Chapter 5 #2
A photo of the Holmes’s house filled the screen—her van parked front and center, logo glaring like a bullseye.
Be Careful Who You Let Into Your Home.
Clay’s stomach dropped.
“This is going to kill my business,” she whispered.
He sank into the chair across from her. “I’m sorry, Darby. I should’ve gotten to you faster.”
She didn’t respond. Just turned away, as if swallowing whatever words she didn’t trust herself to say.
He saw the truth in what she must be thinking.
He should have seen the danger sooner. If he had, the intruder might not have gotten away, and they would have the answers they needed about who had hired him and why.
He was no closer to figuring out who was behind this, and the countdown was on.
If they hadn’t solved this by the time her son returned home, he’d have to place them into hiding, meaning she might never be safe.
That was no kind of life for her or her child.
He glanced at a photo of Darby and David on the mantle. She held him in her arms, and they both laughed and smiled. She had a great smile. Clearly, her son was the most important thing in her life. It was up to Clay to protect them both from an unknown threat.
He had to do better. He would do better.
Protection detail didn’t mean standing around watching Darby’s every movement.
His job was to remain close to his protectee but blend into his environment.
Still, watching her work with the dogs, laughing and praising them, he couldn’t ignore the ache in his chest. That smile—genuine and unguarded—felt like sunlight after a long storm.
He wanted to see more of it. He needed to.
While she trained a black and white border collie, Clay finished hanging the outdoor lights he’d watched her start yesterday.
The job took less than an hour. He carried the empty tub toward the shed but paused when he saw her leading the dog to the kennel.
The smile had vanished, her shoulders sagging under invisible weight.
The joy had slipped away, just like that.
And man, he wanted to bring it back.
As he replaced the empty crate, he spotted a shelf that held a box labeled Christmas Tree—Living Room. An idea sparked. Maybe a bit of holiday normalcy would help. He hoisted the box onto his shoulder just as Darby hurried over.
“What are you doing?” she asked, eyeing the box.
“I figured we’d decorate a little. Something to welcome David home.”
She hesitated, but a flicker of emotion sparked in her eyes. Not quite a smile, but something warmer than the shadow she’d worn all day. “I’ll grab the ornaments.”
Inside, they worked in sync. Clay assembled the artificial tree while Darby unpacked boxes. The pre-strung lights clicked on, blinking in a soft, steady rhythm. It cast a warm glow across her features, and he caught himself watching her more than the tree.
“Have you ever had a real tree?” he asked, breaking the silence between them.
“A few times. Brent always wanted one, but the scent upset my allergies. David’s too. So since then, we’ve always had artificial ones.” She glanced his way. “What about you? Does your family like real or artificial?”
“Growing up, we always had a real tree. But I haven’t put up a tree in years.”
“What about your family? Do they still have one?”
“My mother died when I was a teenager. My father a few years ago. I have a sister with a family of her own. She invites me every year, but I rarely go.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why not? I’m sure they’d love to have you.”
He rarely talked about this—never on assignment—but something about Darby’s presence disarmed him. Her vulnerability made him want to match it. To meet her in that raw, unguarded place. “It reminds me too much of what I lost.”
“What does that mean?”
“I had a wife and a little girl, Olivia. She was only eighteen months, but she was my world.” He saw Darby’s face light up then she frowned again, obviously noting his use of the past tense.
“What happened?”
“Car accident. They were hit by a drunk driver and killed.” The words still tasted bitter on his tongue. But for once, it didn’t hollow him out.
“I’m so sorry, Clay.”
He didn’t like to think about losing them, since the pain was still too real.
But this time, that ache seemed to have dimmed a tiny bit.
“Jackie and I were high school sweethearts. We got married right after graduation. She encouraged me to follow my dreams and become a cop. I was away at training camp when the accident occurred. Anyway, after that, I had nothing but work. I applied to join the FBI and when I was accepted, I threw myself into the job.”
“You never remarried?”
He shook his head. Pulled an ornament from the box. Obviously, a child’s handmade photo frame made from popsicle sticks, a photo of a little boy glued inside. He held it up, and she smiled. “David?”
