Called to Protect

by Lynette Eason

  Even though a little niggling of something started in the vicinity of his heart. Doing his best to ignore it, he looked up.

  Chloe rinsed the next dish while her mother dried. Blake was having a hard time concentrating in the kitchen of the chief of police. A few years ago, he wouldn’t have thought anything about it, but now, the fact that he’d been a bit rude to her during the whole Chloe-might-get-blown-up-by-a-bomb scare, his conscience nagged at him. But since she hadn’t brought it up and had treated him as she always had, Blake kept his mouth shut. The ladies finished and the chief walked out of the kitchen without a word.

  Linc entered the kitchen on the phone. “Yeah. Call me with anything else.” He hung up and sat next to Blake.

  “News?” Blake asked.

  “Yeah. ERT finished processing Ethan Wright’s house. They found something interesting.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A lot of fake IDs. Including one that belongs to Carson Langston—with Ethan’s picture on it.”

  Blake’s eyes widened. “So, Ethan and Carson are one and the same?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “We need to find him. I want just three minutes alone with him.”

  Derek pointed his fork at Blake. “That’s not going to happen.”

  Blake raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.”

  Derek snorted. He had arrived ten minutes ago and filled his plate. The others were expected to show up any minute.

  “They find anything else?” Blake asked.

  “Nothing that directly relates to the case, but they’re going through the evidence as we speak. You know, the usual. Phone records, bank accounts, real estate holdings, cell phone bills. So maybe something else will turn up.” Linc stood. “I’m going to fill Mom in.”

  He left and Derek sat down across from Blake and proceeded to attack his food as though something weighed heavily on his mind—or it had been awhile since his last meal.

  “You okay?” Blake asked him.

  “Yes. Just not catching any breaks when it comes to finding Russo or those connected to the trafficking ring. I’m frustrated.”

  Blake waved a hand at the laptop. “I know what you mean.”

  The man paused midshovel and his eyes met Blake’s. “Yeah, I guess you do. In spades.”

  Blake looked away, his throat going tight. Would he ever see Rachel again?

  “Any word from Rachel?” Derek asked.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I am too.”

  Chief St. John reentered the kitchen and wiped her hands on a towel. “Have you been able to connect Ethan Wright—or Carson Langston or whoever he is—to Alessandro Russo? Seems like if we could track down Russo, who we know is involved in human trafficking, we could locate the victims.”

  Like Penny. He could tell her niece was in her thoughts.

  “No, ma’am,” Derek said. “And Van Stillman, the man we did manage to connect to him, is so low on the food chain, there’s no hope of him knowing anything. He’s an errand boy. Follows orders without asking questions and takes his pay.” He sighed. “He’s not talking anyway.”

  The back door opened and Brady, Ruthie, and Izzy stepped into the kitchen. They told Blake hello and hugged their mother. “Sorry we’re late,” Ruthie said. “We were all at the hospital. I just finished a surgery, Brady was checking on someone who’d done a nosedive off the Gervais Street Bridge, and Izzy was there questioning a victim of something.”

  “A mugging,” Izzy said. “She gave us a good description so I think we’ll be able to get the guy sometime soon. I can’t believe we all managed to leave at the same time.”

  “Well, grab a plate. There’s plenty. I’ve kept it warm for you.” Eating in shifts was as natural as breathing to this family. Blake had learned to go with it a long time ago. Which was why he had a full belly and Derek was still eating.

  “Thank you for the meal, Mrs. St. John.”

  She walked over and rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Blake.”

  He cleared his throat. “Um. I’m . . . uh . . . sorry. About being disrespectful earlier today. I didn’t mean . . .”

  Everyone in the kitchen went still at his apology and all eyes turned on him and the chief.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “It was a tense situation.” Her eyes flicked between Chloe and Blake. “I’m glad to know you have her back.”

  He held her gaze. “Yes, ma’am. I sure do.”

