by Rita Herron
She twisted sideways and scanned the street. She’d bought this house because it was in a safe neighborhood. Because other families and children lived and played here. Because it was close to her work, and she could run home for lunch. Sometimes Roberta strolled Izzy up to the clinic when it was sunny, and they had a picnic in the park across the street.
The streets were empty now. Kids at school. Parents at work. Except for the mother of twins in the first house on the block. She’d seen the four-year-old little boys playing on the swing set in the backyard and kicking a ball around.
Mila raked a hand through her tangled hair, well aware she needed a shower and some clean clothes. She reeked of sweat and blood from the grueling hours on her feet the day before.
When this was over, maybe she should take some time off. Stay at home with Izzy for a while.
Sometimes she missed dinner and got home too late to put Izzy to bed. Moments like giggling at the table and reading bedtime stories meant everything to her now, even more than her work, which had driven her for as long as she could remember.
Although she’d wanted to be a role model for Izzy the way her adopted mother had been for her. Her adopted parents had taken Mila in when she was just a newborn, because her birth mother had abandoned her in a junkyard. A body shop repair mechanic searching for a fender to replace the one he’d torn off when he’d crashed into a tree had found her in a beat-up old Chevy.
If he hadn’t been looking for that fender that day, she might not have survived.
She’d wanted to give Izzy the same chance at life that her adopted mother had given her.
She closed her eyes, bowed her head and prayed that she got the chance.
* * *
BLOOD SPATTERED THE FLOOR, cabinets and wall of the kitchen.
Brayden cursed, although relief mixed with anger. Not Izzy, thank God. But the nanny was dead.
She lay on her back, one arm above her head, the other on her chest, fingers curled toward her palms. She’d probably thrown her hands up to protect her face.
It hadn’t done any good. The bullet pierced her forehead between her eyes. Blood dotted her forehead and cheeks and pooled beneath her head.
A professional hit.
Of course it would be. DiSanti’s goons had no qualms about killing a woman. Rape and trafficking, selling young girls into sex slavery, was just a business to them. Bastards.
“No one’s here,” Dexter called from the living room.
Brayden motioned for him to come over. “They killed the nanny,” Brayden said. “Gunshot to the head.”
“Damn.” Dexter appeared behind him, but both held back. The last thing they wanted was to contaminate the crime scene.
“It’s my fault,” Brayden said. “My visit this morning probably spooked them. So they killed her and took off with Izzy.”
“Don’t blame yourself. They probably got word of what happened at the courthouse,” Dex said.
Brayden’s lungs squeezed for air. “Mila warned me that if I interfered, I’d get her daughter killed.”
Dex laid a hand on Brayden’s back. “Stop. Izzy may still be all right. We’ll find her.”
But would they find her in time?
They needed a description of DiSanti’s new face. But he understood Mila’s reluctance. She was terrified and had a right to be. DiSanti was ruthless.
Other than the people who worked for him, Mila was the only person in the world who would recognize him now.
Which meant he would come after her. And he’d kill her so she wouldn’t identify him.
“Call Lucas and get a crime scene unit out here,” Brayden said. “I’m going to check on Mila.”
He hurried to the door, then jogged outside toward his SUV.
* * *
MILA STARTLED WHEN Brayden knocked on the window. His grim expression as he unlocked the door and slid into the driver’s seat made her stomach knot.
“What? Oh God, not Izzy—”
“No, Izzy wasn’t there.”
She bit back a cry, but was afraid to ask more.
“They must have taken off with her,” he said softly. “She’s the only leverage they have to keep you quiet, and they know it, Mila.”
Mila nodded, grasping onto hope that his logic was right.
Brayden cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Mila. But they killed your nanny.”
She shook her head in denial. Roberta was gone.
Poor, sweet Roberta. Izzy loved her like a second mother. She’d met the woman at a shelter because she was homeless. Twenty years in an abusive relationship had taken its toll. Her husband, the man who’d beaten her too many times to count, had been shot by a gang member. His death meant her escape, except that she’d been destitute and determined not to fall into the trap of working for drug runners.
Mila had wanted to help her. It had been a blessing for all of them that Roberta had agreed to be a live-in nanny.
Now, because of her, Roberta was dead.
“Listen to me, Mila.” Brayden gripped her arms and shook her gently to make her look at him. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. This was not your fault.”
Mila fought tears, but they trickled down her cheeks anyway. “She wouldn’t have been killed if she hadn’t been working for me.”
“Where would she have been, Mila?”
She jerked her gaze to his.
“I don’t know much about her, but you obviously cared about her,” Brayden said softly. “Did she have any other family?”
She shook her head. “No, her husband died because of gang activity. She was homeless and alone...”
“And you took her in and gave her a family,” Brayden said, his voice tender.
She nodded. “She loved Izzy so much, and Izzy adored her.”
Brayden cupped her face between his hands. “She knew that you loved her, and she died protecting the little girl she loved.”
