THE MARSHAL’S MISSION

Working undercover at a day care, Deputy Marshal Daci Marlowe has one mission: protect a mother and her infant son from the woman’s fugitive ex-boyfriend. But when someone seems more focused on killing Daci, she and her partner, child-advocate attorney Jax Williams, must figure out why before it’s too late. With her family’s tragic past and her experience raising her siblings, Daci can’t help but relate to the woman and child—even as she’s drawn to Jax. Daci knows that Jax has his own harrowing past, though, one that makes the handsome defender keep her at arm’s length. But with each attempt on Daci’s life, Jax comes closer to both Daci and a dangerous truth.

The heavy rat-a-tat of automatic-weapon fire shredded the night.

Daci’s heart pounded like a trip-hammer as she grabbed for the small pistol she’d strapped to her ankle for tonight’s meeting, although what good the little peashooter might do against an automatic was anybody’s guess.

Abruptly, the staccato burst of gunfire ceased, and Daci inched her head up above the hood of her car. With a screech of tires, the van raced away up the street.

Other gunfire blended with hers, and she searched for the shooter. There! Jax was rushing up the middle of the street, pistol raised and blasting, but the van didn’t slow down as it disappeared into the night.

Jax broke off chasing the fleeing vehicle and raced toward the bullet-riddled VW, calling her name. Panic edged his tone.

Daci popped to her feet. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not. You’re bleeding.” He gestured toward her arm.

She glanced down. Sure enough, warm blood trickled down her bare arm below the cap sleeve of her blouse. Now that the crisis was past, a hot burn in her biceps suddenly registered.

“Just a graze. Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? Are you kidding? Someone tried to kill you.”

JILL ELIZABETH NELSON writes what she likes to read—faith-based tales of adventure seasoned with romance. Parts of the year find her and her husband on the international mission field. Other parts find them at home in rural Minnesota, surrounded by the woods and prairie and four grown children and young grandchildren. More about Jill and her books can be found at jillelizabethnelson.com or Facebook.com/jillelizabethnelson.author.

Duty to Defend

Jill Elizabeth Nelson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Blessed is he that considereth the poor:

the Lord will deliver him in time of trouble.

The Lord will preserve him, and keep him alive;

and he shall be blessed upon the earth: and thou

wilt not deliver him unto the will of his enemies.

—Psalms 41:1–2

To all the caregivers out there.

You know who you are!

Whether you care for aging parents,

developmentally challenged children or adults,

or a spouse or other loved one with

challenges that need special care,

you make the world a better place.

Acknowledgments

Bushel baskets of gratitude to my savvy editor

at Love Inspired Suspense, Elizabeth Mazer,

and to the rest of the editorial, copy and design staff that work so diligently to make each book the best it can be for our readers. Special blessings to my hubby, who puts up with a lot of shushing when I’m nearing manuscript deadline. Thanks so much for your patience, sweetheart! And a special shout-out to you readers. Your kind enthusiasm fuels my desire to write these stories. Bless you and read on!

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Dear Reader

Extract

One

Stomach fluttering, Daci Marlowe paused outside her boss’s closed office door and ventured a tiny smile. This was it—her first assignment as a US deputy marshal.

Finally!

After dealing with her siblings’ toddler-then-teenage tantrums until her twenties had faded in the rearview mirror, she was more than ready to begin her own career. Not even the joker who had left the ribbon-bedecked basket with its smelly contents outside her duplex door this morning would cast a shadow on this moment.

Oh, yes, she would find out who the culprit was. That was a promise. The medium-size wicker basket had contained one jar of opened and spoiled baby food, a baby bottle a quarter full of curdled formula, an assortment of crumpled and dried baby wipes, and a diaper anointed with what her nose told her was vinegar. The block-lettered note read, “ENJOY YOUR NEW LIFE.”

The personal nature of the practical joke should have narrowed her suspect list to one of her rowdy siblings, but something didn’t quite fit, and she couldn’t put her finger on what was off. But if she went with the theory, her brother Nate would top the list because he was the only one who lived within easy driving distance of Springfield, Massachusetts. However, he, as well as her other siblings, had called either last night or early this morning to wish her well on her first day on the new job, and her deeply ingrained imp-o-meter hadn’t detected any pending mischief in their tones.

