by Lisa Childs
She was worried about him. He was the one still in the hotel and, unless the bodyguards had missed him exiting, so was the killer.
But Flash was the best tracker in Red Ridge. If the killer was inside the hotel, he and Dante would find him. And Blake was not alone in his suite. The chief was inside with him.
And so was his father...
The mayor of Red Ridge hadn’t even acknowledged her when she’d walked past him. It had reminded her of how Blake had walked past her that morning after their incredible evening together. Because she’d been dressed as a maid, he hadn’t even noticed her. No. She would never be a Colton—never be Blake’s Cinderella. But the truth was that she had given birth to a Colton.
Would her grandfather accept Pandora? Or would he ignore her like Blake claimed the man had ignored his own children? Maybe that would be best for the little girl, though.
“Find anything?” Dante Mancuso asked through the radio Juliette held.
She pressed down the button. “No. You?”
“No.”
She wasn’t surprised at his response—not after his asking her. “Nothing?”
“Flash tracked him from the stairwell to the corridor of the eighteenth floor. He walked down it to a service elevator. We stopped on every floor to see which one he got out on,” Mancuso wearily continued. “He appears to have taken it to the basement.”
“So he must still be down there,” she said hopefully, and she turned back toward the building. “Blake’s bodyguards were on the exits and didn’t see him leave.”
She suspected they were watching her now, though, so the killer could have slipped out of the basement recently. She hoped like hell he hadn’t, though. She wanted to catch him so badly—for terrorizing her daughter and for shooting at Blake and injuring her coworker. Not to mention murdering that woman in the playground parking lot.
He had to be stopped before he hurt anyone else.
Mancuso’s voice emanated from the radio. “I don’t think he’s here. Flash just stopped at some kind of manhole in the floor—it looks like it goes into the sewer.”
So he’d made it out.
And he could be anywhere in Red Ridge by now.
Despite the warmth of the July night, Juliette shivered at the thought of the killer still being on the loose. She had no doubt he hadn’t gone far, though. He was too determined to carry out his threat to kill her and Pandora.
* * *
Frustration gripped Blake. He did not have time for this—for whatever the hell this ambush was with Finn bringing his father to his hotel suite.
Finn pointed toward Blake’s face. “You should get that checked out.”
“I told you I did not get shot.” He’d told Juliette the same thing when she’d noticed the cut and had been concerned. She’d also been angry with him, though. Angry like the chief and his father were—for putting himself in danger.
But if he hadn’t chased her down the hallway, if he hadn’t intervened in the stairwell...she would have been dead or at least severely wounded.
Anger surged through him now. He needed to be talking to the security agency he’d hired—not Finn and definitely not his father. While they had intervened and saved them in the stairwell, they’d still let the killer get away. And earlier that evening, they’d let Juliette slip away from them. Sure, they’d found her, but unfortunately, the killer had found her first.
His father hadn’t actually said a word yet, though. He just looked angry—his face pinched and flushed. But then the words he must have been holding back finally burst free. “You’re damn lucky you didn’t get shot—what with all the bullets flying around the hotel. I heard all the guests complaining about the ruckus.”
That was it. His father was worried about the Colton Plaza Hotel—not his son. Probably concerned that he’d have to refund money to those complaining guests.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” Blake replied, his voice sharp with bitterness. “There was no real damage—just a few chips out of the brick wall in the stairwell.”
He touched his cheek again and winced at the sting of it. A few crumbs of that concrete were embedded in his skin. He probably should head to the ER. But first he wanted to check on Juliette.
She’d sworn she was fine. But how could she be after that close call?
Blake was still shaking—not with fear but with adrenaline. It coursed through him, making his pulse race and sweat trickle down between his shoulder blades. He’d pulled on a shirt when he’d returned to his suite, which was probably good so nobody had noticed he had a few more scratches on his back and chest from those concrete chips.
But he would be fine.
The killer hadn’t really been aiming for him. Juliette had been his target. She was the one in danger. She and their daughter.
“I’m not worried about the damn hotel!” Fenwick replied. But his face had flushed an even brighter shade of red and Blake knew he’d touched a nerve. The old man cared about the business—hell, it was all he’d ever cared about. “I’m worried about you!”
Blake glanced at Finn now and narrowed his eyes. What had the police chief told his father?
Everything?
Anything?
As if he’d read his mind, Finn shook his head.
And the pressure in Blake’s chest eased slightly. But maybe it would have been easier if Finn had told the old man and spared Blake the scene he anticipated.
He assured his father, “You don’t need to worry about me.”
Fenwick gestured at Blake’s face, and his hand was shaking. “You could have been killed.”
“By a concrete chip?” Blake snorted. “Not likely.”
“By a bullet. Someone was shooting at you. Why was someone shooting at you?”
“He wasn’t shooting at me,” Blake said.
