Chapter Twelve
Dalton had his weapon drawn before he exited Blakely’s chambers. He slipped out to the small reception area and flattened his back against the wall. Slowly, purposefully, he made his way toward the door leading to the hallway.
Stopping next to the door, he listened. A list of folks who might be at the courthouse late on a Sunday ran through his mind. Maintenance. Custodial. Another judge. Security guard.
Yes, it dawned on him that word could have spread about the judge’s attack. Law enforcement circles ran small, sometimes shockingly small. It was another reason a relationship wouldn’t be a good idea, especially now that he’d been assigned to protect her.
Approaching thirty had him questioning how much he loved his job despite what he’d said to her at the hospital.
A growing piece of him missed working the paint horse ranch alongside his family members.
He was realizing how lonely it could be moving to a new city where he worked much of the time.
He volunteered for extra duty in order to fill his days.
Now, he was starting to wonder why. He’d had an independent streak a mile long growing up. Was he getting softer as he got older?
The clank of keys on a key ring sounded on the opposite side of the door. Could be custodial. Or security.
His truck was registered to him personally. It had been the vehicle he’d been driving when the protection assignment had come in. Security might red-flag his truck if they’d driven by.
The business end of his gun aimed at the door, he held steady as he waited to see if the door handle moved or a key slid into the lock.
There would be a second or two for him to identify himself as a marshal before a decision to shoot might have to be made.
Dalton had been forced into a position of discharging his weapon on multiple occasions.
He never took it lightly that one of his bullets could end a life.
Criminal or not, everyone’s right to live was respected by Dalton.
Several seconds passed without another sound on the other side of the door. It felt almost like a standoff. But did the person out there even suspect that someone could be on the other side of this door?
His logical side kicked in, reminding him there were a whole lot of reasons someone might stop. The first of which was to read and respond to a text. There were other reasons. Like the person could be cleaning.
Being in law enforcement had tainted him in many ways. It made him suspicious of everyone and everything. It made him sit in restaurants facing the door so no one could sneak up on him. And it made him snap to worst-case scenarios.
Silence stretched on for what felt like an eternity. Patience won during times like these. Lucky for him, his stubborn streak engaged.
And then he heard someone whistling. He dropped down to check the crack underneath the door. The small sliver offered enough of a view to lead him to believe someone from the custodial department was doing his job.
On a slow exhale, he pushed to standing and returned to Blakely once he was certain the man had moved down the hallway.
“False alarm?” she asked before setting a Sig Sauer on top of her desk. Even from here, seven feet away from her, he could see her hands trembling. Did she believe she could steady herself enough to hit a mark? A thump of adrenaline could cause her to shoot the wrong person. Or miss entirely.
“Looks like it,” he said, keeping an ear toward the hallway. “Now that you have a name, do you think we should head out?”
“To go where?” she asked. “My home isn’t safe any longer.”
“We should have packed an overnight bag,” he admitted.
“I have court in the morning,” she said. Her stomach picked that moment to growl.
His place was a mess. Laundry was piled on the floor in his bedroom. His normal chores were put on hold once the call came in. Still, his apartment was safer than going home. “I have a spare bedroom. Can’t promise much in the way of comfort, but—”
“No, thanks,” she said, cutting him off.
“Do you have a better idea?” he asked, trying his level best to hide the fact his ego was bruised by the express rejection.
“I should probably stay at Bethany’s house,” she said. “I’d like to be there for Chase, especially in the morning before he’s taken to school. It’s been a hard weekend for him and…” It seemed to dawn on her that a murderer was stalking her. She shook her head. “That’s a bad idea, isn’t it?”
“Not completely,” he reassured her. “Chase probably does need you.”
“But I could be bringing a murderer to his doorstep,” she said.
“He could end up in the hospital like Bethany. If she hadn’t been at my house and we weren’t on the couch this morning, she—” The helpless look she shot him was quickly followed by her squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin up.
“I know what you’re going to say. I can’t think like that.
But wouldn’t you if the situation was reversed? ”
Dalton started to speak but bit his tongue instead.
After giving reality a few seconds to kick in, he said, “My initial response is no, but that’s just the US marshal talking.
As a human being who loves his family and would do anything to protect them if they needed protecting, I would blame myself just like you’re doing right now.
” He paused for a beat. “It still wouldn’t be true, but I’d do the same. ”
She took in a deep breath and smiled.
“Do you know how to use that weapon?” he asked, motioning toward the Sig.
“I’ve been to the shooting range,” she admitted. “Can’t say that I’m an expert marksman, but I’ve taken a couple of classes.”
“Where was it?”
Blakely motioned toward a drawer. “I keep it locked inside my desk. It’s just for emergencies.”
“Do you want to lock it up before we head out?” he asked. “I can take you anywhere you want to go.”
A surprising helpless look crossed her features for a split second before she recovered. “I have no idea where that is.” She threw her hands up.
“Since you don’t want to go to my place, I could see if I can call in a favor or request a safe house,” he offered.
“No, no,” she repeated. “Your place is fine if the offer still stands.”
“I can make a mean steak,” he said.
“I remember.”
“Does that sound good?” he asked. “We can pick up a couple of ribeye on the way home.”
“Okay,” she said, tension lines forming around her mouth—a mouth that had burned against his a little while ago. “If you don’t mind cooking. Because we could pick up something to take back, or I can order something for delivery.”
