Blood Bound (Blackhawk Security Book 2)

by Samantha A. Cole

  Rylie didn’t miss the little smug smile on the female lawyer’s face and got the impression the woman was a shark when she needed to be. It was a good thing she was on Chase’s team and not against them.

  Behind Rylie, Ian let out a low chuckle. She’d been surprised when he’d arrived to attend the meeting with them, but then she’d laughed when he’d explained he just wanted to see the show and was pissed he’d forgotten to bring some popcorn. Apparently, he had a twisted and sarcastic mind and loved to watch high-profile people get knocked down a few pegs.

  For a few moments, Jansen’s gaze shifted from person to person, as if he were trying to get a clue about what was going on, before he turned to his receptionist. “Let Tom know we’ll be in the conference room and ask him to bring the Ashfords with him.”

  With that, he gestured to the first door on the right down the hallway, the room they’d been in the last time they’d been there. Cupping Rylie’s elbow, Chase led her in that direction, following their lawyers and Ian. As they were getting settled in chairs on one side of the large conference table, Fairbanks stalked in with the Ashfords on his heels. None of them looked happy.

  “Where’s the girl?” Lloyd demanded.

  Ken indicated the row of chairs on the opposite side of the table. “Please, Mr. and Mrs. Ashford, have a seat. There are a few things we wanted to discuss before settling this case.”

  Fairbanks snorted as he sat next to his partner. “The case is already settled.”

  “Not quite. A few things have come to light that will probably change the outcome.”

  “What things?” Carol Ashford asked, taking a seat at the far end of the table. Her eyes flittered from Rylie to Chase to their lawyers.

  Lloyd was still standing and glancing around. His angry gaze settled on Ian, who was casually leaning against the wall behind Rylie and Chase. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Ian Sawyer. Don’t mind me—I’m just here for the food.”

  A soft snort came from Chase, and his dimples flashed quickly before disappearing again. When Rylie raised an eyebrow at him, he shook his head and whispered, “Inside joke. I’ll explain later.”

  Glaring at Ian, Lloyd sat between his wife and lawyers. “Would somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Ken swiveled his chair a little to his left, his gaze falling on Chase. “The floor is all yours.”

  Reaching into the top of his briefcase, Chase pulled out a thick manila folder and set it on the table in front of him. He took his time opening it before reaching for one of a few small bottles of water in the center of the table, that’d been set out for clients. Cracking it open, he handed it to Rylie who gave him a knowing smile as she accepted it. He was clearly playing with the enemy, drawing out the suspense of what was to come.

  Clearing his throat, he leaned back in his chair, having gained the rapt, if not annoyed attention of everyone in the room. “It’s amazing what you can discover on social media these days. Your son, Warren, did a lot of traveling, didn’t he?”

  Lloyd blinked several times. “So?”

  Chase took the first few pages from the stack in front of him and slid them across the table, so the others could see them. They were screenshots of posts from Warren Ashford’s Instagram profile. “New York. Belize. Dominican Republic. Hawaii. California—Malibu to be exact.”

  “So, Warren traveled.” He flipped a dismissive hand. “He was young and wanted to see the world. Big deal.”

  A sinister smile crept up on Chase’s face. “Oh, it is a big deal—at least from where I’m sitting. You see, it seems he spent five months surfing in Malibu eight years ago. Caught some great waves and partied it up quite a bit with a few pals. He posted photos every day—like a virtual diary.”

  “What does my son visiting his friends and surfing have anything to do with my granddaughter?” Carol asked with a huff, confusion etched on her stern face.

  “You mean your stepdaughter.”

  After Chase dropped that bomb, the entire room went silent. No one moved. Rylie had been watching Lloyd, waiting for the moment he realized he’d been outed. The blood drained from his face, and there was suddenly a tick at the corner of his right eye. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead. Yup—the man knew he was about to be buried alive.

  With her jaw clenched, Carol leaned forward, her gaze focused intently on Chase. “What do you mean my stepdaughter?”