“He just got in the way,” Finn added, and there was bitterness in his voice. “That’s why I didn’t want you following her around. I knew you were going to get your head blown off and it damn near happened!”
“Who?” Fenwick asked. But his question was for the police chief now as if he didn’t trust Blake to answer him. “Who is he following around?”
Finn glanced at Blake and raised his eyebrows. “You want me to answer him or are you going to do it?”
“Who?” Fenwick asked, and he turned to Blake now.
Blake wasn’t sure how to answer his father. What was Juliette? A one-night stand? His old lover? If the killer hadn’t interrupted them, she would have been his lover again.
Whatever else she was to Blake, she was the mother of his child.
“Who?” Fenwick asked impatiently, and he’d turned back to Finn again.
“One of my officers,” Finn replied. “The one whose life is in danger.”
Fenwick sucked in a breath. His brow furrowed, he focused on Blake again. “Why are you getting involved in this? You’ve only been back in town a few days.”
It had been longer than that, but Blake wasn’t about to point out that he’d been home a while and hadn’t contacted his father. The man was already angry and confused enough.
Which struck Blake as odd...
Could the old man care more than he’d realized?
“You can’t know this woman,” his father continued. “She’s just some cop...”
Nope. His father hadn’t changed. He was still an entitled snob. That was what Juliette had thought he was all those years ago when he’d walked past her in her maid’s uniform and hadn’t even noticed her. How could he have done that?
Was he his old man’s son? A rich and entitled snob?
“She’s the mother of my child,” Blake said. “The mother of your grandchild.”
Fenwick’s eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. “What? What the hell did you just say?”
Finn headed toward the door.
Blake gestured him back. But Finn shook his head and quietly murmured, “This is a private family matter.”
Finn was family, too. Blake was probably closer to his cousin than he was any of his sisters or his dad. And he hadn’t seen his mom in years, either, since she was always traveling.
He glared as the police chief headed out the door. Before it closed, Blake mouthed the word, “Coward” at him. Finn grinned as he shut the door.
Silence fell over the room for a long moment while Fenwick digested the news.
But just in case he hadn’t understood, Blake rubbed it in. “You’re a grandpa.”
That would probably kill his vain father. The guy wore a blond toupee to hide his thinning hair and dated women Blake’s age rather than his own. He was desperately trying to appear younger than he was.
“I want to see her,” Fenwick said.
Blake shook his head. “Nope.”
“If she’s my granddaughter,” he said with suspicion, “I have the right to see her.”
Blake sighed. Of course, his father would think to question paternity. “As long as I’m yours, she’s your granddaughter.” That dimple in her left cheek was DNA enough to prove it to him.
“Don’t be naive,” his father admonished him. “A lot of women would like to have a Colton heir.”
Blake snorted now. “Her mother didn’t even tell me about her. If she wanted a Colton heir, she would have told me she’d borne one before now.”
“How old is this kid?” his father asked, his voice still sharp with suspicion.
His little girl wasn’t just this kid.
“Pandora,” Blake told him her name. “And she’s four.”
“You left five years ago.”
“Not quite five yet, and the timing is right,” he said.
But his father’s eyes were narrowed in skepticism. He probably really did not want to be a grandfather. Or he thought Blake was a fool.
“Why can’t I see her?” he asked.
“She’s in danger,” Blake said, and he touched his cheek again and shuddered at the thought of the little girl getting hurt. “She witnessed a murder, and the murderer wants to kill her.”
Fenwick sucked in a breath. “And she’s only four...?”
“She’s too young to have seen what she did,” Blake said. After visiting that crime scene in the parking lot, he understood more about what his daughter had witnessed. He’d only seen the aftermath, though—the death. She had seen the actual murder as it had taken place.
“Where is she?” his father asked.
“A safe house.”
“I can’t go to this safe house?”
Blake shook his head. “No. It’s too risky.” He could have had the bodyguards smuggle in his father like they smuggled in Juliette. But his father had never been good at sneaking around—that was why he’d been divorced three times.
“Is that the only reason you don’t want me to see her?” Fenwick asked, and now he was suspicious of Blake.
Here was his chance to lobby for his sister. “With what you’re doing to Layla—forcing her to marry a man she doesn’t love to save your business...” He shuddered. “I’m not sure I want you anywhere near my daughter.”
Fenwick’s face flushed bright red now. “How dare you speak to me this way!”
And this was why Blake hadn’t sought out his father when he’d returned to Red Ridge—because usually every conversation between them dissolved into a shouting match.
“I don’t have time for this,” Blake said. And he grabbed the keys for his rental car and headed toward the door.
“You’re not going anywhere!” Fenwick yelled at him.
But Blake just kept walking—right out the door. He didn’t have time to waste arguing with his father. He needed to check on Juliette. To make sure she was really okay and that she was safe...
But he had a horrible feeling that until the killer was caught, she wouldn’t be safe—no matter how many people were trying to protect her.