What if the culprit was none of them but, instead, an unseen watcher of her life? The question slithered like a snake down her spine. Daci suppressed a shiver. Stupid thought. No one but one of her brothers or sisters would link the trials and tribulations of an older sister raising a small herd of younger siblings with her first day of work in the Marshals Service.

She glanced down at herself for a quick ready-or-not inventory. Her shiny badge hung neatly from a lanyard around her neck. It lay face-out against her button-down shirt, while her government-issue firearm rested snug against her slacks-clad hip, its weight an underscore to the gravity of her new duties.

Today, I honor your memory, Grandma, by joining those who bring criminals to justice.

Inhaling a deep breath of law-enforcement office odors—scorched coffee, printer ink and stale pizza—she lifted her fist and rapped smartly on deputy commander Ross Reynolds’s door.

“Come in!”

Her boss’s gruff bark invited her into a square room just big enough to contain a large, well-used desk stacked with paperwork, a wheeled office chair in which he sat, a metal filing cabinet, and a pair of steel and plastic guest chairs. Daci suppressed a grin. Reynolds didn’t like people getting comfortable sitting around. Yet, someone already occupied one of the guest chairs. She had expected to see the thick, jowly man seated behind the desk. The lanky blond in a navy suit and coordinating tie who assessed her with cool blue eyes had not featured in her visualization of this moment.

The stranger in the suit rose and stuck out his hand. “Jaxton Williams,” he said. “Call me Jax.”

She shook the man’s long-fingered hand and murmured her name, following his lead by sticking to Daci, not the formal-sounding Candace. Jax’s grip was firm and betrayed slight calluses. Despite his clothes, the guy wasn’t a total pencil pusher, though not a member of the Marshals Service, either. What was he doing here?

Her gaze darted to Reynolds, who had folded his hands over his middle-aged paunch. The corners of his lips twitched as if he battled amusement. Was she interrupting another meeting? Hadn’t she been told to report at 9:00 a.m. sharp? She resisted the impulse to check her watch.

“Shut the door and have a seat so we can get started,” her boss said in that gravelly voice of his.

Fixing her eyes on him, Daci complied. The mystery man resumed his seat, also. Apparently, she’d get the answers to her questions soon enough.

Reynolds twiddled a pen between the thick fingers of his left hand, all humor erased. “You are aware of the situation with escaped felon Liggett Naylor.”

“Of course, sir.” Her heart leaped.

Surely, she wasn’t being assigned to the fugitive recovery task force. Rookies didn’t get high-profile cases. And this was as high profile as it got. Two deputy marshals were dead, for crying out loud, and the Marshals Service had a serious black eye for losing a major crime boss during transport from one detention facility to another.

But if she wasn’t going to join the fugitive recovery task force, then why bring up Naylor at all? And what could this Jaxton Williams have to do with the case? She cast him a sidelong look. Faint swipes of gray highlighted the temples of his neatly trimmed blond hair, and crow’s-feet lined the corners of his eyes. Around forty probably, less than a decade older than her age of thirty-two. Good-looking in an upper-crust sort of way. She’d had her fill of that type.

The stern set of his aquiline features and neatly squared shoulders screamed some sort of authority. A politician? Sure, that was it. The powers-that-be must be screaming for quick action against Naylor. But her deduction didn’t answer the question of why she would be included in a political pacification meeting between a bigwig and her boss.

Reynolds pursed his lips. “It seems you have a particular skill set we need in this situation.”

Daci’s breath caught. What skill set had captured her boss’s attention? Maybe he’d noticed the training record she’d set in Search and Seizure? Or the natural aptitude she’d demonstrated for interrogation? Few would suspect those skills were honed to a razor’s edge before entering the training academy. A person didn’t raise four younger siblings without morphing into a cross between professional detection dog and a finely calibrated lie detector.

