Bodyguard Daddy. Lisa Childs
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understood why she hadn’t. He hadn’t been there for her when she had needed him before—when she’d learned she was pregnant with his son. If only he could have explained...
But he knew Amber. She wouldn’t have accepted the truth. It had been easier to lie to her and to pretend he hadn’t cared.
Rus lifted his cell phone. “She hasn’t called,” he said. “She doesn’t need me.”
Or she couldn’t call. Milek’s heart slammed into his ribs at the horrific thought. And he pressed harder on the accelerator.
“Stop!” Rus shouted. The man shouldn’t have been afraid. Milek was sure he had participated in more than his share of high-speed chases. “You missed the street.”
Milek steered the SUV into a sharp U-turn, tires squealing, as he drove onto the road Rus indicated. It was a suburban block—little bungalows sitting side by side on the tree-lined street.
Amber had had a bigger home in River City. As a lawyer, she had been able to take care of herself and their son. Financially.
“What does she do here?” he asked. She wouldn’t have been able to practice law without a license.
“Paralegal,” Rus replied, “at an estate law firm.”
It would have been a big demotion for her. In responsibility and pay. She had given up a lot. But he knew why she had. For their son...
She’d wanted to keep him safe. That was the same reason Milek had stayed away from her and him. To keep them safe...
But then he hadn’t realized there were dangers beyond the ones he’d posed.
“Which house?” he asked as he slowed the vehicle.
Rus pointed toward a nondescript white one. Even its door was white as was the trim and foundation. It was so bland that it was nearly invisible. But that had probably been the point. Amber had wanted to be invisible. But someone must have noticed her.
The tires squealed as he braked at the curb. He didn’t bother shutting off the ignition, just threw the transmission into Park and jumped out the driver’s door. While he ran to the front porch, Rus moved more slowly and called out behind him, “Wait...”
Heedless of the warning, Milek vaulted up the steps. But then he paused, and not because of the hand that suddenly clamped down on his shoulder.
“Wait,” Rus said again. “You don’t want to startle her or the boy.”
But Milek pointed toward the front door. It wasn’t just unlocked; it was standing wide-open. Fighting the paralysis of fear, he reached for his holster and drew his weapon. Then he walked through the open door. His stomach knotted with dread over what he might find inside the nondescript home.
Rus had drawn his weapon, too, and he followed closely behind Milek—protecting his back. Milek didn’t care about his own safety. He cared only about hers.
While the house was bland on the outside, inside the walls had been painted bright colors. Vibrant reds and blues and greens. It looked as if it had once been loved and lived in—except it was empty of people and left in a mess.
All the doors had been left open—from the closets in every room to the cupboards in the kitchen. Drawers had been pulled out, too.
“Do you think someone broke in to toss the place?” Rus asked as he gazed around at the chaos.
Milek moved back toward the front door. The jamb wasn’t broken, and there were no gouges in the lock. Unless he or Garek had picked it, there would have been some indication that it had been forced.
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then it looks like someone just left in a hurry,” Rus remarked.
“But why?” Milek asked. Had Rus warned her that Milek knew she was alive? Had she not wanted to see him?
They’d lived in the same city for almost five years after they’d broken up and hadn’t seen each other, though. She probably wouldn’t think he cared that she was alive—not enough to seek her out. “Could she have heard about the graves being dug up?”
“How?” Rus asked. “I didn’t know myself until just an hour ago.”
But maybe Rus wasn’t the only person with whom Amber had stayed in contact. Maybe she’d kept another link to her past—to River City.
The door bumped against something as he pushed it open again, so he pulled it forward and looked behind it. A small stuffed bear lay on the foyer floor next to a table littered with junk mail.
He leaned down to pick up the bear. He recognized the detail. The jewels weren’t real, but he knew who had made it. Stacy.
Was that who Amber had stayed in contact with? She and Stacy had always been so close—like sisters.
That was another reason Milek never should have gotten involved with Amber. And, really, he’d tried to just be friends with her, too.
But she was so damn beautiful, and the attraction between them had been so intense. Even knowing she was his sister’s best friend, he hadn’t been able to resist her. He hadn’t been able to resist her until he’d fallen completely for her. Only then had he been strong enough to do the right thing.
As he leaned down to pick up the stuffed animal, he noticed something else: a photograph lay beneath the bear. He scraped up the picture from the hardwood floor. A woman and child cuddled together on a couch—the very one in the room behind him. Her head bent close to his, the two looked at a book together. His breath caught, burning in his lungs, as he recognized them—the woman and the child he’d never thought he would see again. They didn’t look the same. Her hair was different—brown instead of shiny red, and it wasn’t as long and wavy. Her eyes looked dark, too.
Even the boy’s hair looked darker. But his eyes were still the same pale gray as Milek’s. He was too young for contacts, so his disguise wasn’t as complete as hers.
Was that what had happened?
Had someone recognized them?
That photo had been taken through her front window. He flipped it over and read the message scrawled across the back: I know who you really are...
He passed the picture over to Agent Rus. “This is why she left in such a hurry.”
Rus cursed. “How the hell did someone find her?”
Milek had begun to consider the FBI agent a friend—especially since he’d admitted the truth to him, since he’d reassured Milek that the woman he had always loved and his son had not died. But now he regarded the man with suspicion.
Could he trust him?
Should Amber have trusted him?
* * *
Frank Campanelli shook his head as he followed the minivan back toward the neighborhood he’d thought Amber Talsma had left for good. Earlier he had watched her load the back of the van with boxes and suitcases before she’d gone to the elementary school to pick up her son.
“Why the hell are you coming back here?” he asked aloud.
He’d sent the photographs to give her a chance to escape him. Just as he’d fired those warning shots into her house last time.
He was a professional and had no guilt over killing for money. But it was different with women and kids. Their deaths haunted him.
That was why he’d been glad when Amber Talsma had heeded his last warning and staged her death. He’d claimed responsibility for that and had still collected his payment from his client.
He would have left her “dead”—if not for that damn FBI agent cleaning up River City. Frank had lost another client when Viktor Chekov had gone to prison—to join so many other clients of Frank’s.
He needed money.