  A faint smile curved her lips. She gave his shoulder another pat, then kissed Chloe’s head. “I’m going to join your father upstairs in the media room. He’s had a movie he’s wanted us to watch for the past two months. I think tonight’s the first night we’ve had more than two hours together in a very long time. We’re going to take advantage of that.”

  “Enjoy,” Chloe said.

  She left and Derek packed a plate to go. “I’m going over to see Elaine.”

  Chloe raised a brow. “I thought you two were broken up.”

  “We were. Are. Were.”

  “Which is it?” Ruthie asked. She set her plate on the table and sat down.

  He rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m going to find out. See you.”

  “Right.”

  The door shut behind him.

  Chloe stared at the door for a good five seconds before she blinked and turned her attention back to Blake. “Want to take a walk?”

  “It’s freezing outside,” Izzy said. “Better just find a cozy spot in the den or on the sunporch.”

  “Fine. Want to join me in the den?”

  Curious, but feeling like a bug under a microscope, Blake closed his laptop and stood. “Sure.”

  Once they were out of hearing range of her siblings and seated comfortably on the L-shaped couch, Chloe laid a hand on his arm and left it there. “Do you mind if I ask you a pretty personal question?”

  A little shocked at the intimate gesture, he hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “I guess not.”

  “What did Rachel mean when she said, ‘I know I’m not really yours’?”

  He sucked in a sharp breath. “You caught that, huh?”

  “Yes.”

  Blake stood, feeling a momentary pang at dislodging her hand. He liked her nearness. He liked the way she smelled, with her vanilla bean and strawberry fragrance that was as much a part of her as the dark curls she kept in a ponytail 99 percent of the time. If he was honest, he pretty much liked everything about her. Except maybe her nosiness sometimes. And her questions that probed at wounds that seemed healed but could be ripped open with one sharp tug.

  He paced to the window that overlooked the large backyard. If he could see them, he knew the trees would be bare of leaves and the pool would be covered. “She’s not my biological child.” He turned to look her in the eye. “But she’s mine in every way that counts.”

  She blinked. “Of course.”

  “When Aimee found out she was pregnant, she went ballistic. She was terrified of what her parents were going to say.”

  “Where’s Rachel’s father?”

  “He bailed on Aimee as soon as she told him. Told her to get an abortion. He enlisted in the Army and was later killed in Afghanistan.”

  “Oh no. Even jerks like a deadbeat dad don’t deserve that.”

  “I agree. I knew the guy and he really wasn’t an awful person, just immature and irresponsible. If he’d had the chance to grow up, he might have turned out okay.” He blew out a breath. “Anyway, ironically enough, in spite of the fact that her mother was a physician, Aimee was scared to death of doctors.” And that was the only thing that had saved Rachel from being aborted. “Aimee and I were friends—and I’ll admit to a slight crush on her. So, when she came to me, desperate and scared, I offered to marry her.” He scowled and slid his eyes from Chloe’s. “I was young and stupid and thought I could convince her to love me in time. But she didn’t. When I changed my focus from law and decided to g
o to the police academy, she was furious. She didn’t want to be married to a cop, she wanted someone with the potential to make a lot of money. So, she found someone else.”

  “So, basically, she used you. Used your feelings for her.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “I’m so sorry, Blake.”

  “I am too. And while I didn’t think I’d ever recover from the pain, I have. I was over Aimee before she died. But Rachel, she’s mine as sure as the sun will rise in the morning.” He gave her a sad smile and pressed his fingers against his lips.

  “What did your parents think of you getting married so young?”

  He stiffened. “My mother was buried at the bottom of a bottle, so I’m not sure she was even aware. And my dad? Well, he didn’t seem happy about it, but since his opinion meant nothing to me at the time, I didn’t care.”

  “Wow. I didn’t realize your relationship with your parents was so . . .”

  “Awful?”

  “Tense.”