“When Naylor went down for multiple counts of murder, racketeering and grand theft,” Reynolds continued, “it’s a little-known fact that his girlfriend, Serena Farnam, caved under interrogation and told us where to find him. We don’t know if Naylor is aware of her role in his apprehension, but whether he knows or not, there is a slim chance he may be dumb enough to try to contact her—either to kill her in revenge or to reunite with her if he believes she’s still loyal. We need you to stick to this woman like grease on a rag until Naylor is apprehended.”

Dry mouthed, Daci stared at her boss. Multiple questions flew through her mind, but only one stuck to her tongue. “Why me?”

Reynolds looked away, focusing on some spot in the corner of the ceiling behind her head. Something about this situation had her boss a little reluctant—probably her inexperience. Daci sat up straighter. Whatever the mission, she’d do her best to exceed his expectations.

Jaxton Williams angled his body toward her. “We think you stand a good chance of bonding with Serena at her new work site, maybe even becoming a trusted friend.”

We? Daci gaped at him. Since when did a politician get consulted on Marshals Service assignments?

Her boss’s gaze turned hard and sharp. “Because of his professional obligations to interact with Ms. Farnam—and his experience in the Marshals Service—Jax will be your backup in the woman’s work environment. Somewhat in her home, as well...provided you succeed in getting invited into Ms. Farnam’s social circle. We need you to make that happen.”

Daci narrowed her eyes at the suit. “You’re a marshal?”

“Former.” A grin lifted one side of his chiseled lips. “This guy here—” he motioned toward DC Reynolds “—used to be my team partner, but I changed careers about five years ago and became a—”

“Kiddie lawyer,” Reynolds burst out.

A wicked smile lit Jaxton’s face, sparking his blue gaze and propelling Daci’s silly heart into a backflip. “That’s Mr. Kiddie Lawyer to you, Rey-Rey.”

“Big talk from the guy who sits behind a partition in a warehouse reno where the phones never stop ringing and the voices never stop jabbering.”

“I like my wide-open spaces. Beats your claustrophobic ‘splendor’ any day of the week.” His gaze traveled the circumference of the small office. “And don’t forget my private conference room in the back. It’s furnished with a top-of-the-line folding table.”

Reynolds snorted. “We can’t all hit the big time.”

The guys grinned at each other, and Daci heroically resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Her twin brothers, Nate and Noah, used to banter like this all the time at the dinner table, which was not a bad thing—usually. But the habit drove her nuts when she was trying to have a serious family discussion, and the discussion right now was about as serious as it got.

She still had no idea where this assignment was taking her—other than cozying up to a vicious felon’s former girlfriend. It sounded like it would be an undercover operation—certainly an unusual choice for her first assignment. How would anyone come to the conclusion she had the skill set for this?

“What exactly is a kiddie lawyer?” Daci enunciated her question with the slightly too loud, slightly too cold precision that used to get the boys’ attention at the meal table.

The smirks fell away, and both men fixed their stares on her. Daci raised her eyebrows. Apparently, the method worked with adults, as well. Who knew?

Jax offered a sober nod. “I work for a nonprofit specializing in defending the rights and best interests of juveniles and/or mentally and emotionally handicapped adults who have entered the social services system. We’re not in the system ourselves, so we can take on the system to address corruption or mismanagement if we need to do so. We follow our clients closely, even making regular visits to home or caregiver sites.”

Warmth spread through Daci’s insides. Score a big one for the suit for choosing such a difficult, yet worthwhile, career. Numerous crises embedded in her past could have used such an advocate. She smiled at the nonprofit lawyer, and he blinked back. Did his square jaw drop a few millimeters? What was up with that? Her frizzy strawberry blond locks, barely contained by a wrap net at the nape of her neck, and well-defined but ordinary features weren’t exactly knock-’em-dead material.

Reynolds cleared his throat. “Jax has accepted a temporary assignment with the Marshals Service for this case.”

“Very temporary and limited in scope.” Jax’s intense gaze turned toward Daci’s boss. “My primary focus will be the child—not Serena, not even Naylor. That’s where our goals and interests intersect. If I have to choose between protecting the boy or apprehending Naylor, I will choose the child.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Reynolds nodded.