Mila clutched his arms, her heart aching. “Izzy must be so devastated. What if she witnessed them kill Roberta? She’ll be traumatized and—”
“Shh,” Brayden said softly. “One step at a time, Doc. I understand you’re upset about your nanny, but right now we have to focus on finding Izzy.”
He was right. But once she got Izzy back, she’d give Roberta the memorial service she deserved. She’d died protecting Izzy—she was a true hero.
“Focus on the fact that Izzy is all right. And remember, for now DiSanti needs you. He won’t hurt Izzy, because he needs her as leverage.”
“You can’t tell your brother about what happened here,” Mila insisted. “It’s too dangerous for Izzy.”
Brayden’s expression looked torn. “I’m sorry, Mila. But there was a murder at your house. We have to report it. We can’t leave Roberta lying there in the house for days.”
Mila struggled with right and wrong, with grief and anger, with fear that no matter what she did, she might never see her little girl again.
“You can trust Lucas,” Brayden said. “He may be a federal agent, but he’s a good guy. He’ll protect Izzy and you.”
It was still dangerous. And there was no way she could confide the truth about Izzy’s father. No one could know.
“Mila?”
She clutched his arms, her mind racing. “Then you have to make sure that DiSanti knows that I haven’t talked.”
“We will,” Brayden said. “I’ll arrange for Lucas to make a statement to the press that you aren’t cooperating with the FBI. All right?”
She bit her lower lip, but agreed. “What can we do to get my daughter back?”
Brayden stroked her arms. “First a crime team will process your house for forensics. Maybe the men who killed Roberta and took Izzy left evidence behind.”
“Does it matter who they are?” Mi
la asked. “We know they work for that monster DiSanti.”
“Identifying any one member of his group might lead us to some clue about DiSanti’s plans or location. Lucas’s people are analyzing Polk’s and the gunman’s phones, contact information and correspondence for any clue as to where DiSanti is hiding.”
Mila’s stomach churned, but she lifted her chin defiantly. “We have to do more. Give him some way to contact me.” She’d even use herself as a pawn if she had to.
Chapter Nine
Emotions warred inside Brayden. It was beyond reprehensible that DiSanti would hurt a little girl.
Then again, they knew for a fact that he had hurt countless women and young girls, some as young as age twelve. To DiSanti and his people, the female population was put on earth to exploit. He did that for money without batting an eye.
Brayden couldn’t help but wonder what had made the man so cold. Maybe his upbringing?
Not that it mattered. There was no excuse or justification.
He wanted the bastard to pay now more than ever.
But first, they had to get Izzy back safely.
Mila still looked uncertain about the plan. But what else could they do?
If he didn’t work with Lucas, Dexter could try to track down DiSanti. But the FBI had resources that Dexter didn’t.
Brayden believed in the law. But he wasn’t stupid either. He’d learned to shoot a rifle when he was a teenager. His experience on the force had taught him how to handle a weapon, about apprehending a suspect, about when to shoot and not shoot.
Most of all, it had taught him that nothing could combat a bullet except one in return. Not a pretty lesson, but being street-smart meant surviving.
He didn’t intend to die at the hands of DiSanti and allow him to continue his reign of terror.
“I need my cell phone,” Mila said. “DiSanti’s people might contact me through it.”
“Good point.”
“I probably should go back to the clinic,” Mila suggested. “They might show up there.”
“I don’t think so. They know we’ll be watching it,” Brayden said.
The sound of an engine made them both jerk their heads around. Lucas.
Mila twisted her hands in her lap, fear returning to her eyes. “What if I’m doing the wrong thing? What if calling your brother gets Izzy killed?”
Brayden frowned, his pulse hammering. “Mila, I think we both know that you’re in over your head. There’s no way DiSanti will let you live, not when you’re the only person outside his people who can identify him.”
Her face turned ashen, but she didn’t argue.
* * *
MILA RECOGNIZED THE truth in Brayden’s words. But she didn’t like it, and it scared the hell out of her to involve the FBI.
If they discovered Izzy wasn’t her biological child and that DiSanti was Izzy’s father, she might lose Izzy to him because of legality issues.
She’d have to watch every word she said to Brayden’s brother. Only tell him what was necessary to find her daughter.
Agent Hawk slowed as he approached them, then pulled over and parked behind Brayden. Brayden climbed out to talk to his brother, and she studied the two, praying she hadn’t made a mistake in trusting Brayden.
But Charlotte had married Lucas, so he must be an okay guy. When she’d first seen the news story on the shooting that had rendered Charlotte temporarily blind, she’d wanted to reach out to Charlotte, but she’d held back because of Izzy. She’d hated DiSanti and hoped the feds would find him and put him away for life.
She’d never imagined that she’d be the one to help him escape.
For a moment, Lucas and Brayden appeared to be in a heated argument. Brayden gestured toward her and her house. Finally, they both walked back to the car, and Brayden opened the passenger door.
“Lucas insists on speaking to you, Mila.”
Her heart pounded, but she inhaled a deep breath. She’d do anything to protect her little girl, even lie to the FBI.
