Blind Justice Page 2

  “Mom and Dad gave us everything, and you thumbed your nose at them,” Lauren said, diving right into the same old argument. They probably used the same lines verbatim at this point.

  Tara had been raised with plenty of privileges, and she was grateful. But if she’d followed the path her parents wanted for her, she would be as miserable as Lauren.

  Oh. Tara paused.

  Why hadn’t she seen it before? Maybe she had been too focused on herself and her self-righteous rebellion. “What dream did you give up to please them?” she asked softly.

  Her sister gasped. The line was silent for several beats. “All I ever wanted was to make them happy.” Her voice told a different story. “Something you clearly didn’t—and still don’t—give a damn about.”

  Lauren didn’t understand that Tara had wanted nothing more. But she’d wanted her parents to be proud of her—to love her—for who she was. She could never bring herself to hide her true nature under some cloak of perfection that would eventually choke the life out of her.

  Rather than defend herself, Tara said, “I’m sorry you felt like you had to.”

  Lauren scoffed. “And then you poisoned Emily with the idea that she could be a model. A supermodel, for God’s sake.”

  “That’s all she ever wanted. I was trying to help.”

  “And now she’s dead,” Lauren said, her voice dripping with venom. “Good job.”

  The words flattened Tara like a city bus. Had she pushed Emily too hard to follow her own path, to resist the pressure from their parents and choose the life she’d dreamed of? Had Tara really been helping, or had she merely transferred her own expectations onto her sister?

  Did it even matter?

  All the oxygen fled her lungs.

  Oh, God. She began to shake. Emily was really, truly gone. She wasn’t coming back, and no matter why it had happened, Tara hadn’t been able to stop her.

  “You already had your fifteen minutes of fame after Colin,” Lauren said, driving the knife deep. “How much attention do you need, anyway?”

  Fame? More like infamy. A flood of anger drove away her tears. “You think that’s why I’m doing this? For attention?”

  “I think if you care about your family at all, you’ll respect their wishes for privacy.” A beep signaled the call had ended.

  She stared at the phone, her mind churning. Lauren always knew exactly which buttons to push to trigger Tara’s anger and insecurities.

  A text message flashed on the screen from Annette Collier, the reporter whose house was down the next path. Sorry for the late notice, but I need to cancel our appointment. I’ll be in touch to reschedule.

  And wasn’t that the cherry on top of a shit sundae? Tara was literally steps away.

  Whatever. For all she knew, the woman was in serious pain or had some kind of medical complication. Surely, Annette wouldn’t have cancelled at the last minute without a good reason. After all, she’d been the one to initiate contact.

  When she had called to ask for an interview, Tara had expected to meet her at a coffee house, or at the newspaper offices, but the reporter had recently undergone ankle surgery and preferred to work out of her home office while recovering.

  Given that Annette Collier was well known and respected, Tara had agreed. It also didn’t hurt that Tara had been a fan of the former Olympic gold-medallist as a kid. For many years after the 1996 games, she had tried to follow in the woman’s footsteps. She never became a great gymnast, but she’d learned enough to earn a spot on her high school’s cheer squad. So, when Annette called, Tara had been beyond excited to meet her childhood hero.

  Extra bonus—that her house was right around the corner from Tara’s favorite donut shop. Every Monday, she’d unknowingly been parking down the street and passing the whitewashed brick row house with its overgrown rose bushes on her way to pick up treats before work.

  Removing one glove, Tara swiped the message to respond. Should she—

  “Oof.” Her legs slid out from under her and she landed on her butt. Hard. Momentum carried her all the way back until her head thudded against the crisp, wet grass.

  She blinked in shock and sat up. Goddamned ice.

  Previously hidden from view by a large evergreen bush, a woman appeared on the walk, head down, focus on her phone. Before Tara could shout a warning, the blonde tripped right over Tara’s legs and hit the ground on her hands and knees.

  “Ouch,” the woman said. “What the fuck?” Her voice carried a hint of the South.

