Chapter Five
Dalton borrowed a spare key from a hook on the side of the kitchen cabinet, walked outside and locked the door behind him.
He made a trip around the perimeter in search of traces that Blakely’s attacker had returned now that the crime scene had cooled down.
So far, no sign of the twisted individual.
A list was forming in Dalton’s mind. He knew that she hadn’t broken up with anyone recently or been in fights with friends.
The way she’d said the word friends made him think she kept a close circle.
She didn’t strike him as the outgoing type, which was confirmed through her answers.
Basically, she worked and spent time with her sister’s family.
His mind went over the details of everything he’d heard so far, stopping at the fight that took place between Bethany and her husband.
Since the two were together, there was no way the husband could have attacked Blakely.
Plus, she very likely would have recognized her brother-in-law.
Curiosity had him wanting to know what Bethany and her husband had been fighting about earlier in the evening.
The investigator in him wanted to put together a timeline of events. Was it necessary?
That was always the question, wasn’t it?
These types of investigations commonly had a couple dozen offshoots.
Taking a wrong turn early on could let the trail go cold.
Cold cases were the most difficult to close.
There was a reason. A cold trail, lack of resources, not to mention lack of evidence meant perps walked around free to relocate, repeat their crimes or move on to bigger ones.
In this case, the perp told Blakely he wanted her.
He left her handbag alone. No money was missing.
He hadn’t tried to steal her vehicle—thankfully, because Chase had been in the back seat.
Carjackers had made off with children in similar circumstances.
Most were recovered healthy and in one piece, deemed an inconvenience and dropped off at the perp’s first opportunity.
A small few weren’t so lucky. He mentally shook his head at the senseless losses.
His cell buzzed, pulling him back to the situation at hand. After fishing the device out of his pocket, he checked the screen.
His heart skipped a couple of beats the second he realized the message came through on the family group chat.
This was, no doubt, an update on their grandparents.
Too much time had passed since both his grandparents landed in a coma after an automobile crash for him to expect good news.
A tiny sliver of hope was all he had left, and he intended to hang on to it despite the odds of either of them making a meaningful recovery.
Once again, time was the enemy.
After tapping his thumb on the notification and then verifying his identity with the facial recognition software, the long update filled the screen. His sister, Jules, was at the hospital.
According to the message, Grandpa Lor—short for Grandpa Lorenzo—had coded—again!—but was now in stable condition. A fresh wave of guilt for not being in the hospital at Grandpa Lor’s side struck like a prize fighter, cracking ribs in the center of Dalton’s chest.
A quick mental calculation weighing how miserable he would be if he took immediate leave, leaving Blakely to fend for herself should her attacker return, versus how miserable he was currently by not being at the hospital, added perspective.
Who did Blakely have to protect her?
A quick thought that she could possibly move in with her sister temporarily until law enforcement could be certain she’d be safe whipped through his mind like a breeze on a spring morning.
Leaving her wasn’t an option. Bethany and her husband had had a fight.
Marriage could be hard. Apparently, so difficult that a woman could leave her children less than a year after giving birth to her third.
And then the loss of a wife could break a man to the point he died.
Was that being fair about his parents’ situation? Who the hell knew. No one ever talked about his parents. Or, to his knowledge, ever tried to reach out to his mother for her side of the story. Anyone who could walk out on three young children without looking back already made her statement.
Fair point.
Dalton shoved the thought deep down inside, into the darkest reaches of his soul, before responding to the text. Do you need me to come?
Those tiny three dots indicating someone else was typing hit the screen.
Not now. Will keep you posted. K?
He typed a response that he would wait until called. Besides, he was up next once this assignment was over.
For now, he would leave the situation with his grandparents alone and deal with his own heavy heart.
K.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement to the left. For a split second, he thought about this being a decoy. However, the initial attack was alone. Signs pointed to the perp being someone who had a grudge against Blakely, an individual. It wasn’t likely he would have someone in the wings.
The moment of hesitation shoved aside, Dalton pulled his weapon from his shoulder holster and headed south in the direction of the stirring. Winds kicked up, causing him to question what he saw. Could have been leaves or a piece of debris floating past a tree trunk. Was he chasing thin air?
The snap of branches in the darkness said he was on the right track.
Something was out here. What? A stray dog?
Could be a coyote. Raccoons were nuisances out here, as were skunks.
The last thing he needed was to be sprayed, causing him to stink to high heaven.
Bobcats were a danger in these parts despite being in the city.
With the stealth and precision of movement of a jaguar, Dalton made it to the tree line and back fence of Blakely’s small property in less than a minute.
Whatever had been in her yard—and he was now certain some living creature had been here—was gone.
Giving chase meant moving farther away from the residence.
On balance, it was a risk he couldn’t take tonight.
Not in the dark. Not when the perp might have visited this site multiple times when planning an attack.
Rather than continue, he doubled back instead, pulse racing not from exertion but from stress and fear that he’d left the door open for the perp to attack once again.
The fear wasn’t rational. But then, fear never was. He knew, on some level, that he hadn’t gone far enough for the perp to double back, beat him to the house, break in and still catch Blakely off guard.
Besides, the perp had learned another point tonight. Blakely knew how to defend herself. She might have taken a few hard scrapes and will wake with a sore body and bruises tomorrow, but she’d fought the guy off. She’d escaped.
Would he use a different method now?
A long-distance shot? The thought of her sitting next to the window—a sitting duck—pushed his legs a little faster. By the time he reached the back door, he was breathing hard and his thighs burned.