Daci tapped a finger against her lower lip. “Am I correct in understanding that this child is Ms. Farnam’s son?”

Honestly, it was like pulling teeth to find out what this case was all about. She’d learned during her orientation that Ross Reynolds was generally forceful and direct. Something about this situation had him tiptoeing like a ballerina on a crowded bus.

Her boss leaned his elbows on the scarred desk. “Yes, she has a little boy. A six-month-old infant that is assumed to also be Liggett Naylor’s son—another reason there’s an off chance he may try to contact her. You are assigned to shadow the mother under cover as her coworker. You and she will be starting work together on the same day, which should add additional opportunity for bonding.

“Because Serena has problems that have called into question her fitness as a mother, she has lost custody of him—at least temporarily. Jax has been assigned to the son as his legal representative, which gets him access to monitoring the child. He also observes the mother at her workplace for confirmation that she is rehabilitating and during set times when mother and son are reunited for supervised home visits. When you’re around Serena, you and Jax are to behave as if you are strangers. But behind the scenes, the two of you will coordinate efforts on everything.”

Daci shifted in her seat. What kind of parental-fitness problems? “How much do the people at this workplace know about the danger Serena Farnam may attract toward them? I mean, I don’t want to speak out of turn and say too much on the job.”

“The director, Naomi Minch, knows the whole picture,” Jax answered. “I filled her in, and she agrees that Naylor would be a fool to approach his former girlfriend if he doesn’t want to be recaptured. He’s probably on his way out of the country as fast as he can go. However, she’s on board with the two of us operating under cover to keep an eye on the situation, just in case.”

“Right.” Reynolds jerked a nod. “While Serena is aware that her former boyfriend is in the wind, she laughed when police suggested he might seek her out. According to her, before he was arrested, Naylor was already losing interest in her. He’s more than old enough to be her father and has a reputation for preying on vulnerable younger women, then discarding them. We offered protective custody or a protection detail, but she refused, so the arrangement we are discussing is Plan B. Serena has no idea we are planting undercover deputies. She needs to stay in the dark so she will trust you. Since her interaction with Jax has been somewhat adversarial, it will be important that she not realize you and he are working together. Now, go study the case file on your computer and get busy on this as of yesterday. Any further questions?”

“Lots,” Daci said, “though I assume they will be answered in the case file. But, right now, I’d like to know why the baby is in the system.”

Jax frowned and glanced toward his polished shoes. “Chase has fetal alcohol syndrome.”

Daci went rigid. An image of her youngest brother Niall’s FAS-distinctive features flashed across her mind’s eye so clearly that it was as if it were only yesterday she’d so briefly held him close before he disappeared from her life.

“Sir,” she said to Reynolds through gritted teeth, “from the detailed background check in my employment file you should know enough about my history to see this circumstance makes me the wrong person for this assignment.”

Scowling, her boss slapped a palm on the desk. “Suck it up, Marlowe. You’re a professional. Act like it.”

Daci’s hands balled into fists. “I’m not a professional actor, and I have no experience with undercover work. A job like bodyguard I could do in a detached manner regardless of the circumstances, but I have doubts about my ability to make this woman believe I want to be her friend.”

Reynolds sat back, eyeing her grimly. “Then let me tell you the aspect of this case that makes you perfect for the assignment. Ms. Farnam has gotten herself on the straight and narrow and will start work tomorrow on a probationary basis at a day care. She’s nervous and excited about her new career. You begin in the morning as her coworker—a very experienced and helpful coworker who can take her under your wing. Get the picture now?”

The bottom dropped out of Daci’s hopes and dreams. This was her adult job. Finally! And her first assignment in her law-enforcement career was taking care of kids—just as she’d been doing for so many years. Really, God?

* * *

Jax’s brows knit together. What had sucked the blood out of Daci’s face?