  “Sorry.” Tara said, pulling in her legs. “I slipped.”

  Cold from the sidewalk seeped through her dress and she shivered as she rose to her knees. Ouch. A broken branch had scraped her leg in the fall, making it throb right along with her tailbone.

  Twisting to view her backside, she sighed. Her jacket and red dress were damp and covered in salt dust from the snow-melt applied to the sidewalk.

  Fantastic.

  The blonde next to her pushed to her feet. “Whoa.” She put one gloved hand on the ground.

  “Are you okay?” Tara asked.

  The woman nodded, took a deep breath, and straightened. “I’m fine. Are you all right?”

  “I think so. Just embarrassed.”

  Tara’s bag lay on its side spilling its contents onto the grass like vomit. She stood on her now-scuffed Jimmy Choo knee boots that she’d paid far too much for on a discount fashion site, and surveyed the mess.

  A cell phone lay on the sidewalk, its screen cracked. She scooped it up and held it out. “Is this yours?” She would have expected the woman to have a newer phone model given the price of her gorgeous Saint Laurent bag and Burberry coat, but people were weird about technology. “I hope it still works.”

  “Damn.” The woman scowled at the phone. “Let me check.” Tugging off slim leather gloves to reveal manicured nails painted a tasteful mauve, she shoved them into her pocket and took the phone. After tapping out the pass code, she smiled on a breath of relief. “It still works.”

  “Oh, good.” Tara crouched to gather her things.

  The woman did the same. “Let me help you.”

  “Thanks. Just throw it all in. I’ll sort it out later.” Tara’s tote had cost a pretty penny, but the blonde clearly lived on a completely different socioeconomic plane.

  As much as she loved high fashion, she refused to be jealous. She bought what she loved, lived within her means, and was only responsible for herself. Some people took lavish vacations or bought boats or luxury cars.

  Tara preferred designer shoes and purses.

  Not to project wealth, but because they made her feel good.

  Together, she and the other woman retrieved the detritus of Tara’s life: a tube of her favorite-color lipstick, pepper spray, a small notebook, her wallet, several ball point pens, and a tampon. “Thank you.” Tara tried in vain to brush the salt from her clothing and to smooth out her damp hair. “Do you know if Annette is okay?”

  “What do you mean?” The blonde looked up from her own grooming. She had to be in her late forties, and was still beauty-queen gorgeous.

  Tara could only hope to age so well. “Weren’t you just at her house?”

  Bright blue eyes focused up the concrete walkway that led to the old row house. “Yes, but I was checking on my brother’s dog in the basement unit. Annette lives in the main house.”

  “Oh.” Tara hadn’t consciously noticed the bark of a small dog coming from somewhere in the house until now. Turning in a circle to see if they’d missed anything, she plucked her phone from the grass and wiped it on a dry spot on her coat. When she held it up to her face, the phone unlocked. Thank God.

  A school bus and several cars passed by on the street, but now that she and the blonde were standing, no one paid them any attention.

  Digging through her purse, Tara found a pack of tissues. She offered one to the woman, who declined.

  “Have a good day.” The blonde turned on her heeled boots and strode toward Wils
on Boulevard.

  “You too.” Tara cleaned up her knee as much as possible and made another attempt at setting herself to rights before carefully picking her way over the icy sidewalk toward the donut shop. Her boots and jacket had taken the brunt of the damage, but any chance of showing up for work looking professional and polished were blown.

  On the bright side, neither she nor the other woman had broken any bones or ended up with a concussion. She could reschedule with Annette. She was on her way to buy donuts. The day was looking up.

  Ten minutes after eight, Tara swept into the office on high-heeled boots and gave Jeff Patarava a harried smile that made him a little lightheaded before she hung her jacket on a coat rack near the door.

  “Good morning.” She circled the large mahogany desk that greeted visitors to Steele Security’s offices and plopped her large blue purse into a file drawer.

  “Morning.” He frowned at her mussed hair and the damp, wrinkled skirt of her dress. And was that a scrape on the side of her knee? “Are you okay?”

