Chapter Two
Dalton Remington, US marshal, parked on the tree-lined residential street and shut off his vehicle.
He’d recognized Adamson’s name the second the assignment to protect the judge came down.
He’d almost beat the local cop cruiser to the scene since he’d been outside of her neighborhood having dinner alone on his way home from court.
Houston PD exited his vehicle first. Dalton was only a couple steps behind.
Blakely Adamson was a dead ringer for a young Jessica Biel, bangs included.
Except that Blakely was even more beautiful, in his opinion.
Seeing her again was a jolt. The last time, they’d been arms and legs in a tangle in the sheets during the best weekend of his life.
Until they broke the rule they’d agreed on at the outset: no discussion of personal lives.
On Sunday morning, before checkout time at the Galveston house rental, she’d asked what he did for a living over breakfast in bed.
She’d joked that he had law-enforcement swagger and then followed up by asking if he was Dallas PD because she thought she saw something of his with the logo in the back seat of his car.
His response had sent the covers flying. He’d never seen someone get out of bed and dress so damn fast a firefighter would be jealous.
Blakely had sped off, and that was it. They hadn’t exchanged numbers, so he’d left it at that. Disappointed didn’t begin to describe his mood after she’d made a beeline for the door. There were a lot of people who refused to date anyone in law enforcement due to the dangerous nature of the job.
Now, he suspected he knew the reason she’d bolted.
It wouldn’t be considered professional for a judge to date someone from the US Marshals Service, considering he could be assigned to protect her.
Though, she didn’t look much like a stuffy judge while wearing form-hugging athletic wear.
The purple sports shirt that fit like a second skin and coordinated leggings highlighted a body meant for making love slowly on Sundays and breakfasts in bed.
He shelved the thought, considering the feeling wasn’t mutual.
The temptation to write down her plate number had been strong as she’d driven away weeks ago. Not now. Dalton had never chased anyone. His pride wouldn’t allow him to start anytime soon no matter how deep their connection had been.
So deep she couldn’t get away from you fast enough, dude!
Blakely’s gaze widened as it settled on his face, but panic seemed to win out.
Scanning the area, Dalton didn’t like the judge standing on the sidewalk, exposed. There were too many places for a perp to hide, get off a shot with a rifle.
“Let’s move this inside,” Dalton said to her. No need for introductions, and there was no time for courtesies while she was in danger.
“No,” Blakely quickly countered. “I need to call my sister and search for my nephew.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Dalton stated. “Someone assaulted you, and it’s my job to keep you safe, Your Honor.”
“Blakely,” she said, standing her ground. “But you already knew that, Dalton.”
After a brief rundown of the situation, Blakely moved to the driver’s side of her vehicle and retrieved her cell.
She held it up toward Dalton and the officer who identified himself as Roger Nordegren.
Normally, Dalton might ask if the man was related to Tiger Woods’s ex-wife, but there was a time and place for a sense of humor. This was neither the time nor place.
“There’s been a situation, Bethany,” Blakely started. He remembered mention of a twin, but something about not identical. “When you get this message, come to my home, okay? Just come here, and I’ll explain everything.”
She ended the call and turned toward Dalton. “Voice mail,” she said as though that explained everything.
He wasn’t a parent, but a missing child was unimagin-able.
His heart went out to the parents and to Blakely, who looked so tense her muscles might snap.
Understandable, under the circumstances.
He thought about what he’d asked her to do a couple of minutes ago.
Bad move. All he had to do was put himself in her situation to realize he’d wasted his breath.
He wouldn’t go inside either if he had a missing nephew out there, not to mention if that child had been in his care.
“What’s your nephew’s name?” he asked.
“Chase,” she supplied and then gave a quick description as she pulled up a recent photo on her phone.
The look of horror on her face along with the pleading in those honey-brown eyes of hers made it impossible to stay frustrated with her for the disappearing act in Galveston a month and a half ago.
If he’d known she was a judge back then, he would have taken a hard pass on the fling.
First of all, she looked way too young and hot to be a judge in the first place.
