Chapter Eighteen
Rylie’s heart was lodged in her throat. She clung to Chase’s arm as he and one of his lawyers, Ken Ferguson, escorted her into the building that housed the law offices of Drake, Jansen, and Fairbanks. If she let go of Chase, she was certain she’d collapse, as her knees were shaking like leaves.
After getting past security and finding the lawyers were located on the eighth floor, they rode the elevator up. When the doors opened, the only reason Rylie exited was because Chase had put his arm around her and urged her to step forward. Again, she was grateful he was there.
The decor of the reception area was done in rich shades of brown, ivory, and green—earth tones—but there was no mistaking the quality of the art that hung on the walls and the expensive furniture. Clearly this area was meant to impress their clients as they waited to fork over a fortune for the attorney’s overpriced services. Chase had done a background check on the law firm too—he’d said he was just covering all the bases. Knowing more about their adversaries would help in the long run. She wasn’t too sure it made a difference, but he was more experienced in these sorts of things—at least he seemed to be.
“Easy, sweetheart,” he said, low enough she was the only one who heard him, as Ferguson checked them in with the receptionist. Chase’s warm breath feathered her ear, sending a delicious chill down her spine despite where she was. “You’re a few seconds away from hyperventilating. Slow your breathing down. Inhale . . . hold it . . . exhale . . . again . . . again. That’s it.”
Rylie hadn’t realized she’d been gulping for air until Chase had pointed it out. His low, rumbling voice in her ear had her regaining her composure and putting on a brave face. The last thing she wanted to show going into this meeting was any sign of weakness. “Thank you,” she whispered back.
He kissed her temple. “My pleasure.”
They were kept waiting for over ten minutes—probably on purpose—before a tall, skinny man, with black hair, brown eyes, and an arrogant expression walked into the reception area. It didn’t escape Rylie’s notice that Richard Jansen introduced himself to Ferguson and then Chase before offering his hand to her. She gave him her professional handshake—the one she gave new clients, which related her full confidence even if she didn’t feel it deep inside.
Jansen gestured for them to follow him to a conference room. Chase’s hand was splayed across Rylie’s back in support as they entered the room. When Jansen and Ferguson moved out of her way, Rylie got her first in-person look at former Senator Lloyd Ashford and his wife, Carol. His custom-made pinstripe suit, Rolex watch, and her black, Chanel dress, Manolo Blahnik shoes, and pearls exuded money—there was no attempt by them to hide how rich they were. The $200K Mercedes-Benz Maybach Rylie had seen in the parking lot probably belonged to them. God, they were so out of her league.
Again, she felt faint tremors in her legs threatening to take hold of her and tried not to collapse into the chair Chase pulled out for her. As she took the seat, Lloyd Ashford glowered at Chase. “What are you doing here?”
Chase sat, adjusted his gold cufflinks—he’d also dressed to intimidate—then pinned the other man with a challenging stare that said he was ready to go toe to toe with his adversary before answering. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the fact that Ms. Hart and I are dating, Ashford. After all, the PI you hired to follow Ms. Hart and her daughter took plenty of photos of us. I’m here today to give her my full support. She and her daughter mean a lot to me, and I protect what’s mine. I’m also sure you’re aware of who I am and what business I’m in. I can guarantee I have far more connections in Washington than you do these days and I’m not afraid to use them. Now, tell me—if Ms. Hart and I were further along in our relationship, before we found out about the PI, would you have had him try to get more salacious photos so you could resort to blackmail?”
Oh, Chase was good, Rylie would give him that. The Ashfords were put on the defensive before any of the lawyers could get their opening statements in. It was clear to everyone in the room that Chase was not going to allow these people to ride roughshod over Rylie. Both Lloyd and Carol had gone rigid as distaste filled their eyes.
“I don’t appreciate what you’re insinuating,” Carol Ashford spat out. “All we were doing was making certain our grandchild wasn’t being abused or neglected.”