“I don’t mind,” he reassured her.
It was probably more of his bruised ego talking, but he didn’t like the fact her law professor had tracked her to the hospital.
He must have believed that he would find her lying in the bed instead of her sister.
He understood keeping up professional connections in a small world.
But showing up at the hospital made Dalton believe the professor might be interested in more.
Blakely wasn’t na?ve, but he also didn’t think she realized how desirable she was or how interesting she was to talk to.
Dalton didn’t do long talks after sex, and yet he had with her.
They might have kept professional details out of the picture, but they’d discussed everything from favorite foods to favorite colors.
He didn’t do that either. He didn’t get too personal with the women he spent time with.
Dinner and a movie, their pick on both counts.
Walks in the park. One of the women he’d dated had been more into fitness than him.
But his abs had never looked better than when they were together because her favorite activity was working out at the park.
He didn’t argue. The workouts were intense.
The sex was decent. But when he had to fight with the mirror for her attention, he’d drawn the line.
Then, there’d been the hairdresser who’d tried to convince him to shave the sides of his head and leave a thick patch on top.
Not quite a mohawk or mullet. Definitely not him.
He’d learned early on to walk away from anyone who saw him as someone they could change.
She’d been into fashion and the latest trends while he’d been content to watch a game on his day off.
Lately, though, he was starting to feel like he was missing out on something.
He blamed his family. All three of his cousins had found the loves of their lives.
Until recently, he hadn’t believed in such a thing.
He and his brother, Camden, were the lone holdouts.
Or, maybe the lone missing outs. He couldn’t be certain which one.
Or had it been his time with Blakely that had changed his mind? Opened him to new possibilities?
* * *
“Ready?” Blakely said after clearing her throat while she closed and then locked the gun drawer.
“Mind if I step into the hallway to make sure no one is out there?” Dalton asked.
“Go for it,” she said as she closed her laptop and then rounded the desk. She’d bought the Sig never in a million years expecting to have to use it one day. It was meant to be insurance. And like most policies, no one ever intended to need to cash them in before they were good and ready.
She wasn’t ready to shoot someone. Being around guns at all ushered her back to that chilly Sunday morning when Eric, her fifteen-year-old ex-boyfriend, had shown up at her home wild-eyed and blank-faced. Distant. Like he’d gone somewhere far away mentally, and no one could reach him again.
She remembered his anger the moment he’d jumped her and put the sharp blade to her throat. He’d held her head back and threatened to call her sister outside so Bethany could watch as he sliced Blakely from ear to ear.
Somehow—she could never remember the exact details—she’d managed to drop down and avoid having her throat sliced. Her forehead was another matter. That had been cut while she’d fought Eric. He’d been strong. Stronger than she remembered.
“Hey,” Dalton said to her, breaking through the memory and bringing her back to the present. “Are you all right?”
“To be honest, Dalton, I’m not real sure that I’ll ever be all right again, but I’m going to do what I always do.”
“What’s that?” he asked.
“I’m going to keep on keeping on, no matter who tries to stop me or what bastard thinks they can take me out,” she said, pulling on all her strength.
After Eric, she’d promised herself that no one got to make her feel weak again.
No one got to make her scared of her own shadow again.
And no one got to take away her sense of safety and security again.
“If Johnny Spear wants to come for me, he better be ready for a fight.”
“Good,” he said to her. “Because that’s exactly the person I wanted to get to know more in Galveston that weekend. And since we’ll be spending a lot of time together until this case is resolved, I hope to see more of that fight in you.”
“Do you have any regrets?” she asked before adding, “Tell me honestly.”
“About us?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Yes,” she managed to say.
“I think it’s unfortunate we met when we did,” he said. “And if I could turn back time, I’d rewind the clock and do things a whole lot differently.”
“That’s probably good,” she said, his words the equivalent of a knife through the center of her chest. Despite the heat in the kiss they’d shared, which to be fair, might have been more on her side than his, he seemed to have a lot of regret when it came to her.
It was good. It might keep them from making another mistake—though, she couldn’t bring herself to categorize that weekend as a bad thing.
Time waited for no one. It moved on. And she needed to move on with it.
They’d shared a moment in the past. Key words being in the past. Today was a new day, and she needed to get with the program no matter how strong the pull was to this man or how damn good he smelled when they were close.
She’d memorized his woodsy and spicy all-male scent.
Her fingers had mapped the lines and curves in his back.
“Do you think so?” he hedged.
“I believe everything turned out the way it should have,” she quipped, masking the hurt she felt in his words.
In order to keep herself safe, she had to keep everyone else at arm’s length.
Since Eric, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down with anyone.
Even her relationship with Bethany changed after that day.
Bethany became needier, and Blakely stepped even more into a parenting role.
Did she have regrets?
The short answer was yes. But since she didn’t dwell on the past or mistakes, she pulled herself up by her bootstraps and moved on.
Except when it came to Dalton. For some reason, a reason she didn’t want to acknowledge or examine, she couldn’t seem to move on.
The recent kisses they’d shared were right up there with the best of her life.
No one had ever even come close to making her want to stick around or dig deeper into someone’s mind until Dalton.
Leaving him again was going to open those still-fresh wounds. Was there an alternative?