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The urge to pull one and watch it recoil had prompted him to piss her off at the airport, and the hunger to do it again haunted him.
He flipped over, unsettling thoughts disturbing his rest. Agitated, his mind revisited the shock he’d felt hearing Kayla’s whispered 911 call for help. She’d eerily moaned Charli’s name over and over, as if in a trance of terror for her make-believe sister.
Remembering his own ungodly fear, the stumbling when he’d rushed to get from his car, tripping, shaking, prayers uttered at the thought of their danger, he admitted to not having felt that kind of rookie trauma in a very long time.
No way would Blake admit to Charli that he’d been on the street sitting in his car, watching the house. It would infuriate her and undermine her confidence as an agent. He’d planned to stay until midnight when he had another officer detailed to take over the surveillance.
After reading the file on Dylan Ross, the infamous Silverado, there was no way he wanted the girls alone in the house. And the phone session he’d had with Deputy Chief Prowler, enlightening him to Charli’s recent past, her undercover case, her exhaustion, meant he wouldn’t be taking any chances that she’d be at her best, which he’d learned was better than most.
Then again, he’d originally planned on spending every night with the girls, and they’d have been covered. Well that went down like a defective bomb, didn’t it?
Charli had crankily put the kybosh on that idea, and knowing they needed to have someone watching the place, he’d had to scramble for a replacement. After he’d called in to find out the men he could trust to keep their mouths shut about this place were covering a street concert downtown with a top headliner band, he decided the hell with it.
He’d take the first shift, and he’d call his Lieutenant, Bill Newton, to start at one a.m. at the latest. Bill was an Aussie who’d emigrated from Queensland five years earlier, a good man, one who owed him many favors.
With this guy, no explanations would be necessary. He knew the circumstances about the witness protection program, took orders, didn’t ask questions and could be relied on to stay awake and do his job. He’d be arriving soon, then Blake could leave.
Nope! That wasn’t going to happen either. He was exactly where he wanted to be.
Suddenly, still restless, he had the urge to check on the girls. Figured if he got caught, he’d use the excuse for needing the little boy’s room. But he wouldn’t be able to sleep now unless he knew for sure they were safe.
Sliding from the couch in his underwear, he slipped his pants back on and tiptoed to the first door in the hallway.
He peeked in and had the shock of his life.What the hell?The bed was empty. His head reeling with too many horrifying images whirling around, he crept closer and checked the other side in case Kayla happened to be a weird kid who slept on the floor. Nope! The room was empty.
Son of a bitch!
Moving quickly and in his haste, stubbing his toe, he clamped down on the cuss words, jogged awkwardly to the second door, and quiet as a burglar, he pushed down on the handle to open the door.
Moisture collected in his eyes at the beautiful sight that awaited him and a soft mushiness invaded his whole being. The two girls lying together – Charlie with Kayla nestled against her side – slept like babies. He slinked closer, drawn by an invisible force, only to be met with the barrel of a gun inches out of the cover pointed directly at his heart.