She nodded then took it from him and hug it on the tree. “He made this for me in Sunday school when he was five. I’ve hung it every year. In fact, he made most of my decorations for me.”
“You two are very close.”
“We are. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my child.”
He knew the sentiment. He’d felt the same way about Olivia from the moment he’d laid eyes on her. It still broke him that he couldn’t save her and Jackie. “Tell me about David. What kind of things does he like?”
Her face lit up as she spoke, her voice fuller than before.
“He’s eleven. He loves art and drawing and paper-mache.
Video games, of course. He’s a bit shy and introverted and he’s grown more into himself since his father’s addiction started causing so much trouble.
That’s why I was so thankful when the church offered this Christmas camp.
The last thing I wanted for David to do during the break was sit at home and dwell on the terrible things going on.
He and his father used to be close. Brent was a good husband and father once upon a time.
The end of our marriage pains me, and I think losing his dad has hurt David as much.
At the end, Brent never had time for him.
They used to go to ball games and movies and play board games.
They had fun together. Gradually, as Brent fell harder and harder into his addiction, all that came to an end.
I think David blames himself for that, and I can’t seem to get through to him that he’s not to blame for his dad’s problems or for the divorce. ”
“Eleven is a difficult age,” Clay said. “What about the camp? What do they do?”
“It’s at Silver Lake Campground. The church offers it for at-risk children, those without a strong father figure at home, for dysfunctional families and foster kids.
They have horseback rides, fishing, obstacle courses, and other outside activities for mild weather.
If it’s too cold, they have crafts and games inside.
The kids get lots of exercise and a chance to make friends.
I was thankful to them for including David, but he’s been struggling with homesickness.
His cabin chaperone is worried about him, and he keeps calling, wanting to come home.
I thought about bringing him home early until … ”
“Until you discovered your life was in danger.”
She nodded then added a handmade snowman ornament to the tree. “He’s safer there for the time being. But soon he’ll come home and back into the mess I’ve made of my life.”
He reached out and touched her arm. “Darby, none of this is your fault.”
“How many people do you know who have an enemies list?”
Actually, a lot of them. But that was from working undercover in organized crime, where making enemies was part of everyday life.
He understood what she meant, though. A kind, middle-class single mother shouldn’t be in danger, much less have multiple suspects who might be behind the threat. “You’re doing everything you can.”
“Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”
He stepped closer. “Darby, you’re doing more than most people would. You’ve held your family together as best you could. That’s saying something.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “My faith and David … they’re the only reasons I haven’t fallen apart.”
Something shifted inside Clay. Something steady and warm. He’d buried his faith with his family. But Darby? She clung to hers with both hands. And he admired her for it. He felt something for her.
Something real.
A car pulled into the driveway, a glare bouncing off the house and sweeping through the window.
Darby joined him at the curtain. “Sheraton PD,” she whispered. The tension inside her magnified. “What do you think they want?”
“We’ll find out.”
He opened the front door and a young officer greeted him. “Agent Walker, I’m Officer Massey of the Sheraton PD.”
Clay didn’t miss his use of the word agent. He’d given the officers at the scene of the break-in his name and number, but he hadn’t identified himself as a federal agent. Somehow, the chief must have uncovered his true identity.
“Chief Dean would like you to come in. He wants to ask you some questions.”
“What about?”
The officer shrugged. “He just said to bring you in.”
He glanced at Darby and saw fear in her eyes.
She didn’t trust the chief, but he still didn’t know why or what he’d done.
But Sheriff Malone didn’t trust him either, which gave Clay pause.
Malone seemed like an upright man, and he’d claimed Chief Dean had done some bad things.
Clay didn’t know if that meant he was involved in what was happening to Darby.
“Give me a sec,” he told Officer Massey.
He closed the door and turned to Darby. “I have no idea what this is about, so it’s hard for me to say whether you’d be safer here or with me at the police station.” At least there, other officers would be around. However, the chief could lock her up, and Clay couldn’t do anything about it.
