Blood Bound (Blackhawk Security Book 2)

by Samantha A. Cole

  And, just like that, work interrupted his thoughts, distracting him from the movie. Not BHS’s cases, exactly, but whoever had hired Skaggs to follow Rylie and Mickey . . . and why. From what Chase knew of Rylie so far, he couldn’t think of a reason why someone wanted her tailed. It wasn’t as if her property management business was high profile or even a huge moneymaker. The company earned just enough for her to pay her employees and give herself and Mickey a comfortable life. She’d stated she hadn’t dated in years, so it was doubtful an ex-boyfriend was involved. Maybe Rylie had attracted the attention of a stalker—but they usually trailed their mark and did their own research, instead of hiring someone to do it for them. For now, whatever was going on and whoever was behind it was still a mystery, but Chase was determined to make certain nothing happened to the two females who’d become extremely important to him in less than a week. His operatives had been watching the house and following Rylie and Mickey from discreet distances. He didn’t want to scare the two of them until he knew what they were up against.

  The credits to the movie began to scroll up, and Chase reluctantly allowed Rylie to stand. She smiled down at her daughter and whispered, “She’s sound asleep.”

  He peered over and saw Mickey was out like a light. Not a surprise since they’d had a full and active day. When Rylie moved to pick her up, Chase waved her off. The seven-year-old was too big for her to lift and carry down the hall. Supporting Mickey’s head, Chase slid out from underneath her, taking the throw pillow with him. He stood and scooped her up into his arms, being careful not to jostle her too much and wake her. Rylie led the way to the girl’s bedroom and pulled down the comforter and sheet for him. After he placed Mickey in the middle of the bed, Rylie covered her. They then tiptoed out quietly and shut the door, returning to the family room where Chase helped clean up the last of their dinner.

  Noticing the garbage in the kitchen was almost full, he asked, “Where are your trash cans? In the garage or outside?”

  Rylie had her hands in the sink, rinsing a few things off before putting them in the dishwasher. “Oh, thank you. They’re in the garage.”

  He carried the plastic bag out to the one-car garage and found the dark-green trash cans by the overhead door. As he headed back inside, his cell phone rang, and he pulled it from the holster at his hip. The screen read, “Skaggs.” Chase had plugged the PI’s numbers into his phone after telling the guy to call him when he was contacted by the anonymous client.

  Shit. Lousy freaking timing.

  Chase glanced longingly at the door that led back into the house . . . back to where Rylie was waiting, hopefully anticipating a repeat of their earlier kiss. He cursed again under his breath before answering the call. “Dixon.”

  “Hey, it’s me. Joey Skaggs. That guy called me, but he didn’t want to meet. Told me to upload everything to Dropbox and give him the link.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Just like that? How are you getting paid?”

  “He said a bag with the money was left under the front seat of my car. I ran out to get it in case someone saw him leave it. It was all there—three grand cash.”

  “Are you home or at your office?”

  “Um, home. My car’s parked in the lot.”

  Damn, far less chance of finding surveillance cameras focused on the entrance to the parking lot in that neighborhood, but he’d have Gordo’s team look anyway. “You still have the link to the Dropbox file?”

  “Yeah, but he told me to delete it in thirty minutes.”

  “Which you’re not going to do. Send the link to the following email address.” He rattled off the main address for BHS. “I’ll have someone swing by in the morning with the cash I promised. If this asshole contacts you again, I want to know about it.”

  “You’ll make it worth my while?” Skaggs asked.

  Chase wished he could reach through the phone and strangle the sleezeball. “If you mean I’ll let you live, then, yeah, I’ll make it worth your while.”

  “C’mon, Dixon.”

  He glanced at the door again. This wasn’t about him, it was about Rylie and Mickey, which meant Chase wasn’t taking any chances. “Fine. Cash rewards depend on the quality of the intel you bring me. And Skaggs? Cross me and you’ll live just long enough to regret it.”

  He hung up on whatever the other man had started to say, then hit a speed dial button and waited for it to be answered.