As suspected, he saw her sitting at the table near the window as he neared the home. At the back door, he quickly entered and then relocked the door behind him.
“You might want to close those blinds,” he said as he joined Blakely and her twin.
A look of panic crossed Blakely’s features as her skin momentarily paled.
“I close those and someone could be standing on the other side without my knowledge.” She straightened her back and shoulders, giving her a royal bearing that shouldn’t form the word princess in his mind.
She had an elegant beauty to her when her chin came up in defiance of whatever or whomever stalked her.
Could Dalton keep her safe?
* * *
Blakely had known Dalton was heading outside to walk the perimeter.
She didn’t want to cause unnecessary panic.
Bethany had drained her wine glass and asked for a refill while explaining that marriages go through ups and downs.
However, her eyes told a different story.
Bethany might be able to convince others that she wasn’t concerned about her relationship, but Blakely could read her sister like the back of her hand.
They might not share exact DNA, but they’d lived in the same womb together, and it was clear that her sister had concerns about her husband. Bethany was holding back.
Chase hadn’t mentioned anything or seemed different in any way, which was a good sign that he had no idea what was really going on at home. At his age and with his innocence, he would likely blurt out any secrets. Which only proved he didn’t know any.
That had to be a good sign. Right?
“They can stay open,” Dalton said after a thoughtful pause.
Bethany bit back her third yawn in a matter of a minute.
“Why don’t you sleep with me in the main bedroom?” Blakely asked. “When Chase wakes up, it’s the first place he’ll head anyway.”
Bethany drained the rest of her second glass without noticing Blakely still hadn’t touched hers. “That’s probably a good idea.”
“Should I let Greg know you’re staying over?” Blakely asked when Bethany stood up and stepped away from her handbag without a second thought.
“Let him worry,” she said before heading up the back staircase.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Dalton said under his breath.
“They had a fight,” she said.
“Did she say what about?”
“Well, no,” Blakely responded before adding, “but it’s not uncommon for a married couple to disagree.”
“Exactly the reason I have no intention of ever willingly falling into that trap,” he muttered.
“Same,” she said quietly. He tilted his head and half smirked. Meaning, he must have heard her. Not that it mattered. Blakely’s marital status and views toward the institution had no bearing on the man. They’d had a fling, nothing more.
A little voice in the back of her mind argued against the idea of “nothing more.” Because the sex had been the best of her life, and she’d gone to sleep many nights since only to wake up thinking about how incredible he’d been.
How intelligent and funny he’d been. And how easy it had been to let her guard down in a few short hours with the stranger.
The term “stranger danger” applied to everyone outside of her inner circle—a circle that had precious few inside. Three, to be exact.
“We should probably get some sleep too,” Dalton said, cutting into her thoughts.
She started toward the front door. “I’ll see you out.”
He didn’t follow.
When she turned around to check, her heart gave a little flip at the sight of him. Dalton Remington stood there, leaning against the wall with thick, muscled arms folded across a broad chest. “Good try, Your Honor.”
“What are you thinking? That you’ll stay the night?” She shook her head. “I thought you were kidding about that.”
“No, ma’am.”
“I think we’re well beyond formalities, Dalton,” she snapped, not liking the change in tone.
“That may well be…Blakely,” he quipped, not budging from his spot. “But you have a shadow until this ordeal is over.” Before she could argue, he shook his head. “Let me do my job. This isn’t personal.”
Why were those words the equivalent of pinholes in a balloon? Pinholes that let all the air seep out, deflating the party favor.
Shoulders deflated like said balloon, Blakely conceded.
“Try not to look so disappointed that I’ll be sleeping under the same roof,” he stated, all cavalier. “You might hurt my feelings.”
Despite the horrific evening, Blakely laughed.
“That’s better,” he said with a self-satisfied smile that she wanted to wipe off his face. “See, that doesn’t hurt.”
“You’re not funny,” Blakely countered even though she found herself laughing even harder.
Dalton laughed too, and it shouldn’t be the sexiest sound she’d heard even though it was just that. Sexy. Dalton was sex in a bucket. He was also dangerous. As it was, her traitorous heart seemed to need the reminder.
A man like Dalton could smash down all the protective walls she’d built over the years. Walls that kept her heart from being shattered. Walls that kept her from having her head beat in. Again. Walls that kept the world out.
Blakely couldn’t risk it even though Dalton didn’t seem like the kind of person who would raise a hand toward anyone smaller or more vulnerable than him.
Somewhere deep inside, her conscious mind registered the fact she’d brought her hand up to her forehead, where her index finger traced the raised skin at her hairline.
No one ever got to make her feel weak and afraid again. But she would be smart and accept Dalton’s help. She wasn’t handing over her power so much as using all available resources at hand.
The bastard who’d sent her back to that place—even for a few seconds—of being scared and alone wouldn’t get away with it.
“Thank you for the offer of help, by the way,” she said to Dalton. “There’s a blanket and extra pillow in the ottoman. Hope you don’t mind sleeping on the couch since my third bedroom has been turned into my home office.”
“Fine by me,” he said. “Doubt I’ll get much sleep anyway.”
“Okay,” she said before getting out of the room, up the stairs, and as far away from the man as possible. Being in the same room with him alone made her fingers crave the way his hard muscles under silky skin felt.
Blakely cleared the sudden dryness in her throat. By tomorrow, the perp would be long gone or caught, and Dalton would walk out of her life forever.
Why was the thought no different than a stab wound in the heart?