She folded her arms. He saw her hesitation.
“I don’t want to go. I don’t trust them.”
He was fine with her making that decision.
“I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I’ll do my best to keep it short.
” He’d secured the house but that didn’t mean someone couldn’t get inside.
“Bring one of the dogs in. They’ll alert you if anyone gets near the house and it’ll be good protection for you.
Don’t be afraid to call me or 911 if something happens. ”
She nodded. “I’ll bring Hercules into the house. He’s very protective.”
He reached for her hand, and she gave it a squeeze, reassuring him that she would be fine. That was so like her. Strong and brave. Amazing. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Lock the door behind me.”
He grabbed his coat then opened the door. Officer Massey still stood there, waiting. But Clay wasn’t going to let the man haul him in like a criminal to a possibly corrupt chief of police. And he was going to have a way to leave when he wanted to. “I’ll drive myself.”
The officer objected, but Clay had made it halfway to his pickup. He sat inside, waiting, until the officer trudged back to his cruiser and led the way to the Sheraton Police Station.
God, please keep her safe until I can get back to her.
Darby bit her lip as she watched Clay’s truck back out of the driveway then take off down the road behind the police cruiser.
She locked the front door, making sure the deadbolt was engaged too then hurried to the backyard and brought all four dogs inside.
They barreled toward her, tongues lolling and tails wagging.
She ushered all four into the house—an unusual treat, but tonight wasn’t usual. Not even close.
The dogs wove around her legs, eager for attention. She used the distraction to squeeze in some training. It helped steady her nerves for a little while.
Clay hadn’t pressed her to go with him, and she was glad, despite the danger.
She didn’t trust Chief Dean. Suzanne had bragged to her that she had that man wrapped around her finger and could make him do whatever she pleased.
Then she’d proved it by convincing him not to arrest her for stealing and to discredit the homeowner’s video as fake … until it had disappeared.
No. Darby felt safer here, behind her own locked doors, with her trained dogs at her side, than surrounded by officers loyal to a corrupt chief.
After a few rounds of commands and reward-based training, she gave each dog a treat and let them stretch out on the living room floor. She usually didn’t allow that during training, but today, she’d bend the rules—for them and for herself.
She sat on the sofa, opened her laptop, and pulled up her bank statements.
She needed to call Scout, Fish, and Mace’s owners to arrange pickups.
With danger looming and her attention divided, she couldn’t keep the dogs any longer.
That meant issuing refunds, which her business couldn’t afford. Not now.
The numbers hit her like a punch—boarding fees gone, training paused indefinitely, and the fallout from Mia’s house still fresh. Her finances had already been teetering. This could push her over the edge.
She might have to dip into her inheritance just to stay afloat.
Thankfully, she’d already purchased David’s Christmas gifts.
Her cell phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen and saw it was from an unknown number. She hesitated. Could be a scam … or a new client. She couldn’t afford not to answer it.
“Mrs. Foster, this is Adam at your son’s camp.”
Jason was her son’s counselor. But she didn’t know the names of all the camp staff.
“I work with the riding program at Silver Lake Camp. Your son has been injured. He fell from a horse and possibly broke his leg. His cabin supervisor asked me to call you.”
“Jason?”
“Yes, ma’am. Jason. He said you can meet them at the hospital.”
Everything stopped. Her heart. Her breath. Her thoughts.
David was hurt.
“I’m on my way,” she said, grabbing a pen and scribbling down the hospital address. Her hands shook as she entered it into her phone’s GPS.
She made a quick call to Clay to let him know. When her call went to voicemail, she texted instead, letting him know what had happened and where she was going. She glanced at the message, praying he would respond right away. He didn’t. In fact, the app showed he hadn’t read it.
No time to wait for him to reply. He could meet her there when he’d finished with Chief Dean.
She kenneled the dogs again, apologizing to each of them under her breath, then ran to her van. Maybe it was better that he hadn’t answered her. Clay would want her to wait for him. To stay put.
The camp was an hour’s drive away, and her son was hurt. He needed her now.
She couldn’t wait.