“Right. Because you’ve been so worried about her for the past eight years, made sure she got to know you, doted on her, and made your son pay child support.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, that’s right, you didn’t. Your husband just bribed Emma Hart, with a hundred-thousand dollars, to go away and never let anyone know about your illegitimate grandchild, whom you’ve never laid eyes on before this month.” Chase’s dry tone and chilled glower had the woman gaping, but she didn’t say another word.
Rylie glanced at Ken Ferguson, who was discreetly hiding a smirk behind a hand, and wondered why Chase had even brought the man along, since the head of Blackhawk Security had things well under control. So far.
“Can we bypass the insults and get down to business, Mr. Dixon?” asked a man who was sitting next to Richard Jansen. Definitely another lawyer. “Ms. Hart, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Howard Fairbanks, and I want to thank you for coming in today to discuss custody of your adopted daughter.”
Her eyes flared, and terror assaulted her, but Chase set a hand on her arm, reassuring her he was going to do everything he possibly could to keep these people from taking Mickey from her. Instead of giving a verbal response, afraid she’d burst out crying or start throwing things in a rage, she simply nodded. Chase had drilled it into her that she was to stay as quiet as possible during the meeting and let him and Ferguson do all the talking. He’d said the Ashfords’ lawyers would be wording things in order to get a rise out of her—anything they could use against her. So, she gritted her teeth and kept her mouth shut.
“What exactly do you mean when you say ‘custody’ of the young lady?” Ferguson asked.
“She deserves to be raised by blood-related family.”
Fairbanks held up a hand. “Please, Mrs. Ashford. This will go much faster and easier—”
“Oh, this isn’t going to go easy at all,” Chase interrupted, the venom in his voice apparent. “I guarantee that. State your terms, and I’ll let you know if we agree with them.”
“This doesn’t concern you, Dixon.”
“You see, Ashford, that’s where you’re wrong. I was there for Mickey—”
Carol Ashford’s eyes narrowed. “God, I hate that name. Call her by her given name—Mackenzie isn’t a name I would’ve given her, but anything is better than sounding like she belongs at Disney World.”
Rylie wanted to reach across the table and smack the other woman, but she refrained—barely. Beside her, Chase dropped his tone to a dangerous level. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, I was there for Mickey when no one on her biological sperm donor’s side was. Where were you all when she needed a bone marrow transplant? Where were you when her birth mother died, and she was grieving and crying in Ms. Hart’s arms? Living high on the hog in Washington? Vacationing on the French Riviera? Hosting black-tie events so everyone knew how much money Mrs. Ashford’s family has?”
Oh, another dig! Apparently, Lloyd only had a sizable bank account because he’d married into money. And Carol had never worked a day in her life—riding the coattails of her father’s and grandfather’s finance and investment companies.
“The way I see it is,” Chase continued, “you didn’t give a crap about the child your son fathered until he died and you no longer had an heir. So, what did you do? You tracked down the grandchild you’ve never bothered to get to know and suddenly you want a relationship with her. That’s not how this shit works. You don’t get to pick and choose like that, and you sure as hell don’t demand custody of a child and rip her out of her adoptive mother’s arms. She’s already lost a mother—you’re willing to put a seven-year-old through that again?”
Mr
s. Ashford huffed. “You make it sound as if we’re heartless. All we want is a relationship with our granddaughter. If that means sharing custody with her adoptive mother, with Ms. Hart having visitation rights—”
“What?” That one word came out of Rylie on a screech and she was shocked the room’s windows didn’t shatter. She’d had enough. Rage coursed through her and stuck its evil talons into her skin. Even though Chase tried to stop her, she jumped to her feet and jabbed her pointer finger at the other woman, whose eyes had grown wide as her jaw dropped. If these people thought Rylie was going to take this lying down and hand over her daughter without a problem, they had another thought coming. That and her boots up their asses. “If anyone is going to have visitation rights, it’s going to be you, lady—and I’ll fight you every step of the way. Chase was right—you were never there for her and suddenly you want her to call you grandma and grandpa? Where were you over the past seven years? You bought Emma’s silence and distance when she was pregnant. Instead of demanding more from the people who didn’t want Mickey, she raised her daughter on her own. And she never touched a penny of that hush money—”
“That little slut didn’t deserve more!”
