Chain of Custody (Holding The Line Book 2)

by Carol Ericson

  “It does. That’s it.” Emily pulled her gun from the holster around her waist. “He’s in there, Nash. I can feel it.”

  Wrinkling his brow, he said, “What are all these cars? There’s a truck around the side, that Jag and a BMW.”

  “That BMW belongs to Lanier.” She tucked her fingers in the back of his waistband. “I’m sure of it. Why would he be out here?”

  “And the Jag?”

  “I don’t have a clue. Seems a little high-end for a bodyguard or a nanny.”

  “We can’t go in with all those people there, and the movement behind the curtain means it’s not just the guard who’s awake.” Nash withdrew his own weapon. His muscles ached with tension.

  The guard wouldn’t move. As the guy lit another smoke, Nash hunkered down and got comfortable behind the fence post, Emily’s quivering body beside his.

  They both jumped when the front door of the cottage burst open, and a woman strode outside, her head turned over her shoulder, long, dark hair flying. Her shouting carried through the desert calm.

  “I’m sick of it, Marcus. If that kid is yours, we’re finished.” She jangled a set of keys at the doorway. “No more of your ridiculous stories. How the hell would you be able to kidnap a Border Patrol agent’s baby?”

  Emily gasped. “Lanier’s there. She must be his wife.”

  “And she’s not happy.” He pressed his shoulder against hers. “We need to take advantage of this.”

  Light flooded the front of the house, and a trim, dark-haired man with a distinct widow’s peak charged after the woman. “Ming, don’t be ridiculous. This opportunity fell into my lap, and I’m going to use it. I don’t know anything else about that baby except his father is a Border Patrol agent who thinks he has something on me.”

  “Thinks?” Ming yanked open the door of the Jag. “I told you to steer clear of Las Moscas. There are easier ways to steal money.”

  “We have to get in there while they’re occupied.” Emily shifted away from him and went into a low crouch. “I’m going around the back so I can see who’s inside.”

  “Be careful.” Nash placed a hand on her back. “Don’t do anything until Ming leaves. You’ll hear her car. If Lanier goes after her, we might have a shot.”

  “We have to take it.” Emily blended in with the night as she crept away.

  Ming screamed an obscenity at her husband and slammed the car door after her. The Jag peeled away from the house in a cloud of dust.

  Nash murmured, “One down. Go after her. C’mon, Lanier. Go after her.”

  Instead, Lanier turned to the guard and bummed a cigarette from him.

  Nash’s gaze tracked to the open doorway. Did Emily know Lanier hadn’t followed his wife?

  Nash dropped to the ground and leveled his weapon in the area of the two men smoking in front of the house. Before Lanier had turned the lights on, Nash couldn’t take aim at the guard. Now he raised his weapon as high as he could get it from his position in the dirt. He could probably hit a thigh from here, but then what? He could just make out the bulge in the man’s jacket that indicated he had a gun within reach.

  And Lanier? A man like that probably never left the house unarmed.

  Nash could hit either one, but the other would return gunfire...or worse. Nash didn’t know what was going on in the house.

  Then Emily decided for him.

  A pop sounded from the house and both Lanier and the guard jerked their heads toward the open doorway, the guard reaching for his weapon.

  Nash had to go with the man who could do more damage at this point. He jumped to a crouch and pulled the trigger. The report echoed through the night, and the guard fell to his knees, wailing as he clutched his leg, his gun forgotten on the ground beside him.

  Nash immediately swung his gun to the left and squeezed off another shot. He missed. Lanier had dived to the ground and was clawing his way back toward the front door.

  Could it be Lanier didn’t have a gun? Had he even expected to be here?

  The guard scrabbled for the weapon he’d dropped in the dirt, and Nash marched forward, leading with his weapon, aiming it at Lanier. On his way, he kicked the gun out of the guard’s reach. Then he kicked the guard. Where the hell had Emily gone?

  And then like some avenging goddess, Emily appeared in the doorway, both hands clutching a gun, the baby crying in the background.

  “Take care of the guard.” She aimed her .22 at Lanier, still on his belly. “Stop, or by God I’ll shoot you in the dirt.”

  Nash lunged forward. “Who’s behind you in the house, Emily?”

  “One dead nanny.”

  “And Wyatt?”

  “Scared but unharmed.”

  Lanier groaned. “What the hell are you doing here? How’d you know about this place?”

  Emily stepped on Lanier’s hand. “Does he have a weapon, Nash?”

  “If he did, he didn’t pull it out. Don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll take care of this guy.”

  Nash pocketed the guard’s gun and then cuffed him, leaving him on his stomach. Then he rolled Lanier over and winced at the dust covering the man’s custom-made suit. That had to hurt. He patted him down.

  “He’s clean. Can’t believe you’d come out to a kidnapping unarmed, Lanier.”

  “I had no intention of coming out here.” He growled. “Someone tipped off my wife.”

  Nash and Emily exchanged a look, and Emily said, “Not a bad idea, but we didn’t think of it.”

  Not until Nash zip-tied Lanier’s hands behind his back did he pull out his phone and dial 911. Once he placed the call, he finally took a breath. “These two aren’t going anywhere. Let’s see to our boy.”