  He let out a low, humorless laugh. “Awful. Yeah. It was tough growing up, but we survived.”

  “How?” she whispered.

  “My uncle’s a cop. He was one of the good guys and did his best to make sure he influenced me in a positive way. He also beat my dad within an inch of his life and told him if he ever laid a hand on me or my brother again, he’d arrest him and throw away the key.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Yep. That was when I was fourteen and Frank was ten. Mom had taken off about a year earlier and Dad wasn’t so careful about where he left the bruises. Uncle Greg figured it out one afternoon and that was that.”

  “Did your dad ever hit you after that?”

  “Nope. Punched a lot of walls, but not us.”

  “Good,” she whispered.

  Tears swam in her eyes and he swallowed at the responding lump in his throat. Clearing it away, he shook his head. “There’s just one thing I can’t figure out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “How Rachel knows I’m not her biological father. I’ve never told her.”

  “Did Aimee?”

  He shook his head. “I mean, as far as I know she didn’t. She was the one who was so adamant that we keep it between us.” His eyes narrowed. “But someone told her and I plan to find out who. As soon as I get Rachel back.” Getting her back was the priority. His heart ached. She might not have his blood running through her, but he loved her with every fiber of his being and he’d do whatever it took to get her back safe.

  He rubbed his cheek and caught Chloe’s gaze. “How do you feel about helping me kill the judge?”

  Chloe blinked. “Um . . . what?”

  “It’s the only way I’m going to get her back.”

  “Blake, you’re scaring me.”

  He grimaced. “I don’t mean actually kill him, kill him. But what if we faked it? What if we explained everything to him and asked him to help us out?”

  She gave a slow nod. “Maybe.”

  “The thing that gets me is that the guy who called was very confident that he would know when the judge was dead. Like he would be informed immediately.”

  “Like by someone close to the judge?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But . . . who? We’ve vetted them all. Every coworker, every person he comes into contact with on a daily basis. Everyone. Including his family.”

  He frowned. “I don’t know.”

  “And that could backfire too,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If they believe he’s dead, they won’t have any need for Rachel anymore.”

  He hung his head. “I thought of that, but I don’t think they’ll kill her.”

  “Why not?”

  His eyes met hers. “I think they’ll sell her.”

  “Even with her medical issues?”

  “I think so. It’s a gamble, I know, but I just don’t see these people passing up tens of thousands of dollars.”

  She bit her lip and nodded. He was probably right.

  “I think, from what you said Rachel told you in the hospital, that they’re going to be moving fairly quickly.”

  “The auction.”

  “Yeah. And if that’s the case, if the judge isn’t dead, they’ll hold on to her and continue with their threats.” He swallowed. “Or start sending me pieces of her.”

  She winced.

  “So,” he said, “I think I have to take a chance on this and act. These people are greedy. They’re not going to kill a beautiful girl who could bring them top dollar in the market—even if she does have diabetes.” His voice roughened as he fought the emotions running through him. Chloe covered his hand and squeezed. He cleared his throat. “I think if we make it seem like the judge is dead, then they may send her with the other girls going to the auction.”

  “Speaking of that auction, I think it’s time to go with my first instinct and dig into the fact that it could actually be connected to the museum.”

  “I agree. We need to at least rule it out.”

  “Everything keeps circling back to that place. Ethan Wright, who we know is involved somehow . . . the flyer with the auction date,” she frowned, “I don’t know. I think they’re connected.”

  Blake rubbed his chin. “Maybe. The guy did paint for the place. It has regular auctions or sales all the time, though. Could just be a coincidence. I mean, there’s nothing else that points to it being an auction house for girls.”

  “True—although that Bryce dude was slimy. So where? If they send her and we don’t know where and we miss the window of rescue—”

  “I know. I know. That’s what we have to find out.”

  “But how?”

  “I’m working on that part.”

  Linc walked into the den and slumped into the chair next to Blake. “Well, we found our artist.”

