Blake nodded. “Let me know when you’re ready to go down and I’ll sweep it for you. I’ll also let the marshals coming in for the next shift know to expect Paula and Miles tonight.” Paula Worthington was a prosecutor with a reputation that rivaled her father’s when it came to putting criminals behind bars. Her brother, Stan, worked as a parole officer while taking night classes toward his PhD in criminal justice.
“I’ll be about ten minutes, thanks.” Ben disappeared down the hall to the master bedroom. His wife, Lucy, had yet to make an appearance today. She often chose to stay squirreled away in her home office, working on her latest novel.
“You okay?” JoAnn asked. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, having just completed her perimeter check of the grounds. JoAnn’s short blonde hair curled around her cheeks in an attractive wind-swept style. With blue eyes and high cheekbones, she could have graced the cover of any magazine, yet had chosen to go into law enforcement. And while she’d made it clear she’d be fine with taking their partnership to a more intimate level, Blake found himself not interested. Right now, his only concern lay in finding his daughter without having to commit murder to do so.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Why?”
“You had a look on your face that I’ve never seen before.”
He nodded. “Just got a disturbing text. It’s nothing, though.”
She frowned. “Want to share?”
“No, but thanks.”
She blinked. “Okay.” And dropped it.
Guilt pierced him. JoAnn was a good woman and an excellent partner. And it was quite possible, the longer he kept his mouth shut, the more danger Rachel was in.
“Sorry, Jo. I just need to think for now. I may want to talk about it a little later.”
“No problem. All’s clear outside.” She walked into the den and crossed her arms. “There have been no more threats since the third one.” The judge had received three specific threats to his life over a period of seven days. It had scared him bad enough that he’d called in the marshals. “Everything’s been quiet for two weeks,” Jo said. “You think we’re still necessary?”
He met her gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
She frowned. “All right, then.”
Judge Worthington, who’d insisted they call him Ben, came from his room, decked out in his pricey workout attire. “I’m ready, but I’ll need to head to the courthouse in about an hour and a half.”
“That’s fine.” Blake stood, his mind still on his daughter.
JoAnn touched his arm. “Stay here. I’ll clear it.”
His partner had read him like a book. He was distracted, and while he could hide it from most of the world, JoAnn had learned to pick up on his moods. He nodded. “I’ll stay with Mrs. Worthington.”
And he’d stay alert although there’d been no attempt to harm the judge at home—or anywhere else. But they couldn’t ignore the threats. Especially now.
His phone buzzed and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to look at it or not. With a sigh, he turned the screen toward him and relief zipped through him.
Relief it wasn’t a text with a picture of Rachel dead or another threat. The name still brought a grimace. Another text from Rachel’s swim coach.
I don’t know what’s going on, but Rachel’s missed four practices. If she misses another one, she’s off the team.
Blake curled his fingers into a fist, then relaxed them and pressed them to eyes that burned from lack of sleep. It’s not his fault. He doesn’t know. Rachel getting kicked off the swim team was the least of his worries right now.
The judge and Jo had disappeared into the basement and Blake drew in a steadying breath.His phone buzzed again.
Linc
No way to trace the texts or the number. All texts were sent from different locations. Some miles apart. Still pulling on resources. Hang tight.
Blake rose. He checked the doors and windows, looked in on Mrs. Worthington who didn’t even notice him peeking in the door of her office, then dropped onto the couch. Lowering his head into his hands, his mind spun.
He couldn’t allow anything to happen to an innocent person because of his lack of focus. And yet his thoughts went to “what if . . .”
It wouldn’t be hard to kill the man. A simple attack while he slept and he could break his neck before he knew what hit him.
The fact that he played out the scene in his mind from start to finish horrified him.
No, he couldn’t do it.
But Rachel—
Not even for Rachel.
But—
He looked at his phone again. Her eyes pleaded with him, her sheer terror jumped from the screen to wrap around his throat.
Blake didn’t have murder in him.
But he might have to if he wanted to see Rachel alive again.
3
One by one, they’d coaxed the girls from the back of the trailer and passed them off to social workers, counselors, and paramedics. “Seventeen girls,” Chloe said. She leaned against her Chevy Tahoe while Hank lay at her feet chewing on the end of his toy rope—his favorite reward for a job well done. “One can’t be older than twelve.”
Derek stood beside her while the young women were given bottles of water and reassured that they were safe. They were also encouraged to talk to the victim advocates who would be arriving at the hospital to offer additional support.
Some of the girls would cooperate. Others wouldn’t. Those who told their stories would heal faster than those who stuffed their emotions down. Chloe took the rope from a happy Hank and tucked it into her belt.
“Sometimes I hate people,” Derek said. “Are there any good ones left?”
She raised a brow at him. “Yes. Us. And we’re not supposed to hate anyone—even the bad ones. We’re just supposed to catch them and put them out of business. Leave your emotions out of it.”
“You sound like Mom.”
“Thanks. She’s pretty smart.”
He huffed a short laugh. “Because that’s what you do, right? Leave your emotions out of it?”
She shot him a sideways glower and he smirked, knowing full well her emotions sometimes got entangled in a case. They fell silent. She finally sighed. “That was good shooting, Derek. Stop questioning yourself.”
His troubled gaze met hers. “It’s scary how you can read me.” He swiped a hand across his face. “I didn’t have a choice. It was either them or innocents.”
“I know that and you know that. The question is, why do you feel guilty about it?” Every single time he had to make the choice to take a life, he grieved the loss until he finally accepted he’d done what he had to do to save lives.
He gave a subtle shrug. “I don’t. Not really. I just regret the abrupt ending for those two. There are no more opportunities for them to do the right thing.”
“True. But you saved many who now have that option. One of them shot Ralph. And a kid. No one died—at least because of a shooter—and that’s thanks to you.”
He relaxed a fraction. “Yeah, I know.” He hugged her one-armed. “Thanks, Sis. You can always make me feel better.”
“That’s what sisters are for. Especially favorite ones, right?” They both knew Izzy was his favorite. And rightly so as his twin. Chloe didn’t hold it against him.
“Exactly.” He rolled his eyes, then his shoulders. “Guess I’ll have a couple of days off. Come see me so I don’t get too bored.”
“Right.”
It was standard procedure after a shooting to be on leave while the incident was investigated. It was a clean shoot. Derek would be fine.
One lane of the bridge had been reopened and traffic crawled at a snail’s pace. The two men Derek had killed had already been removed from the scene. The screens that had been put up to prevent gawkers from seeing the gruesome sight had also been taken away.
Chloe found her attention drawn back to one of the girls. She’d been the last one off the truck and she’d looked familiar for some reason.
They’d be transported back to the police station, their identities sorted out, and then reunited with their families. As long as everything went according to plan.
But Chloe couldn’t take her eyes off the one girl with the pink-and-black off-the-shoulder shirt. Why did she look so familiar?
Chloe moved closer so she could study her. She was pretty, with strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a spattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Cute. Young. Victimized.
And then it hit her. It wasn’t the girl, it was the shirt.
She grabbed Derek’s arm. “That’s Penny’s shirt.”