  He’d never once seen her with a strand of silky black hair out of place, or looking anything less than perfect. Not even after facing down Mars. Despite her short stature, all that beauty and poise and energetic perfection in one little package was as intimidating as a boot camp training instructor on the first day of Basic.

  “Fine, thanks.” Tara stopped her progress toward the break room, carrying a bag emblazoned with the Dillman’s Donuts logo. “I was heading to a meeting in Arlington when I slipped on the ice right in front of another woman. We both went down.” Tara gestured to the salt smeared across the rear of her dress.

  “Jesus. You’re lucky it wasn’t worse.” People broke arms, got brain injuries, even died from falls on the ice.

  “I know. We both were.” Tara sighed. “Unfortunately, the reporter cancelled when I was seconds from her door.” She put on a false smile and shrugged. “Mondays, am I right? At least we have sugar. And coffee.”

  He nodded and his lips twitched. God, she was perfect inside and out. How had some guy not snatched her up by now?

  Jeff pointed to her knee. “Did you know you’re bleeding?”

  She frowned and glanced down, her shoulders sagging on an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll go clean up. You should have a donut. Don’t make my sacrifice in vain.” She held out the bag. “But don’t touch the chocolate crunches. They’re mine.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He couldn’t hold back a smile as he took the donuts and entered the break room. Somehow she always managed to pull him out of his dark moods. No one had coaxed more smiles out of him in the last two months.

  It was disconcerting, really. He ate half a maple donut in one bite, enjoying the burst of sugar on his tongue. He had to find joy where he could these days.

  Passing the open bathroom door, Jeff’s stomach tumbled and he froze. Tara stood in profile with one foot on the toilet lid as she applied a bandage to her knee, her long hair hiding her face. The hem of her dress had slid back to reveal a whole lot of skin.

  Far more than Jeff could handle.

  Or had a right to see.

  He turned away and stuffed the rest of the donut in his mouth as he emerged into the lobby. Tara was not for him, but damn if she didn’t tempt a man to wish otherwise.

  “We have donuts?” Kurt Steele asked, closing the front door behind him and hanging his coat next to Tara’s.

  Jeff had about four inches on the owner of Steele Security, but Kurt probably had an extra twenty or thirty pounds of muscle packed onto his broad frame.

  “Monday always calls for donuts,” Tara said, sweeping into the room, her flawless appearance restored from the shoulders up.

  Kurt strode toward the break room. “I thought you liked working here.”

  “For a slave-driver like you?” Her dark eyes glinted with mischief.

  The boss smirked, then stopped in his tracks, diverging from his course to drop his messenger bag at the foot of the desk. “What happened?”

  She waved away his concern with a slender hand. “I slipped on the ice, but I’m fine. It’s just a scrape.”

  “You sure? You want me to take a look?”

  If Jeff didn’t know the former PJ—Air Force pararescueman—was devoted to his girlfriend Caitlyn, he might think Kurt was hitting on his own business manager. More likely his offer was a habit of his medical training. Most of the other guys at Steele had been PJs too, which was handy. Jeff was rarely far from someone who could patch him up if needed. Luckily, so far, he hadn’t needed.

  Tara shook her head with an indulgent smile. “It’s not a PJ scrape, it’s a normal-person scrape. I’m seriously fine.”

  Kurt chuckled and held up his hands. “Okay.” Turning to Jeff, he said, “Give me a few minutes.”

  “Sure.” Jeff was early for their meeting and Todd hadn’t arrived yet.

  Todd Brennan tended to skate in just under the wire every time. The redhead also had no filter, but he was a solid operator.

  Kurt Steele had put together a good team, mostly made up of former Air Force special operations, to provide personal and corporate security, along with security assessments and penetration testing—pen tests—for their clients. Jeff almost hated that he’d have to leave them. One thing he’d missed since separating from the Air Force was the strong sense of team and camaraderie, knowing there were people you could trust to have your back no matter what. Steele filled that void.