  Emily spun around and rushed into the house with Nash hot on her heels.

  A woman, the same one from the video chat, was sprawled on the floor, her hand inches from a weapon, blood pooling around her head.

  Wyatt, gripping the side of a playpen, his face bright red, screamed when he saw them.

  Emily shoved her gun in the waistband of her pants and whipped off her hat and dark wig. “It’s all right, Wyatt. It’s me. Everything’s going to be okay now. You’re coming home.”

  As Emily flashed her red hair, Wyatt blinked and sniffled. His wailing stopped, and he hiccupped once. Then he reached out his arms and babbled, “Mamamamama.”

  Epilogue

  Emily watched as Nash signed the last form with a flourish.

  He shook the pen at her. “Don’t get too excited. We still have to wait for the family court date.”

  She threw herself against his chest anyway. “You’re going to be the best father ever.”

  Nash’s fellow agent Clay Archer popped a bottle of champagne while his wife, April, held out the first glass.

  April squealed as the bubbly frothed over the side of the glass. “I can’t believe our carefree bachelor is going to be a father.”

  “I wouldn’t be able to do it without my live-in nanny.”

  Clay rescued the glass from his wife and handed it to Emily. “She’s not going to be a live-in nanny forever. I talked to my buddy at Tucson PD, and while Emily’s previous firing will be a blip on her application, it won’t necessarily keep her off the force.”

  Nash accepted a champagne flute from April. “Are you sure you want to go back to being a cop, Emily?”

  “I’ve practically been a cop the past few days. What are you talking about?” She tossed her fiery locks over one shoulder.

  Nash rolled his eyes. “What we did? That was not police work.”

  “Then I guess Tucson PD has a thing or two to learn from me.” She winked at Clay.

  “To Nash and Wyatt, father and son.” April raised her glass and four rims clinked. Then she took a small sip and said, “Who was it that killed Jaycee? I was so sad to hear the news. That gi
rl never got a break.”

  “Crazy as it sounds—” Nash sat on a chair at the kitchen table “—with Lanier and the drug cartel guys after her, it was Brett that killed her. The cops discovered evidence that proves it. Apparently, she was pulling back on the idea to blackmail Lanier and Brett wouldn’t have it.”

  “Aw, she wasn’t such a bad mom after all.” April downed the rest of her champagne, her eyes sparkling with tears.

  “You and the underdog.” Clay shook his head at his new wife. “So, Lanier is Wyatt’s father?”

  Emily pressed a hand against her stomach. She didn’t want to think that a father could put his baby at risk. “Actually, we’re not sure. A paternity test hasn’t been ordered yet.”

  Clay grabbed the champagne bottle by the neck and topped off the four glasses. “Brett killed Jaycee, and Lanier’s guy killed Brett?”

  Nash answered, “Killed Brett, found the drugs Brett had stolen from Las Moscas and took the baby on Lanier’s orders. By that time, Lanier had discovered that Jaycee left the baby with a Border Patrol agent and had found out that I also happened to be the one who’d received the financial information from Webb.”

  Clay shook his head. “I can’t believe Webb turned like that.”

  “He’ll lose his job, but he did have second thoughts. He’s the one who dropped a dime on Lanier to his wife. I’m not sure what he hoped to accomplish by doing that, but her presence at that house in Buckeye is what gave us our chance to rescue Wyatt.”

  April drew her brows over her nose. “And who was the woman you...killed, Emily?”

  “She was part of Lanier’s criminal empire. She did whatever he told her to do—and that meant killing Wyatt instead of giving him up.” She ran a hand through her hair. “When I broke in the back door of the house, she was going for a weapon.”

  Nash rapped on the kitchen table. “Emily’s been cleared. It was a righteous shooting.”

  “As was yours.” Clay clapped Nash on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back at work.”

  Denali came to the screen door and barked, and April lunged forward and hugged the husky. “Oh, I missed you, too—especially after I heard how these two treated you, shuttling you back and forth to Meg’s, getting you poisoned.”

  “That dog is a hero.” Emily aimed a kiss in Denali’s direction.

  April tipped her head. “Come out back with me, Clay. I want to dangle my feet in the pool.”

  “You didn’t get enough water in Hawaii?”

  April crooked her finger at him.

  Clay shrugged, filled up his champagne glass and set the bottle between Nash and Emily on the table. “I think my wife wants me.”

  As the two of them wandered toward the pool, hand in hand, with Denali at their side, Emily scooted back her chair and sat in Nash’s lap. “You’re sure you want to take on the responsibility of a baby?”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  Tilting her head, she traced a finger along his jaw. “I thought I told you, you’re stuck with me with or without Wyatt.”

  “I know that.” He curled an arm around her waist and drew her close. “While I can’t live without you, I also discovered I can’t live without Wyatt in my life, either.”

  She cupped his face with her hands and planted a kiss on his lips. “Are you sure Paradiso doesn’t mean Paradise in Spanish?”

  “It has no meaning in Spanish, actually, just some gringo’s butchered attempt at naming something in Spanish. Why?”