  Chase started tossing more pages of scanned documents and images his team had compiled onto the table and spoke in rapid fire. “Mickey is blood type AB, which is rare—I know this because it’s the same as mine. Mickey’s birth mother was blood type B—as you can see from her old blood donor card. Which means Mickey’s biological father had to have blood type A. Simple genetics. According to the hospital records from Warren’s car accident a few months ago, which I had subpoenaed yesterday, he was type O, which I suspect is the same as yours, Mrs. Ashford. So, it’s scientifically impossible for him to have been Mickey’s sperm donor. However, interestingly enough, Mr. Ashford is type is A, according to a news article about a blood drive he participated in while in the senate. It saved me the trouble of getting a subpoena for that.”

  His gaze shifted to Lloyd’s. The man’s pale face was now turning scarlet, and Rylie thought he might have a stroke as Chase continued. “You should be more careful about leaving your empty coffee cup on the table at the golf club’s restaurant. My employee, Lucy—the attractive woman you propositioned the other day and she turned you down—yeah, she snatched that cup right up and drove it straight to the DNA lab for me. You’re not Mickey’s grandfather. You’re her father. Warren was in California for five months eight years ago, and his friends have signed sworn statements saying he never left the state during that time.” He slid a few more papers across the table. “Since Emma was terrified of flying, her vacations were cruises or to places within a maximum day’s drive. She’d never been to California. In fact, according to her own social media pages and Rylie’s recollection, Emma hadn’t left Florida for an entire year before, during, and after getting pregnant. She never had a one-night stand with Warren . . . but she did have one with you, Ashford. When she found out she was pregnant, she told you. You threatened her and gave her hush money, then claimed you did it to protect Warren. But the only person you were protecting was yourself. I bet your son wanted money to cover for you too, in case your wife found out about the large check you’d written to Emma—which I’m sure she did at some point, since she knew about Mickey.

  “When Mrs. Ashford wanted to gain custody of what she believed was her granddaughter, you switched the DNA sample that was provided to the lab, claiming it belonged to Warren. The sample that was taken from your coffee cup confirmed, with a 98.8% certainty, you’re Mickey’s biological father—the same as the DNA taken from the toothbrush that was provided. If you’d kept your mouth shut, while your wife grieved the loss of her only child, instead of offering up an alleged grandchild as a replacement, no one would’ve ever known.”

  Again, the room went uncomfortably silent. Jansen and Fairbanks both had “aw, fuck” expressions on their faces, knowing their client was in deep trouble and there was probably very little they could do about it.

  “I think the senator just shit himself,” Ian jested after a few moments, and Rylie bit back a bark of laughter.

  Jansen stabbed a finger toward the papers on the table, obviously trying to salvage the clusterfuck. “That DNA sample wasn’t legally obtained. It’ll get thrown out in court.”

  Grinning like the Cheshire Cat, Chase shrugged. “I’m more than happy to submit our probable cause to the judge and demand another DNA test. I also have no problem calling a few friends in the press. Stories like this are fodder for the tabloids. Your clients will be raked over the coals of public opinion. However, from the look on Mrs. Ashford’s face, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

  Huffing and shaking her head in revulsion, Carol gaped at her husband before final
ly finding her voice. “Lloyd, you bastard. You cheated on me and got a young girl pregnant? Then tried to pass your illegitimate child off as my—my granddaughter? You make me sick!” The volume of her voice had risen with each word until she’d been yelling. She got to her feet and tucked her purse under her arm. Her shoulders and back were rigid as rage at her spouse emanated from every pore of her flawless skin. Shifting her attention to Rylie, she let her voice fall to a normal level again, but the intense emotions still lingered in her tone. “Ms. Hart, I apologize for everything we’ve put you and Mackenzie through these past few weeks. I’ll be dropping my attempt to gain custody of your daughter, since I have no legal right as we’re not blood related. For what it’s worth, you’ve raised a beautiful, lovely daughter—one I honestly wish was my granddaughter. I very much enjoyed the time I spent with her and hope, maybe, sometime in the future, she and I can visit again. Maybe you could join us too.” After a surprised Rylie simply nodded at her, Carol Ashford stepped closer to Lloyd and glared down at him. Ire and venom raged in her voice again. “This is the final straw. You’ll be hearing from my divorce lawyer, and the prenuptial my father made you sign before our wedding is still in effect. You’ll get nothing from me. And if I find out you’re harassing Ms. Hart, or trying to gain custody of her daughter, I’ll make your life more of a living hell than I’m already planning. You are a fucking pig.”