  But this job was merely a means to an end. Jeff had higher priorities.

  Tara raised the shade covering the floor-to-ceiling window behind her desk to reveal an amazing view of the National Mall stretched out like a faded green carpet from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol. In a few weeks, the cherry blossoms would be in full bloom and crowds would swarm the Tidal Basin, but she’d told him it would be months before the larger trees lining the reflecting pool earned their green coat.

  She looked up from behind her desk and gave him a smile that hit him like a warm summer breeze.

  Stop it. He generally preferred the outdoorsy, low-maintenance, athletic type, but something about Tara made him want to dishevel her sleek hair, wipe away the perfect makeup, and strip her out of her power clothes.

  Jesus, what was wrong with him? Even if he could get involved with a woman right now, he knew better than to hook up with someone from work.

  She disappeared into the break room and returned a few minutes later, mug in hand, somehow walking steadily on the stilts she called shoes. Even in heeled boots, she was more than a foot shy of his six-four. Was the height boost really worth what looked like torture?

  For a fleeting moment, she let down her guard. Her face appeared drawn and tired, her entire demeanor dialed down and somehow harder, more brittle than it had been before her sister’s death. Understandably, she’d lost a bit of her infectious glow.

  Which did nothing to dampen his attraction.

  “How’s your hand?”

  She looked down and curled her left hand into a fist. “Still a little sore, but nothing serious.”

  “You holding up okay?” he asked. Christ, really? He shook his head. “Never mind. Stupid question.”

  “No.” She crossed the lobby and placed her fingers on his forearm briefly, branding his flesh. “It’s fine. I appreciate you thinking of me.”

  He nodded dumbly. Why the hell did she have this effect on him?

  “I think I’m somewhere between anger and depression, and fighting like hell not to sink too deep.” She grimaced and smoothed her skirt. “Sorry. TMI.”

  “Not at all. Losing someone close to you is tough.”

  She nodded and stared at him for a moment, her feminine scent hitting him low in the gut. Since he’d started at Steele, Jeff had mostly managed to keep his distance from her, trying to avoid this buzzing under his skin that started whenever she came near.

  “Yeah, well…” She shrugged. “Life goes on, and I can’t just stay home staring at the wall because I’m sad. That’s
not healthy.”

  Exactly. That was half the reason he was here. That and money. But how did she manage to stay so upbeat, to compartmentalize her pain? He wished he could steal some of that positivity from her. Some days it took everything in him not to lose himself in a bottle.

  “Do you talk it out with anyone?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  “My best friend Jenna. She understands loss better than anyone I know. But she’s pregnant and due to pop any day now, so I’m trying not to add to her stress level.” A little line appeared between Tara’s brows. “Do you need someone to talk to? I’m a good listener.”

  She perched next to him on the sofa and Jeff had to force himself not to move away. And to start breathing again.

  “Me?” he asked. “I’m good.” Liar, liar.

  Her espresso-brown eyes searched his and the furrow between her brows deepened. He held her gaze without flinching until she sighed and folded her hands in her lap.

  He broke eye contact to glance at the door. Where the hell was Todd?

  “I wanted to thank you again,” she finally said, twining her fingers together.

  “For what?”

  “For helping me with Mars.”

  Jeff scowled, not wanting to relive that day. He’d nearly gone out of his mind listening while Tara let that dickwad rip her clothes off, waiting for her to say the fucking magic words already. By the time he kicked in the door, he’d wanted to separate the bastard’s head from his shoulders.

  “You did all the work,” Jeff said, mostly managing to keep his voice even.

  She gave an exasperated shake of her head. “Not true. We’ll never know if I could have escaped on my own, but knowing you were there gave me the confidence I needed to go through with it. That’s everything.”

  When she looked at him like that, he thought he could probably leap a fucking mountain.

  “What we did doesn’t bring her back, but it feels good to know we’ve made a difference. Not only justice for Emily, but maybe some of those other girls…” Her voice trailed off and her lips rolled between her teeth as she gazed out the window.