  “Because I came out to Paradiso and found a man, a baby and a love I’ve never felt before. Seems like paradise to me.”

  Nash kissed her back and proved her point.

  * * *

  Look for Unraveling Jane Doe, the next book

  in Carol Ericson’s Holding the Line miniseries,

  available August 2020.

  And don’t miss the previous book in the miniseries:

  Evasive Action

  Available now wherever

  Harlequin Intrigue books are sold!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Badlands Beware by Nicole Helm.

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  Badlands Beware

  by Nicole Helm

  Chapter One

  Rachel Knight had endured nightmares about the moment she’d lost the majority of her sight since she’d been that scared, injured three-year-old. The dream was always the same. The mountain lion. The surprising shock and pain of its attack.

  Things she knew had happened, because what else could have attacked her? Because that was the truth that everyone believed. She’d somehow toddled out of the house and into the South Dakota ranchland only to have a run-in with a wild animal.

  But in the dreams, there was always a voice. Not her father, or her late mother, or anyone who should have been there that night.

  The voice of a stranger.

  Rachel sucked in a breath as her eyes flew open. Her heart pounded, and her sheets were a sweaty tangle around her.

  It was a dream. Nothing more and nothing less, but she couldn’t figure out why twenty years after the attack she would still be so plagued by it.

  Likely it was just all the danger that her family had been facing lately. As much as she loved the Wyatts, both sturdy Grandma Pauline and her six law enforcement grandsons who owned the ranch next door, their connection to a vicious biker gang meant trouble seemed to follow wherever they went.

  And somehow, this year it had also brought her foster sisters into the fold time and again. Putting them in jeopardy along with those Wyatt brothers—and then culminating in true love, against all odds.

  All of their tormenters were in jail now, and Rachel wanted that to be the end of it.

  But something about the dreams left her feeling edgy, like the next dangerous situation was just around the corner.

  And that you’ll get thrust into the path of one of the Wyatt boys and end up...

  Rachel got out of bed without finishing the thought. Just because four of her five foster sisters had ended up in love with a Wyatt didn’t mean she was doomed. Because if she was doomed, so was Sarah. Rachel laughed outright at the thought.

  Sarah was too much like Pauline. Independent and prickly. The thought of her falling for anyone, let alone a bossy Wyatt, was unfathomable. Which meant it was inconceivable for Rachel, too. She might not be prickly, but she had no designs on ending up tied to a man with a dangerous past and likely even more dangerous secrets.

  So, that was that.

  Rachel went through her normal routine of showering and getting ready for the day before heading downstairs. She didn’t have to tap her clock to hear the time to know it was earlier than she usually woke up.

  She was—shudder—becoming a morning person. Maybe she could shed that with the coming winter.

  It was full-on autumn now. Twenty-three was creeping closer and while she knew that wasn’t old, she was exactly where she’d always been. Would she be stuck here forever? In the same house, on the same ranch, nothing ever changing except the people around her?

  Teaching at the reservation offered some respite, but she was so dependent on others. If she moved somewhere with more public transportation, she could be independent.

  And yet the thought of leaving South Dakota and her family always just made her sad. This was home. She wanted to be happy here, but there was a feeling of suffocation dogging her.

  Maybe that was why she kept having those dreams.

  Weirdly, that offered some comfort. There was a reason, and it was just feeling a little quarter-life crisis-y. Nothing...ominou
s.

  She held on to that truth as she headed downstairs. Inside the house she never used her cane, even after the fire this summer. They’d fixed the affected sections to be exactly as they had been, which meant she knew it as well as she knew Pauline Reaves’s ranch next door, or her classroom, or Cecilia’s house on the rez where Rachel stayed when she was teaching.

  She wasn’t trapped. She had plenty of places to go. As long as she didn’t mind overprotective family everywhere she went.

  Rachel stopped at the bottom of the stairs, surprised to hear someone in the kitchen. Duke’s irritable mutterings alerted her to the fact it was her father before she could make out the shape of him.

  Big, dark and the one constant presence in her life, aside from Sarah—who was the opposite of Duke. Small, petite and pale. She couldn’t make out the details of a person’s appearance, but she could recognize those she loved by the blurry shapes she could see out of her one eye that hadn’t been completely blinded.

  “Daddy, what are you doing?”

  “What are you doing up?” he returned gruffly.

  Rachel hesitated. While she often told her father everything that was going on with her, she tended to keep things that might worry him low-key. “I think my body finally got used to waking up early,” she said, forcing a cheerfulness over it she didn’t feel.

  “Speaking of that...” He trailed off, approached her. His hand squeezed her shoulder. “Baby, I know you’ve got a class session coming up in a few weeks, but I think you should bow out. Too much has been going on.”

  Rachel opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Not teach at the rez? The art classes she held for a variety of age groups were short sessions and taught through the community rather than the school itself. She only instructed about twenty weeks out of the year, and he wanted her to miss a four-week session? When teaching was the only thing that made her feel like she had a life outside of cooking and cleaning for Dad and Sarah.

  “Just this session,” Dad added. “Until we know for sure those Wyatt boys are done bringing their trouble around.”