She slowly climbed from the vehicle, desperately wishing she’d had a shower. Maybe once they processed her house, they’d let her inside to gather some clothes.
“Dr. Manchester, Brayden explained the situation. I’m sorry that your nanny was killed. And most of all, sorry that your daughter is missing.” His gaze seemed to be scrutinizing her as he spoke.
Mila cleared her throat. “He’ll kill her if he thinks I talked to you.”
Lucas nodded. “I understand your fear. And I promise that I’ll do everything I can to bring your daughter home.”
“Then you have to let him know that I haven’t told you anything.” She lifted her chin. “If it means locking me back up, then do it.”
* * *
BRAYDEN GLANCED AT LUCAS, ready to argue if his brother agreed to put Mila back in a cell. She didn’t belong there, not after all she’d suffered in the last twenty-four hours.
But a mother’s love was so strong that he realized she’d do anything for her child, just as his mother would do anything for him and his brothers. She’d been devastated when their little sister had gone missing. They all had.
He’d blamed himself. So had his brothers.
And their father had just skipped out.
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Lucas said to Mila. “In fact, if DiSanti sent Polk after you, he’ll send someone else.”
Mila shivered. And this time she might not survive.
“I want to place you in protective custody until we catch DiSanti.” Lucas speared Brayden with a questioning look. “Agreed?”
Brayden nodded. “I could drive her back to the ranch.”
Mila twisted her hands together. “How will DiSanti contact me about Izzy?”
“She needs her phone,” Brayden told Lucas.
Lucas nodded. “I can arrange that. Meanwhile, I’d like for you to work with a sketch artist.”
Mila clamped her teeth over her bottom lip. “If you air a picture of his new face on the news, he’ll know I talked.”
“We won’t release it to the public,” Lucas said.
Mila folded her arms across her chest. “But what if someone in the police department or the FBI is working with DiSanti?”
Silence stretched between them, fraught with tension.
“She’s right,” Brayden said. “DiSanti may have people in his pocket that we don’t know about.”
Frustration darkened Lucas’s eyes. “I promise you that I’ll be discreet. I’ll only share with people I trust. Once you make contact, and we get your daughter back, we’ll go wide and launch a full-fledged hunt for the bastard.”
A white crime scene van rolled up and slowed as it passed them.
“I need to meet them at the house,” Lucas said.
Mila heaved a wary breath. “Would it be possible for me to go inside and get some clothes?”
Lucas and Brayden exchanged a look. “You don’t need to see your nanny like she is now,” Brayden said softly. “I can collect some things from inside for you if you want.”
Lucas shrugged. “That would work. Give us time to process the house first.” He narrowed his eyes at Brayden. “You didn’t touch anything inside, did you?”
Brayden shook his head no. “Dex and I just searched the house. We found the nanny in the kitchen.”
Mila clenched her hands together as if struggling to maintain control.
“I’ll let you know when you can come in,” Lucas said.
Lucas got back in his car and drove two houses down to Mila’s.
Despair and worry knitted Mila’s brow, making Brayden want to pull her into his arms and comfort her. To assure her that everything would be all right.
But he couldn’t do that. Not when he had no idea where DiSanti’s men had taken Izzy.
* * *
MILA WATCHED LUCAS and the crime team park in her driveway with a sense of trepidation.
That little bungalow was her home. She’d bought it with high hopes of settling there forever and giving Izzy a happy childhood full of sweet memories.
But Roberta was dead inside. And her daughter was a victim of a kidnapping...
Worse, Izzy might have witnessed her nanny’s murder. Mila hoped not. But still, the trauma of those men holding her and Roberta at gunpoint could damage Izzy for a long time.
The images from that FaceTime call haunted her and always would. She could see the men bursting through the door. The guns aimed at Roberta and Izzy. Izzy screaming as that brute snatched her.
Once she got Izzy back, could they return to the house they’d once called home?
She didn’t know...
“Mila, I realize this is a terrifying situation, but try to stay positive. DiSanti wants you, not Izzy.”
Her breath grew painful in her chest. If DiSanti knew Izzy was his daughter, he would want Izzy.
And he’d kill Mila for keeping Izzy from him for the past three years. But Izzy would never have a normal life if DiSanti discovered the connection between them.
He’d probably hunt down Carina like a dog, too. Mila couldn’t allow that to happen.
“I promise to do whatever is necessary to help apprehend him once we save Izzy,” Mila said.
A long silence stretched between them as they both watched her house. Another van passed them and pulled into her drive.
“Who is that?” Mila asked.
“The ME. They’ll transport Roberta’s body to the morgue for an autopsy.”
Her heart squeezed. The world had been a better place with Roberta’s warm smile and love of life. Even if she and Izzy survived this, they would forever have a hole in their hearts where Roberta belonged.
“A crime scene crew can clean up after the investigators are finished,” Brayden said.
“That would be nice.” She was accustomed to the sight of blood from performing surgeries. But seeing Roberta’s spilled from being murdered was different. Personal.