  She stormed out of the room without a backward glance. Rylie actually felt bad for the woman who’d been an unknowing pawn in this whole mess. She couldn’t imagine how Carol Ashford felt—she’d lost her only child, just found out her granddaughter wasn’t really hers, and was now getting a divorce from her piece of shit husband, all within the same year. How does someone recover from all that?

  Anger rolled off Lloyd as he stared daggers at Chase, who just smirked and leaned back in his chair, victory written all over his face. Rylie wanted to get up and cheer like a teenager on the sidelines at a championship football game, but she kept her satisfied composure, certain it made more of an impact.

  After a few moments of silently gloating, Chase got to his feet and held his hand out to help Rylie up. Their lawyers stood as well. Chase gestured to the papers scattered across the table as he picked up his briefcase. “Gentlemen, you can keep those. I have copies of everything. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we need to go home and tell a beautiful little girl, whom I love more than life itself, she won’t be ripped from her mother’s arms to live with someone she doesn’t know well and doesn’t like.”

  He escorted Rylie toward the door with the others following. Ian was the last one in line. “That was more entertaining than I’d expected. I should’ve videotaped it for posterity.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  One Week Later . . .

  Climbing the steps to the front door, wearing one of his best black suits and carrying a bouquet of flowers, Chase had a sense of déjà vu. Had it really only been a few short weeks since he’d first met Mickey and Rylie? It seemed like a lot longer than that. In fact, he could barely remember what his life had been like without them in it. He hadn’t realized how dark his world had been before they’d brightened it.

  Now that everything concerning the custody battle was in the past, he was finally getting a chance to take Rylie out on a date—a real, one-on-one, romantic date. He’d been looking forward to it all day—hell, all week—counting down the minutes to when the woman who’d won his heart would be in his arms again.

  Instead of roses, the flowers he’d gotten for Rylie were ocean breeze orchids, which he’d learned were her favorite. He’d never given a woman orchids before, much less blue ones, and he liked that she was the first. It made them even more special.

  When Chase knocked on the door, Peanut started barking from somewhere in the house, the volume rising as he ran to the foyer. A moment later, the door swung open, and Mickey was grinning up at him as Aubrey held the squirming, yapping Jack Russell terrier.

  “Quiet, Peanut. Hush,” she admonished. “You know Chase.” The dog obeyed his mistress, as he’d been trained to do, but he was still struggling to get down so he could jump on the newcomer. Thankfully, Aubrey didn’t release him because Chase didn’t want to go to dinner with slobber and white dog hair on his black pants.

  “You look really nice, Chase!”

  “Thanks, pipsqueak.” He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. “Is your mom ready yet?”

  “Almost! And she looks beauuuuuutiful! I’ll go get her.” She did two pirouettes down the hall before running to Rylie’s closed bedroom door. “Mom! Chase is heeeeere!”

  As he stood there, waiting, Chase noticed Aubrey blatantly checking him out, and he raised an eyebrow at her in amusement. Instead of being embarrassed at being caught ogling him, she asked, “Seriously, Chase, have you ever thought about being a model? I mean, I could sell images of you for romance book covers and get at least eight or nine hundred dollars per shot.”

  He chuckled but didn’t have a chance to respond because Rylie had joined them with Mickey on her heels. “Sorry, Aubrey, but I don’t share. He’s all mine.”

  His eyes flared with desire as his mouth watered at the sight of her. Holy. Mother. Of. God. He was stunned speechless for a moment. He’d seen her dressed up before, but never as dramatically as that. She had on a little, black dress that stopped just above her knees and showed off all her luscious curves. The top was off her shoulders, baring them for his viewing pleasure. Delicate pearls decorated her neck and ears, and her hair was up in some fancy do. Subtle makeup enhanced her features, while the four-inch, black heels on her feet made her legs look a mile long. Chase let his gaze skim slowly from her toes to her face, savoring every bit of her. He was grateful he’d buttoned his suit jacket when he’d first gotten out of the car, because it was hiding his now-semi-hard cock, and it wouldn’t take much more for it to be fully erect. His lust-filled gaze met hers. “Mickey was right—you look beautiful, Rylie. Stunning even. I’m going to be the envy of every guy who crosses our path tonight.” He winked at her. “And, like you, I don’t share.”