  “Schaffer.” Billy Schaffer was one of the geeks on Gordo’s team and was, apparently, on duty tonight. With operations happening at all hours of the day and night, and currently in four countries around the globe, Blackhawk had someone manning the war-room 24/7/365.

  “Billy, it’s Chase. You should be getting an email in a few minutes with a Dropbox link. I want you to track down whoever’s opened it. I want as much intel as you can get on my desk by oh seven hundred.” It wasn’t uncommon for him to be in the office on Sunday, and, lately, it seemed to happen more often than not. “If you don’t get the email within twenty minutes, let me know.”

  “You got it, boss. Need anything else?”

  “Not right now. How’s everything going? Anything I need to be aware of?”

  “Nope. Quiet on all fronts, other than Minx and Jester’s flight got held up in Oklahoma City. There’s a major storm system with tornado warnings going through the area. Not sure what time they’ll be clear to take off. At least a few hours from the looks of the radar.”

  Lucy “Minx” Ward and Jerry “Jester” Beekman were on their way back from Seattle, where they’d been following up on a lead on a missing person’s case, with unsuccessful results. The thirty-one-year-old woman’s family hadn’t thought the police were taking her disappearance seriously, so they’d hired BHS to investigate too. “Tell them to check into a hotel for the night and then reschedule them on a flight in the morning. They took the red-eye out last night—let them get some sleep.”

  “On it.”

  Chase disconnected the call and returned to the house where he found Rylie in the kitchen, yawning. “Tired?”

  She gave him a sheepish smile. “Kinda. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It’s been a long day with lots of fresh air and exercise.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “As much as I’d love to stay and pick up where we left off earlier, I should let you get some rest.”

  She started to protest, but another yawn interrupted her. Chase chuckled at her obvious embarrassment. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not taking any offense. Besides, I remember you saying Mickey has to finish her book report and some homework tomorrow.” School started up again on Monday. “Any chance you and I could go on a real date next week? We could go out to dinner at this nice Italian place I know and have some adult conversation that doesn’t need to be censored for seven-year-old ears.”

  Rylie ran her hands up his chest and around the back of his neck. “Hmm. Adult conversation with a handsome man and dinner I don’t have to cook or order takeout? I’m not sure I remember what that’s like, but I’m willing to give it a try.”

  “Good. Call me tomorrow and let me know what night works for you.” He lowered his head and gave her a swift kiss on the mouth. If he did anything more, he’d be staying the night, and he doubted she was ready for that. “Goodnight, Rylie.”

  “Goodnight, Chase. Thank you for the amazing day. Mickey and I had a great time.”

  He brushed her nose with his index finger. “Me too, sweetheart. Goodnight.”

  Chapter Nine

  Holding her coffee mug, Rylie stared into space, remembering the sweet and sensual kisses she’d shared with Chase the night before, while Mickey ate her cereal and chatted away about all the animals they’d seen at the zoo. She’d had as much fun as her daughter yesterday, but she’d found it hard to ignore her body’s responses to Chase’s nearness. If it hadn’t been for Mickey, Rylie might have thrown caution to the wind last night and invited him to stay until the morning. She was glad he seemed to accept her terms a
bout them dating. Mickey was her number-one concern. Everything else came second, even Rylie’s own needs and desires.

  A thump sounded on the front steps, and Mickey jumped up. “The paper’s here!”

  “Don’t forget to lock the door again,” Rylie reminded her out of habit.

  The young girl rushed out to the foyer. She loved the colorized comic section in the Sunday newspaper, even though many of the jokes or situations went over her head. When she returned, her eyes were wide with excitement. “Mom, guess what? I just saw a man walking Meat!”

  Her brow furrowed. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  Putting the paper on the table, Mickey rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Meat! Remember? The big dog that was in Chase’s office?” She spread her arms wide, to indicate the canine’s huge stature. “Meat!”

  Having been brought up to speed, Rylie chuckled. “I doubt it was him, sweetheart. A lot of dogs look alike. It was probably a different pit bull.” What were the odds of Meat’s owners living in their neighborhood? She couldn’t recall ever seeing the dog before encountering him at BHS headquarters the other day.