“Mr. Ashford, please—” Jansen held up his hand to interrupt his client, but Ashford ignored him and continued.
Spittle shot from his mouth as his face reddened. “She’s lucky she got what she did. The greedy bitch wanted half a million dollars. Said if I didn’t pay, she’d go to the press and make up a story, telling everyone she was raped! I told her to take the hundred grand and get out.”
“Did your son rape Emma?”
The chill in Chase’s voice almost froze the room. The only immediate response had been a shocked gasp from Mrs. Ashford.
Chase’s hand circled Rylie’s wrist, silently urging her to let him take over. She did but remained on her feet. God, the thought of Warren Ashford raping Emma made her nauseous, and she felt the blood drain from her face. Was that really what had happened? Why wouldn’t she have told Rylie about it?
Chase got to his feet and stood beside her. “That would definitely be something you’d want to hide during an election year. As for being greedy—Emma never touched a dime of that money. It’s been sitting in a savings account, collecting interest until Mickey turns eighteen.”
“All right! Enough, please.” Fairbanks finally tried to get the meeting back on track, but all Rylie wanted to do was storm out of there, find her daughter, and run away where these people would never find them. “Ms. Hart, Mr. Dixon, please take your seats. This has gotten out of hand. All we want to do is arrange for the Ashfords to be able to spend time with their granddaughter. They are entitled to that.”
“They aren’t entitled to any—” Rylie cut off the rest of what she was about to say when Chase gave her wrist a squeeze and Ferguson did the same to her other elbow from where he still sat in the chair next to her.
“Under what terms?” Ferguson asked.
Fairbanks slid a small stack of papers across the table to Chase’s lawyer. “For now, they’d like to have Mackenzie spend the afternoon at their house in Clearwater tomorrow. That’s a court order demanding Ms. Hart make her daughter available from noon to five tomorrow, so the Ashfords can get to know her and vice versa.”
Ferguson’s brow furrowed as his gaze skimmed the top page. “How the hell did you get this processed so fast without notifying Ms. Hart or me of your intent?” He shook his head when Fairbanks gave him a superior smirk and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. “Obviously, money talks. You said, ‘for now’—what else is in here?”
“There’s also an order there for Mackenzie to be interviewed by a child psychologist and Child Protective Services.”
“Wha—” Again, the two men Rylie was with silently cut her off. While she understood why they were doing it, that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“May I have a few moments with my client?” Ferguson asked.
Jansen and Fairbanks both stood, but it was the latter who responded. “Of course. We’ll be waiting with the Ashfords in my office. Let us know when you’ve reached a decision.”
The two men ushered their clients out of the room as the Ashfords glared daggers at Rylie and Chase. As soon as the door closed behind them, she spun around and poked Chase in the chest. “I’m not letting that witch and bastard take my child!”
Grasping her hand, he pulled her into his arms, and she sagged against his chest. This wasn’t his fault, and she had no right being mad at him, especially when he, his employees, and his lawyers were doing everything they could to help her. After a few moments, she regained her composure and turned around to face Ferguson. “Do I really have to let them take Mickey tomorrow?”
He gestured to the court order. “Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry, Rylie, but this is just the start. My partners and I will do everything we can to make sure you don’t lose primary custody of Mickey. But the judge is going to want some concession on your part, unless we can prove that Mickey would be in danger—physically, emotionally, or mentally—if she spent time with her biological grandparents.”
As much as she hated the fact that Mickey would have to spend an afternoon with that . . . that couple, she knew the courts wouldn’t agree with her withholding Mickey from her biological family. But, maybe, she could come to an agreement with the Ashfords. Maybe they’d be nice to Mickey and be better grandparents to her than what Rylie had seen of them today. “Can I go with her?”
“Not according to this.”
“What about her bodyguards?” Chase asked.