  Chloe sat up straight. “Where?”

  “Brady just fished him out of Lake Murray.”

  “What?” Chloe’s and Blake’s voices blended as one.

  Blake dropped his chin to his chest. “Unbelievable.”

  “They’re scared,” Linc said. “We’re putting pressure on someone. They knew Wright was the lead we were chasing and they got rid of him.”

  “Great,” Blake said. “Just great.”

  Chloe felt his pain. She closed her fingers around his and squeezed. Then turned to Linc. “And they didn’t find anything at his house?”

  “That’s part of the update. They found a file cabinet in the home office. A search turned up some letters from Ethan to his mother when he was in a foster home. His mom had lost custody for neglect and he ended up in the system for a while. He eventually went back to his mother, but he wrote her a couple of letters, talking a little about the different people he was meeting, how he hated school, and how he wanted to go home. Typical teenage boy stuff. We ran all the names he mentioned in the letters and one raised a red flag.”

  “Which one?” Chloe asked.

  “A guy named Alan Garrett.”

  “Who’s Alan Garrett?” Blake asked.

  “He was a prisoner who was killed a couple of years ago by another inmate.”

  Chloe tilted her head. “What was he in for?”

  His eyes met hers. “Human trafficking. One of the victims identified him in a lineup.”

  “Whoa.”

  “Turns out, he was innocent, though. Three days after he was killed, the victim recanted and said she’d picked the wrong guy. Six months later, she was found in a back alley with her throat slit. We still don’t know who did it.”

  Chloe gasped and Blake’s fingers tightened around hers.

  “So, what’s Ethan’s connection to this guy?”

  “From what I gathered from the letter, they shared a foster home and went to the same high school. I tried tracking down a couple of relatives of Ethan’s and all I could come up with was an uncle in Charleston who owns a company named All the Wright Exports. I gave him a call and he said he saw Eth
an on a regular basis and was hoping to see him this weekend. I had to tell the man that wasn’t going to happen. He’s on his way to identify the body.”

  Blake winced. “Ah man, that’s tough.”

  Linc nodded. “He was pretty devastated. Apparently, after Ethan left the foster home to move back with his mother, things didn’t work out too well. This uncle stepped in and took him in his last year of high school. He said he saw the talent in Ethan and sent him to art school. We’re also looking into Alan Garrett’s family and background. I want to know who his parents are, if he has any siblings, friends, whoever. From there, we might be able to get a little bit more information on the connection between the two.”

  “Back to the girl who accused Alan of trafficking her,” Blake said. “What about Ethan Wright? If he and Alan were friends or something, he might have killed her because of her faulty testimony against Alan.”

  “I would be all over that except he has an airtight alibi.”

  “What’s that?” Blake asked.

  “He was in the hospital having his gall bladder removed at the time of her death.”

  Chloe sighed and rubbed her temples. “This case is giving me a headache.”

  “Anyway, I just wanted to run this by you. I’ve got Annie searching for more. And I think David’s volunteered to help her. Over dinner, if I’m not mistaken.” He smiled, then sighed. “I’ll let you know if I find out anything else.”

  “Thanks, Linc,” Chloe said.

  Blake pressed his palms to his eyes. “I’m running out of time.” He dropped his hands and shot a look at Chloe. “It’s time to see if the judge is willing to play dead for a little while.”

  “What are you talking about?” Linc asked.

  They shared their idea with Linc, and by the time Blake finished spilling his plan, her brother was nodding. “That might work. If he’ll agree to it.”

  “The fact that it might save Rachel’s life isn’t motivation enough?”

  Linc raised a brow. “All we can do is ask.”

  Blake picked up his phone.

  “What are you doing?” Chloe asked.

  “Letting the kidnappers know the judge is about to die.”

  Linc frowned. “But he hasn’t agreed yet.”

  “I’m not really interested in giving him a choice. We need to buy time. This is the way to do it. He’ll agree.”