  “No, I know it was him. He had on the same collar.” She slid the comics out from the rest of the newspaper and took her seat again to finish her breakfast.

  Rylie found the real estate section and scanned the front page. She always started with that before paging through the rest of the paper. Since her business was related to the subject, she tried to stay on top of what was going on in the area.

  After reading several articles, including ones from the local and national news, and drinking the last of her coffee, she stood to refill her cup and grab a pen for the large crossword on the puzzle page. It was her one indulgence on Sunday mornings before she tackled a few chores.

  As she selected a pen from a jar of them on the little built-in desk in the corner of the kitchen, the doorbell rang. She frowned, noting the time on the microwave. Who the heck was at their door at nine-thirty in the morning on a Sunday?

  Setting her coffee down, Rylie strode to the front door and peered out the peephole. There was a well-dressed man, whom she didn’t recognize, standing there. His white, button-down shirt, blue-striped tie, and gray slacks and suit jacket didn’t scream “bad guy,” but she engaged the chain lock she used in these situations anyway before opening the door a few inches. “Can I help you?”

  She expected him to go into a sales pitch or a spiel about a religion he wanted her to join. His gaze went from her head, down her T-shirt and sweatpants to her slippered feet and back again. She couldn’t tell if there was amusement or disgust in his eyes, but, either way, it made her shiver. “Ms. Rylie Hart?”

  “Yes.”

  He held out several pieces of paper, and, before she could think better of it, she took them from him. “What’s this?”

  “You’ve been served.”

  “What?”

  Without answering her stunned question, he pivoted, descended the few steps, and started down the walkway. Glancing at the top page, she was shocked to see it was a court order. Four words glared at her—Mackenzie Hart and DNA Testing.

  Her heart pounded in her chest. “Wait a minute!” She yanked on the doorknob, but it stopped short. In frustration, she fumbled with the chain lock before finally getting it unhooked. Flinging open the door, she chased after the man, who was headed toward a black SUV parked in the street. “Wait a minute! What is this?” She shook the papers at him.

  Over his shoulder, he said, “It’s self-explanatory, Ms. Hart. You have three days to take your daughter for DNA testing.”

  “What? Why? I don’t understand!”

  The man stopped on the sidewalk, next to the SUV, and turned around. “What part don’t you understand? You’re to take your adopted daughter to the lab named in the court order for a DNA test.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know my daughter’s adopted? How do you know anything about us?”

  “I know quite a bit about you, Ms. Hart, and I advise you to obey the summons, because if you don’t—”

  “Ma’am, are you okay?” The deep, almost threatening voice came from her right. Both she and the man she’d been arguing with shifted their attention to its owner. Rylie didn’t recognize the newcomer either—in fact, he was kind of scary looking, but the dog at the end of the leash he was holding did appear familiar. That had to have been the dog Mickey had seen earlier. If Rylie’s recall was correct, the tan-and-white pit bull was the spitting image of Meat. The dog calmly sat by the man’s side, panting and keeping an eye on everything. His owner’s blue-eyed gaze was also sharp as he glared at the guy in the suit. He was dressed in a tan, untucked T-shirt and jeans, and his powerful arms were covered with tattoos. There were hints of more ink peeking out from his neckline. His dark-brown hair was almost black and was a little longer than a crewcut. He stood about five feet ten and was a wall of solid muscle. Rylie wouldn’t want to come across him in a dark alley.

  “Meat!”

  Her daughter’s excited voice had Rylie spinning around. “Stay right there, Mackenzie,” she yelled and pointed at the front steps Mickey had been about to descend.

  The girl frowned but obeyed, knowing if her mother used her full name, she meant business. Although, Mickey did wave at the dog who let out a friendly woof. Its tail was wagging a mile a minute until the tattooed man said something in a foreign language, getting the dog’s attention. It stood and went on full alert but remained glued to his owner’s side as he spoke again. “Ms. Hart, my name is Jason Tanner, and I work for Chase. Is this man giving you trouble?”

