Chapter Four
“Keep your voice down or you’ll wake him,” Blakely whispered to her sister. She gave a quick rundown of the situation.
Bethany pushed through the door and then marched straight into the family room. Wild brown eyes scanned the space before landing on the sleeping boy.
Bethany couldn’t get to her son fast enough. She scooped him up, waking the sleepy boy.
“Mama,” Chase said as he wrapped his arms around his mother’s neck and buried his face in her hair.
“Where’s Greg?” Blakely asked as Dalton leaned against the wall.
“We had a fight,” Bethany explained as she clung on to her son like he was a life preserver, and her head was dipping underwater.
“Makes sense why you checked your phone,” Blakely reasoned as Dalton watched from the sidelines.
Bethany turned toward the front door and then startled when her gaze landed on Dalton. “Who is this?”
“My name is Dalton Remington,” he said before Blakely could. “I work for the US Marshals Service,” he added when her forehead wrinkled. “And I’d offer a handshake if yours weren’t already full.”
Blakely’s twin offered a pinched smile before she turned to her sister. “I’m taking Chase home. I’ll call you later.”
“Why not let him sleep here tonight?” Blakely asked, surprising her sister with the question.
“Is it safe?” Bethany asked.
“Safer than you getting back on the road this late,” Blakely pointed out. “Plus, I have new security cameras and a personal bodyguard.” She walked over and rubbed Chase’s back. “He’s already asleep. Why risk waking him when you can put him to bed here?”
“Greg will worry,” Bethany countered. And then a spark passed behind her eyes. “Maybe that’s not such a bad thing tonight.”
“What happened between the two of you?” Blakely asked.
“Nothing,” Bethany said, her body stiffening like she was tensing up to protect herself from a physical blow.
Blakely bit down on her bottom lip. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”
“We had a fight,” Bethany said. “Married couples argue.” Her gaze shot toward Dalton. “Are you married?”
“No, ma’am,” he said.
Bethany shook her head. “Call me ma’am and I look over my shoulder for my mother.”
“She’s dead,” Blakely said with a hollow cast to her voice that sent a nail through the center of his chest. He was starting to regret the pact they’d made in Galveston not to discuss their personal lives. Now more than ever, he wanted to know more about the off-limits judge.
“Doesn’t matter,” Bethany said. “You know what I mean.”
“Right,” Blakely conceded. “It wasn’t my intention to be defensive about our parents. Tonight has been hell.”
Bethany sighed. “Every worst-case scenario possible slammed into me after I heard your first message. All my thoughts went to something happening to Chase. It never once occurred to me that something might have happened to my big sister.” Bethany’s tense expression softened. “What happened to your face?”
“Put Chase to bed,” Blakely said. “I’ll open a bottle of wine.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to stay here?” Bethany asked before another glance at Dalton, searching for confirmation from a second source.
He gave a slight nod as her sister reassured her the home was safer than Fort Knox.
Bethany nodded before another glance in Dalton’s direction.
“I could use a drink.” Then, she disappeared up the back stairwell in the kitchen.
He had questions but didn’t figure it was his place to ask. So he joined Blakely in the kitchen as she pulled out a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “Can I help?”
“Sure,” she conceded like she’d just asked to borrow a thousand dollars, and he’d agreed to be her lender.
“Corkscrew is in that drawer over there.” She motioned toward the granite island and the row of drawers closest to him.
The all-white kitchen somehow managed to come off as modern and welcoming with the touches of green plants instead of sterile. The decor fit Blakely to a T.
Dalton moved over to the drawer and then located the metal opener.
Joining Blakely on the other side of the count-er, he stood close enough to smell her clean citrus and flowery scent—a scent like none other.
But he didn’t want to think about her unique traits despite seeing her pulse rise at the base of her throat when their fingers grazed as she handed over the chilled bottle.
“Do you want a glass?” she asked after clearing her throat.
He gave a small headshake, needing to be clear-minded in case the perp returned tonight. Plus, he didn’t need to relax and let his guard down again around Blakely. There was no logical reason to touch that hot stove twice.
Dalton removed the packaging on the wine bottle, revealing the cork.