The killer was too damned determined.
* * *
Fenwick gasped as the door slammed closed behind his son. He’d just walked away. Last time Blake had done that, he’d stayed away for five years. Fenwick shouldn’t have been surprised that he had, though. Blake had always been his own man—even when he was just a little boy.
He was headstrong and stubborn.
And Fenwick worried those traits just might get him killed. He was determined to protect this woman—some old girlfriend—and a child that he didn’t even have proof was actually his.
Why hadn’t he demanded a paternity test the second she had made the claim? He was probably being taken advantage of...
And it wasn’t just his money he was risking for her and this kid. He was risking his life for them, as well.
“Damn fool...” Fenwick murmured, his eyes stinging.
What if that had been the last time he saw his son?
Chapter 13
Juliette stared at the clock beside her bed. If she closed her eyes now, she would get a couple of hours of sleep before the alarm went off.
If she could sleep...
But she closed her eyes, and nothing happened. She was too wired, her pulse still pounding, her blood still rushing quickly through her veins...
She had been so close...
To dying.
If Blake hadn’t charged into the stairwell when he had, the killer would have thrown her down those twenty-one stories. She’d been losing her grasp on the railing and on her breath as he’d closed his hands around her throat.
But she’d lost something before that...when she’d nearly made love with Blake. She’d lost control of the attraction she felt for him. It was even stronger now than it had been five years ago.
Maybe that was why her pulse kept pounding—because of the excitement of those kisses, the heat of the passion...
She kicked off her sheet and uttered a groan of frustration. It was no use. She was not going to sleep. But maybe that was a good thing, because she was awake enough to hear the creak of the floorboards of her front porch as someone headed toward her door.
Juliette was ready. She picked up her weapon next to her alarm clock. After flicking off the safety, she rolled out of bed. Her house was small—so small that it was just a few steps from her bedroom to the living room.
A knock sounded at the front door now. Maybe the killer had decided to forego trying to pick the lock. But then a voice called out, “Open up, Juliette. It’s me.”
Her pulse quickened even more than it had already been pounding as she recognized the deep voice. Blake.
Was that why Sasha hadn’t joined her at the door? The beagle had been exhausted when they’d come home. She was also missing Pandora and had gone into the little girl’s room and crawled onto her bed. The bodyguards and patrol officers must have realized it was him, too, since they’d let him get to the front door.
She hesitated a moment before reaching for the lock. And he knocked again.
“Come on,” he said. “I doubt you’re sleeping.”
She turned the deadbolt and opened the door. “Who can sleep with all the noise you’re making out here?” she asked.
Hopefully he had not awakened her neighbors. Mrs. Ludwick might come over wielding her rolling pin as a weapon. While the rolling pin might hurt Blake, it would be no protection against the killer’s gun.
Maybe she shouldn’t have insisted on staying in her home. It wasn’t just herself she was putting in danger but maybe her neighbors, as well. Of course the patrol car was parked out front, though—watching. And the bodyguards were somewhere...
The killer wouldn’t try for her here.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Blake asked as he stepped through the door. “Are you trying to get killed?”
“No,” she said. “That’s what you do—when you keep putting yourself in danger.”
He glared at her and sarcastically remarked, “You’re welcome.”
Heat rushed to her face. She hadn’t thanked him yet. She’d just remembered that. “You did save me tonight,” she said. “If you hadn’t stopped him...” She shuddered. “He would have pushed me down the stairs. I didn’t thank you then.”
“You didn’t have time,” Blake said. “And I’m not here looking for gratitude. I’m here to point out that you nearly died tonight and then you come back here alone.”
“Thanks to you and the chief, I’m never alone,” she said. “You have bodyguards on me. And he has a patrol car following me around.”
“And you still nearly got killed tonight,” he pointed out. “You’re still not safe.” He glanced around the house and gestured toward the big picture window in the living room. “Especially not here.”
With all the backup she had at the moment, she wasn’t concerned. After tonight, she’d learned to not try to lose them again. She also didn’t think that the killer would risk another attempt on her life right now. He would know she had extra protection. She was actually surprised that Blake had gotten past everybody. But then, the bodyguards worked for him. And the police officers—her friends—must have realized that there was something going on between her and Blake.
“Then leave,” she said. “If you don’t feel safe here.”
“I don’t,” he said. But he was staring at her so intensely—like she was the threat—not the maniac who’d shot at them in the stairwell.
“You claimed the bodyguards you hired are the best,” she reminded him.
“They are, as long as you don’t purposely try to lose them,” he said. “But I’m not worried about the killer trying to shoot you again right now.”
Probably because he’d read his security firm the riot act for letting the killer nearly get to her tonight. But that had been her fault. She’d tried really hard to lose them and the patrol car when she’d left her house earlier to confront Blake over disappointing their daughter. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know that she was going to see him.
“So what are you worried about?” she asked.