  The man in the suit’s demeanor went from confident to nervous as Tanner and the dog, who had to be Meat—it was too much of a coincidence for him not to be—eyed him as if he were on the dinner menu. At the mention of Chase’s name, the tension in Rylie’s body eased slightly, but not enough to have her relaxing her stance. At least she now felt like she had an ally by her side—two if you counted Meat. “I don’t know. He just gave me this court order and said I have to bring my daughter to a lab for DNA testing.”

  “May I?” He reached out with the hand that wasn’t holding the dog’s leash. Without thinking, she gave him the papers. His gaze quickly scanned the top page.

  “Tuff, what’s up?”

  A third man approached from behind Tanner, wearing tan cargo pants and a navy-blue T-shirt that was also untucked. Tanner, or Tuff as his friend had called him, swiveled his head slightly to be heard. “Boots, call the boss. Let him know there’s a situation here that needs his attention.”

  Okay, now Rylie’s confusion had increased tenfold. Why were Chase’s employees hanging around her neighborhood? She didn’t recognize either of them. What in the hell was going on and why did her daughter’s DNA matter to anyone? Before she could utter her questions, Tuff handed her back the papers. “You have ID on you?” he asked the man in the suit.

  He stiffened and puffed out his chest. “Who the hell are you?”

  Even though his adversary was taller than him, there was no doubt in Rylie’s mind Tuff would win any fight that presented itself. One corner of his mouth curled upward in a sneer, and his eyes chilled over. The man appeared deadly, and his next words supported that theory. “I’m the guy who’s going to give the pit bull the command to rip your throat out if you don’t hand over your ID. Trust me when I say it won’t be pretty.”

  As if on cue, the dog growled fiercely. The taller man paled, and both he and Rylie took several steps back. Tuff held up a reassuring hand toward Rylie. “Don’t worry, Ms. Hart. He’s fully trained and only attacks on command. You and your daughter are not in any danger from him. As for you, dude, Meat doesn’t like most men. He loves me. Loves my boss and a few other guys too, but you don’t stand a chance at winning him over in the next few seconds. So, I suggest you give me your ID. Now.”

  After glancing from Tuff, to the dog, to the driver’s door of his SUV, which was several feet away, the man must have real
ized the best thing to do was to comply. “Fine,” he huffed as if this was all a major inconvenience and nothing more.

  When he reached behind his hip, Tuff ordered, “Nice and easy.”

  The man’s actions slowed as he rolled his eyes and retrieved a wallet from his back pocket. Opening it, he pulled out a Florida driver’s license and business card and handed both to Tuff, doing his best to keep his distance from the dog who’d let out another growl.

  After studying the license, Tuff glanced at the business card. “Randolph Kane, Process Server for Drake, Jansen, and Fairbanks, Attorneys. Huh. Working for a high-priced company full of bottom-feeders doesn’t impress me. Doesn’t impress my dog either. I should let him bite you on that principle alone.” He tucked the business card into his back pocket and handed Kane back his license. “Who hired your bosses?”

  He slid his ID back into his wallet. “That’s client-attorney privilege.”

  “Fair enough.” Tuff took out his own wallet and pulled out another business card. Rylie recognized the Blackhawk Security logo as he gave it to the lawyer. “As of right now, Ms. Hart is under the counsel of Blackhawk’s attorneys until further notice. They can be reached by calling the main number. Any contact with her goes through them. If I find out you, or anyone else from Drake, Jansen, and Fairbanks . . .” He said the names as if they disgusted him. “. . . are harassing Ms. Hart, you’ll be answering to me and my dog. Now get out of here.” With a jut of his chin toward the man’s SUV, he dismissed him. Kane couldn’t get away fast enough, scrambling into the driver’s seat, starting the engine, and peeling away from the curb.

  From a few feet behind him, Tuff’s friend disconnected a phone call and joined them. “The boss is on his way. Said to get Ms. Hart and her daughter inside and stay with them until he gets here.” He nodded at Rylie. “Hello, Ms. Hart, I’m Blane Nelson, but everyone calls me Boots. Chase said to say otters make him laugh. I’m not sure what that means, but he was certain you would. He said that would help convince you we’re who we say we are and that you’re safe with us.”