Since they hadn’t exchanged personal information other than their real names, he had no idea how old she was or where she lived.
Wasn’t that the point of a weekend fling?
But Dalton didn’t typically engage in sex-for-sex’s-sake encounters. Meeting Blakely had made him believe in twin flames.
Dalton cleared his throat before he tripped down Sentimental Lane. He needed to get over himself and the sting that had come with her rejection to find the missing boy.
“You go east, and I’ll take west,” Blakely said, pointing in opposite directions.
“No, ma’am,” Dalton disagreed. “Until the perp is caught, I’m your shadow.”
“I’ve wasted enough time standing here,” she said, grabbing her handbag out of her vehicle.
“Wallet still intact?” he asked, motioning toward the bag.
On a frustrated sigh, she opened it and checked credit cards, ID and cash. “All here.”
He had to rule out attempted robbery so they could move on. He glanced over at the beat cop. “You got that, right?”
“Yes, sir,” the cop immediately responded before calling in the search for the missing kid and alerting his supervising officer of a perp on the loose.
With not much of a description to go on, locating the perp, let alone identifying him, would be the equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack.
“Your nephew might not be far,” he said to Blakely. “He might be too scared to come out of a hiding place.”
She nodded as her pulse pounded at the base of her neck. Her dilated pupils and quick, uneven breathing told him an adrenaline rush thumped through her.
“Start looking in the shrubs, okay?” he said to her.
“Got it,” she confirmed, immediately moving to the nearest greenery.
“Okay if I stay out here and search?” the older gentleman who’d introduced himself as John Bowman asked.
“We can use all the help we can get,” Dalton confirmed. “Why don’t you start across the street?”
“Yes, sir,” Mr. Bowman said with a salute. Other neighbors came out to see what the commotion was all about. Dalton enlisted them to check their shrubs first, then any other possible hiding place a seven-year-old could squeeze into, including unlocked vehicles or boat tarps.
All told, there were a dozen folks out searching for Chase, who was likely to be scared out of his young mind at this point. He might only respond to his aunt’s voice, or not even hers depending on how traumatized he was from witnessing the attack.
Taking a moment to examine the scene while it was fresh, he noted the hole in the lawn-and-leaf bag where a knife had been drilled in.
Much of the contents were now strewn all over the driveway.
He searched for the knife, but the perp must have been clear-minded enough to pick it up before he disappeared.
The scene itself fit the description of what went down according to Blakely. Setting aside his personal feelings about the judge was something Dalton was good at doing. He shoved them down deep, then locked them there. No need to let those rise to the surface again.
Dalton would handle the protection detail and then move on, no matter how much he wanted to ask what he’d done so wrong that Blakely couldn’t get out of his Galveston rental fast enough.
* * *
Blakely tried to steady her voice as she called out for Chase. Maybe he would feel safe enough to come out if she could manage a calm, soothing tone. The thought of telling Bethany that her son was missing knocked the wind out of Blakely. It was horrific enough that he’d had to witness the attack.
What if Ski Mask got to Chase?
Hot, burning tears welled in her eyes. No. That didn’t happen. Chase ran. He got away in time.
Panic gripped her with fingers that squeezed so hard her ribs might crack. The simple act of breathing hurt as she dropped down on all fours and crawled along the sidewalk in front of her neighbor’s house.
She needed to think like a seven-year-old. And fast.
What did Chase like to do the most? The answer came immediately. Tents. He loved to climb in tents or find the smallest hiding places.
The trunk of her sedan? Could he have climbed in from the back seat? Would he know it was possible? Would he figure out how?
She popped to her feet and ran toward her vehicle while jamming her hand inside her handbag in search of the key. Her fingers closed around the key fob. She pressed the third button down, the trunk release. It automatically opened by the time she reached it.
Heart in her throat, she looked inside with a prayer Chase would be curled up playing his Switch—which was missing from the back seat—with the sound on mute.
Nothing.
How was she going to tell her sister that the light of her life was gone? Missing? Abducted?
To what end? Revenge?
Ski Mask wanted her. Would he kidnap Chase to get back at her?
Bethany, call me back.