  He handed her the flowers and dipped his head down to place a kiss on her cheek. He didn’t want to ruin her lipstick—not yet anyway.

  “Thank you. You look fantastic too.”

  Chase wasn’t sure how long they just stood there, drinking each other in, but it was long enough that Aubrey cleared her throat. “Um, if you two don’t get a move on, you’re going to spend your whole night here in the foyer. Let me take the flowers, Rylie. Mickey and I will put them in water for you, so you two can run along and have fun. We’ll see you tomorrow.” She’d offered to babysit Mickey until the morning, so Chase and Rylie could spend the night at a bed and breakfast he’d made reservations at, after an evening of dinner and dancing.

  A few minutes later, carrying her small, overnight bag, Chase escorted Rylie down the walkway to where his slate-colored 1967 Alfa Romeo 1600 Spider was parked at the curb. Tonight was perfect for taking it out for a spin. The top was down, but he’d left the windows up to reduce the crosswind. Like her makeup, he didn’t want to ruin Rylie’s hairdo until much later.

  “This is yours? How many vehicles do you own?”

  “Five, including a motorcycle, but this is my baby. I only take her out for special occasions.” Opening the passenger door, he held Rylie’s hand and helped her into the low seat.

  Within minutes, they were out of her neighborhood and on the main roads, maneuvering through the Saturday evening traffic. As usual, the Spider drew many appreciative looks from other drivers, some of them combined with clear jealousy. Chase was used to it. So far, they hadn’t run into any idiots who wanted to challenge him to a drag race, something he refused to take anyone up on. Owning a classic car like that came with responsibility.

  “So, where are we going for dinner?” Rylie asked as they came to a stop at a red light. “You never said.”

  “Down to Sarasota. Have you ever been to the Co
rnerstone?”

  “No, but I think I’ve heard of it. It’s a jazz club, right?”

  The light turned green, and Chase used both feet to alternate between pressing down on the clutch and accelerator, getting the car back up to the speed limit. “Yeah. Dinner and dancing.” He glanced over at her shapely, bare legs and almost regretted driving the Spider with its manual transmission, because he would’ve rather had his hand on her thigh instead of the gear shift. “I’ve never been there before, either, but I asked around for recommendations.”

  They spent the next forty minutes talking about their weeks, Mickey, Tuff and Chet’s engagement, and anything else that came to mind. Since they’d first met, conversations with her had always been easy and enjoyable, even when they debated their different points of views on a subject. Rylie was a strong, confident woman, and that made her even more attractive. It also made Chase realize how superficial some of the women he’d dated had been. None of them could hold a candle to Rylie.

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Chase refused to use the valet parking. Instead, he asked for the head attendant. When he approached, Chase tipped the man very well to allow him to park the vehicle in one of a few reserved spots under an awning where the staff could keep a watchful eye on it. Nobody drove Chase’s baby, even if it was only fifty feet into a spot.

  After turning off the engine, he climbed out and skirted around the trunk to the passenger side. Opening the door, he helped Rylie out with his gaze glued to her legs again. Flashes of those silky limbs wrapped around his hips as he entered her tortured his mind and made his cock twitch. He silently ordered it to behave—the night was still young.

  As expected, several men were practically drooling at Rylie while Chase led her into the lobby. His arm was possessively around her waist as he held her snuggly against his side. Ian Sawyer, who’d recommended the place, knew the owner and had gotten them placed on a VIP list. When they approached the hostess stand, and Chase gave his name, they were immediately escorted to a booth to the right of the stage and dance floor, having bypassed other patrons who’d been waiting for tables. As Chase glanced around, noting all the exits and other doors as was his habit, he realized they’d been given the best seat in the house—looked like he was going to owe Ian this time.