“Let me see.” She squeezed in closer, her hair brushing his chin as she jockeyed for a better position.

Jude pulled her up short, her wrist warm beneath his hand. For a moment he was back in the restaurant, Lacey’s creamy skin peeking out from under her dark sweater, white scars crisscrossing the tender flesh. She’d shoved her sleeve down too quickly for him to get a good look, but the glimpse he’d gotten was enough. There was a lot more to Lacey then met the eye. A lot she hid behind a quick smile and a quicker wit. She’d been hurt before, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. No way was he going to drag her into danger. Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever. As soon as they got back to the house, he was going to do exactly what he’d threatened—fire her.

“It’s not the car.” She said it with such authority that Jude stepped from the shadows and took a closer look.

“Why do you say that?”

“The one back at the house had tinted glass. Really dark. This one, you can see in the back window. Looks like there is a couple sitting in the front seat. Unless you’ve got two people after you, I don’t think that’s the same car.”

She was right.

Of course she was.

Jude could see inside the car, too, see the couple in the front seats. If he’d been thinking with his head instead of acting on the anger that had been simmering in his gut for months, he would have seen those things long before now. “You’d make a good detective, Lacey.”

“You think so? Maybe I should make a career change. Give up home-care work for something more dangerous and exciting.” She laughed as she pulled away from his hold and stepped out into the parking lot, but there was tension in her shoulders and in the air. As if she sensed the danger that had been stalking Jude, felt it as clearly as Jude did.

“I’m not sure being a detective is as dangerous or as exciting as people think. Most days it’s a lot of running into brick walls. Backing up, trying a new direction.” He led Lacey across the parking lot, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“That sounds like life to me. Running into brick walls, backing up and trying new directions.”

“True, but in my job the brick walls happen every other day. In life, they’re usually not as frequent.” He waited while she got into her car, then closed the door, glancing in the black sedan as he walked past. An elderly woman smiled and waved at him, and Jude waved back, still irritated with himself for the mistake he’d made.

Now that he was closer, it was obvious the two cars he’d seen weren’t the same. The one at his place had been sleeker and a little more sporty. Which proved that when a person wanted to see something badly enough, he did.

“That wasn’t much of a meal for you. Sorry to cut things short for a false alarm.” He glanced at Lacey as he got in the Mustang and was surprised that her hand was shaking as she shoved the key in the ignition.

He put a hand on her forearm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“For someone who is fine, your hands sure are shaking hard.”

“How about we chalk it up to fatigue?”

“How about you admit you were scared?”

“Were? I still am.” She started the car, and Jude let his hand fall away from her arm.

“You don’t have to be. We’re safe. For now.”

“It’s the ‘for now’ part that’s got me worried. Who’s trying to kill you, Jude? Why?”

“If I had the answers to those questions, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it.”

“You don’t even have a suspect?”

“Lacey, I’ve got a dozen suspects. More. Every wife who’s ever watched me cart her husband off to jail. Every son who’s ever seen me put handcuffs on his dad. Every family member or friend who’s sat through a murder trial and watched his or her loved one be convicted because of the evidence I put together.”

“Have you made a list?

“I’ve made a hundred lists. None of them have done me any good. Until the person responsible comes calling again, I’ve got no evidence, no clues and no way to link anyone to the hit-and-run.”

“Maybe he won’t come calling again. Maybe the hit-and-run was an accident, and maybe the sedan we saw outside your house was just someone who got lost and ended up in the wrong place.” She sounded like she really wanted to believe it.

He should let her, he thought. That was what he’d done with his family. Let them believe the hit-and-run was a fluke thing that had happened and was over. He’d done it to keep them safe. He’d do the opposite to keep Lacey from getting hurt.