This close, he was reminded of the four-inch scar hidden behind bangs.
Was that part of the reason she’d bolted?
There were other scars too. One just under her third rib.
He’d smoothed his fingertips along all the markings on her body.
But ran into a hard wall when he’d asked how she’d accumulated so many.
Dalton stabbed the pointed end of the corkscrew into the plug and twisted.
She’d muttered something about Krav Maga training, but unless she’d actually served time in the Israeli military, there was no reasonable explanation for her to have this many scars.
His ego tried to convince him that the marks were somehow related to why she’d bolted out the door. Were they?
Or had he done something wrong?
With effort, Dalton freed the cork from the bottle with a thmp sound.
“I should probably know what you prefer to drink after…”
“We weren’t there to talk about personal habits, remember?” he quipped, wishing he could reel those words back in after seeing the blow they landed. “Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Blakely stared at him. Her expression stopped him midsentence. “You’re right, though. We had an agenda that weekend that had nothing to do with getting to know each other. No use getting twisted up about the past.”
“Fresh start?” he asked, hoping she’d accept the verbal peace offering.
Blakely studied him. Those eyes piercing right through him. It took a helluva lot to unnerve Dalton. The judge’s accomplishment didn’t go unnoticed.
“Okay,” she said with reluctance in her voice as she set two wine glasses down in front of him.
“Do you mind pouring?” She held up shaky hands.
“I have serious doubts about my ability to steady my hands enough to get the wine in the glasses.” The moment of vulnerability that flashed behind her eyes shouldn’t warm his heart.
What the hell did it know? It had him itching to reach out and take her hands in his, offer comfort that wasn’t part of this assignment.
His mission was to keep the judge safe and alive until the perp was caught.
“Not a problem,” he answered. After the glasses were filled, she offered water or juice.
“Water’s good,” he said, thinking a cold beer would be better. Not an option under the circumstances, but better nonetheless. This also seemed like a good time to pepper her with questions while her sister was upstairs putting Chase to bed.
Blakely nodded as she moved to the cabinet to retrieve a glass. Her hip bumped into him as she passed by. Again, he had to ignore his body’s reaction to the beautiful and intelligent judge. “Do you have any idea who might want to harm you?”
“A better question might be who doesn’t,” she said with a frustrated sigh.
“Are you in a relationship?” he asked. He’d glanced at her ring finger the second he’d seen her again. At one point, he’d half convinced himself she must be married, but that was just his ego coming up with more excuses as to why she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.
“No.”
“Ended one recently?” he continued as he did his level best to convince himself this line of questioning was for professional purposes only.
Blakely stood at the fridge with her back to him, filling his glass with the waterspout on the door. The water stopped mid-fill. “No.” Her voice was low and a little too calm. “Unless you count that weekend.”
“Nope,” he said a little too quickly. “I don’t think it qualifies as more than damn good—”
“He’s asleep,” Bethany said as she hit the last couple of stairs leading into the kitchen.
Dalton had no idea why Blakely would want to live in a house of this size alone.
Leave it alone, Dalt. Her reason was her own business.
Maybe she intended to start a family soon.
Dalton involuntarily shivered at the thought as he joined Blakely at the fridge, fighting the urge to loosen his collar.
She handed over the water glass three-quarters of the way full.
For a split second, he thought having a family with someone like her might not be a death sentence.
Hold on there, Dalt. He banished the thought. Not yet thirty years old, he had plenty of time to think about tying the knot in the future. No reason to rush it now, especially because he still lived with the mental scars from his parents.
Had his mother’s disappearing act not long after his birth given him mommy issues?
He didn’t need a psychologist to confirm what he already knew.
Yes. Being rejected by your mother not long after you were born did that to a person.
Not to mention the fact she never once looked back.
The woman could be dead for all he knew.
One thing was certain. There was no reason to continue those bad genes or dump them on some unsuspecting kiddo.
Dalton’s father might have been a good person.
Hell, Dalton had been too young to make the determination himself, so he relied on his siblings and cousins.
They were convinced the man was close to sainthood.
Dalton hoped it was true for their sakes.
As for him? He’d learned to depend on himself so he didn’t and wouldn’t need anyone else.