Lynette Eason - Protective Custody

Again, Seth eyed him patiently. “They’re professionals. The kids will be fine—and alive.”

Before Nicholas could respond, a knock on the door sounded, and he flashed back to two years ago when another knock had jerked him out of his comfort zone and forced him to admit his marriage needed help.

God, please don’t let it be…

“Hello, Nicholas.”

…Carly Masterson.

Staring at the man before her, who was dressed in jeans and a white oxford shirt stained with blood, Carly felt a surge of attraction mixed with disdain.

To cover her shock, consternation and anger with herself at the blindsiding emotions, she moved aside to let Mason in. If she was going to be attracted to someone, why couldn’t it be her partner? Unfortunately, even though she thought he was a good-looking man, Mason didn’t send a single zip up her spine.

Not like the judge standing in front of her. A judge who let a killer get off scot-free. Free to kill again. Free to kill my beloved mentor, Hank Bentley.

Of all the assignments I could have gotten, I pulled this one. Why? Who she was appealing to, she didn’t know. But it sure wasn’t God. They weren’t on speaking terms.

Focus, Carly. Do your job.

Derailing her unprofessional thoughts, she glanced at McCoy. “Took you long enough to let us know you had him.”

McCoy raised a brow and shrugged. “You know the procedure as well as I do. Get the subject safe then report in as soon as possible. That’s what I did.”

Carly did know the procedure and inwardly cringed at the gentle reprimand from her peer. She was being entirely too sensitive about this…and she knew why.

Because it was Nicholas Floyd. A man she’d come to think of as a friend two years ago when she was assigned to him and his wife. A man she once admired and respected. Only to have him turn around and let a killer go on a “technicality” six months ago. She despised the word. There should be no “technicalities” in her line of work.

But Judge Floyd was also a man who was now in danger. She would put her personal feelings aside and do her job.

“Right.” Turning to Nicholas, she asked, “What happened? We found blood in your office.”

A flush covered his cheekbones, and he shot a look at Seth. “He surprised me while I was shaving.”

Frowning, she eyed the cut on his face. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” His lips tightened. “I need to make sure my niece and nephew are safe, then get out there in the courtroom and try the case I’ve got waiting for me.”

“They’re safe,” she assured him. “As soon as we got the call, two other marshals and several officers headed for your house. Authorities are also fanning out around the building here. We’re pulling the security videos from the cameras around your office.”

Nick nodded. “It didn’t come through the U.S. mail. It came through interoffice mail. If you look at the cameras, all you’re going to see is my secretary entering my office and placing an interoffice envelope on my desk.”

“We’ll still check. We’ll be checking your phone records, too.”

Nick shook his head. “Of course, but what do you want to bet that threatening call came from an untraceable prepaid cell-phone number?”

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”

Mason cleared his throat. “What exactly did the letter say?”

Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper encased in a paper bag. At Carly’s raised brow, he shrugged. “I’ve had police training, remember? Before I decided what I wanted to do with my life, I went through the police academy. I can gather evidence without contaminating it just as well as any cop.”

As she took it from him, her fingers brushed his and she felt their warmth briefly against her own. Shivers danced along her spine and she cleared her throat, ignoring the heat flushing her cheeks. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man she didn’t respect.

Focusing, she snapped on a glove and pulled the letter from the bag. She read aloud, “Drop the de Lugo case, Judge, or you’ll be sorry. You’ve already lost a sister and a wife. What would those kids do if they lost you, too? You’re not safe anywhere. Your home, your office, your gym, your bed—there’s nowhere we can’t get to you. If you don’t drop the case, you’d better update your will.”

Carly passed the letter to Mason and looked up at the handsome judge. “The de Lugo trial.” A statement, not a question. She knew about the trial.

“Yes, the trial of Ricardo de Lugo and his murdering band of cohorts is set to start in less than one week. Six days to be exact. Two years of undercover work by two FBI agents finally netted enough evidence to put him away for life—possibly even give him the death penalty.” He paused. “Assuming we make it to trial. No matter how much protection is offered, it seems this man has eyes and ears everywhere.” He gestured to the letter. “Someone who knows me pretty well seems to be passing on information.”

Carly shifted. “We have marshals on the FBI agents’ families, too. As for this—” she waved the letter “—he doesn’t necessarily have to know you well. A little research online probably told him everything ever published in the newspaper about you. But,” she mused, “whoever wrote this appears to be educated. Proper grammar, flawless punctuation…”

Seth stood. “I’ve got to get back to my partner. I left him guarding a prisoner who gets on your nerves after five minutes in his company. He’ll be ready for a break.”

Mason shook his hand. “We’ve got this covered. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” Seth left, and Mason turned to Nicholas. “You’re still determined to go out there?”

A hard sheen flattened his gold-green eyes. “Absolutely.”

“When will your current trial wrap up?”

“I’m hoping by this afternoon. It’s a pretty straightforward case.”

“After that, what would you think about hiding out in a safe house until the de Lugo trial starts?”

He didn’t answer at first. “If it were just threats against me, I would say forget it. I’ve had training. But the kids…” He stood. “I’ve got to change my shirt and get into my robe. Let me think about it.”

“There’s really nothing to think about, sir. All the training in the world won’t stop a sniper’s bullet. And while we can’t exactly stop it, either, we give you a better chance of ducking when one heads your way. You need us, whether you like it or not.”

Carly watched Nick and Mason square off.

“Think of the children, Nicholas,” Carly offered softly. When she’d first met him two years ago, he hadn’t had the children. His wife and sister had been alive. She’d seen pictures of the kids, and he’d told her about them in detail, like the doting uncle he was.

Since then a lot had happened. He’d lost two women he’d loved, gained two children—and released a killer to kill again.

She blinked that last thought away.

He blew out a breath and undid the buttons on his cuffs. Forearms roped with strength emerged as he shoved the sleeves up to his elbows; Carly swallowed hard, desperately trying to convince herself she was not feeling another tug of attraction.

What was wrong with her?

“Look,” Nick said as he headed for the door, “we just moved here to Spartanburg a year ago. My mother moved out to California to take care of my sick aunt, and my latest nanny up and quit on me so I have a friend filling in.” He shook his head. “Since my sister died in the car wreck with my wife, there’s been no real consistency in my niece and nephew’s lives. Lindsey and Christopher need that. They crave that. My house is about as safe as you can get. Granted, it’s not hard to find, but I’m not listed in the phone book, either. As for the information online, that was all newspaper stuff. Nothing about where I live.” He shot Carly and Mason a hard look. “If I let you move in to my house, can you keep the kids safe while they go through their usual daily routine?”