A knowing grin rose from the corners of Ferguson’s mouth. “You mean the bodyguards who’ve been watching over her, since you’re dating her mother and you have very bad people in your past who would love to get revenge on you somehow? Didn’t you recently get threatened by someone?”
Rylie’s gaze shot to Chase’s. He hadn’t told her anything about a threat against him, her, or Mickey, other than the one the Ashfords and their minions posed. Chase smiled and winked at her, and it was then she realized there was a conspiracy in the making. “Oh, I definitely received a threat recently. And while that threat is still active, Mickey will have a bodyguard, appointed by me, who has to accompany her everywhere she goes.”
“Is that okay with you, Rylie?” When she nodded, he picked up his briefcase and headed for the door. “I’ll let the others know and meet you downstairs in the lobby in a few minutes.”
Once the man closed the door behind him, leaving them alone, Chase pulled Rylie back into his arms and hugged her. “I wish I could see the look on Mrs. Ashford’s face when Tuff shows up with Mickey tomorrow.”
Despite the last half hour, Rylie burst out laughing at the thought of Tuff strolling into the mansion the Ashfords owned, with his huge, muscular body, crew cut, and tattoos that covered both arms and his neck. If he found a reason to take off his shirt, they’d also get a gander at the ink on his chest and back. Chase was sending the perfect person to watch over Mickey and annoy the hell out of the Ashfords. And Rylie knew Tuff would protect Mickey to the death if he had to. He’d already told her that one afternoon at her house. Apparently, he’d also given the little girl his own nickname. After seeing her wearing a Disney shirt, he’d started calling her “Mouse,” much to Mickey’s delight.
Tilting her head up, Rylie eyed Chase with a devious grin. “Can you tell Tuff to bring Meat with him?”
Chapter Nineteen
“You okay, Mouse?” Tuff asked Mickey as he steered his truck into the large driveway leading to the ostentatious mansion belonging to the Ashfords. She’d been bubbly, although disappointed Meat wasn’t with him, when he’d first picked her up at her home, but, since then, she’d gotten quieter and quieter as the tires trod each mile of their route. Rylie had put on a brave face, telling her daughter to have fun, but Tuff was certain she’d broken down in Chase’s arms as soon as the truck was out of her sight.
God, he hated this. Mickey would have to
spend the next few hours with people she’d never met before. Hopefully, the Ashfords would curb their obvious animosity toward Rylie—Chase had filled Tuff in on most of yesterday’s meeting with them—and treat Mickey kindly. It would make things go so much easier.
Tuff knew Rylie had been through the wringer yesterday, between the Ashfords, all the lawyers, the court order, and then explaining everything to her daughter. Not only had Mickey lost one mother, but now she knew her biological father, who she’d never met, was also dead—or in heaven as Rylie had told her. Then she finds out she has grandparents who suddenly want a relationship with her, after all those years without contact. It was a lot for a seven-year-old to process, and everyone was doing their best to reassure her that it would all be okay.
Through the rearview mirror, he spotted Mickey shrugging in the seat behind him—she was too young to sit up front with him, according to state laws. Wearing blue capris, a white, blue, and yellow striped shirt, and white Keds, she had her blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail. “What if they don’t like me, Tuff?”
Her voice had been so soft, he’d nearly missed her question. Pulling up behind a Mercedes-Benz Maybach, Tuff put the truck in park, undid his seat belt, and twisted around so he could look right at Mickey. “How could they not like you? You’re beautiful, sweet, funny, and smart. Things might be awkward in the beginning, like when someone new joins your class, until you get to know each other. Just give them a chance, okay?”
“Okay,” she mumbled, clearly still not looking forward to meeting these people.
“And give me a smile, too.” When she did, he added, “On the way home, later, we’ll swing by headquarters and pick up Meat, sound good?” Chet was attending a baby shower for a friend at some restaurant, so Tuff had taken the big lug to BHS to hang with Gordo for a few hours.
When Mickey’s smile widened, he knew it was no longer forced. She unclicked her seat belt. “Yes!”
Blood Bound (Blackhawk Security Book 2) Page 13