This woman had already proved to be an intriguing enigma. She was respectful toward her boss without the usual eager-to-please rookie mannerisms. Perhaps entering the Marshals Service a decade older than the usual fresh-faced greenie contributed to her maturity and stability. It certainly seemed to make her more sure of herself than any rookie he’d met before. In fact, when it came to male banter, she’d decisively redirected the conversation. He’d almost burst out laughing at the irony of a rookie taking charge, but decided a sober face was the better part of wisdom. Certainly, the better part of professionalism.

He needed to make professionalism his plumb line in working with this intelligent, attractive deputy marshal, especially since she was precisely the sort of woman he would consider asking out...if she had any other career than law enforcement. The very nature of the job included extra danger and could get cops and their families killed. Had gotten his family killed. Bile scorched the back of his throat. He couldn’t go there ever again.

“Get out of here, you two.” Rey made a shooing motion with both hands. “Study that file together, then make like law officers and catch me a bad guy.”

Daci rose slowly, blinking as if a bit dazed. “Is this really our best chance of nailing Liggett Naylor?”

“I hope not.” The DC frowned, reaching for a folder on his desk. “We’ve got multiple teams working around the clock to track him down. If I had my way, we’d have this lowlife in custody before you showed up for kiddie duty tomorrow.”

“We’ll hope for that, then, sir.” She turned on her heel and marched out.

Jax followed her into the bull pen of this branch office of the United States Marshals Service. Three other federal deputies and a clerical assistant/IT technician had computer desks placed at intervals throughout the space. Only the clerical desk was occupied, and the IT guy seemed mesmerized by his computer screen and didn’t bother to acknowledge their entrance.

At the federal district courthouse yesterday, Jax had noted that the routine Marshals Service duties of providing protection and guard detail were being covered by other agencies. With all the stops pulled out to track down Liggett Naylor, the other deputies would be out scrambling after leads.

Grabbing a stray guest chair, Jax followed his new partner to a spot in the corner of the room near the printer. Everyone in the bull pen would have to walk behind her chair, sometimes bumping her desk, to get to their printouts. Newbs always got the worst desk placement. By the pinched look on Daci’s face as she woke up her computer, this newb also thought she’d received the worst first assignment. Why? Given Rey’s selection of her, she must have a history with kids. Maybe the problem was with the mother. She’d seemed very upset at the mention of FAS. Maybe he should finesse matters in that area.

He hunkered down beside her. “You’ll no doubt discover a few things about Serena and Chase’s social-services status when you bring up the file. Serena was thrown out of her home as a young teen and, unsurprisingly, got caught up in the street culture of drugs, alcohol and prostitution. Naylor was three decades older, but he took a fancy to her. Staying with him gave her a place to live and his money facilitated her...um, habits. When she showed up at the hospital drunk and in labor, and then Chase was born with fetal alcohol syndrome, he was immediately removed from her custody. Fortunately, that was a real wake-up call for her to get help for her alcoholism. The county put her in a three-month in-patient program, followed by three months at a halfway house, and now she’s in intensive outpatient treatment.”

“And the baby?” She arched a fine, dark brow.

“Chase will remain in foster care until his mother is nine months sober, and because of his special needs, the foster parents found a day care that offers therapy for challenged newborns. By arranging for Serena to work there, her job will teach her the skills to care for him and also provide daily supervised interaction between mother and son. She seems passionate about gaining the opportunity to raise him.”

Sometime during his speech, Daci’s stare had gone flat. She had the richest brown eyes he’d ever seen, unusual and a bit exotic with the light hair, but something about this conversation unearthed an ancient pain that lurked in their depths. “Why are you putting him at risk by letting her have him again? I thought you were the child’s advocate, not the mother’s.”

“I am, which is why she didn’t get Chase back as soon as she graduated from the halfway house.” He offered a smile that wasn’t returned. The old Williams charm must be experiencing an off day—or else an extra-challenging subject. “Ultimately, it’s the judge’s decision, but I fought hard to keep Chase in a guaranteed stable environment until the mother has a chance to get her feet under her in the real world. Thankfully, the judge saw the wisdom in that idea. On the other hand, I believe in giving families a chance to heal and reunite. Continued sobriety is possible.”

Daci’s upper lip curled. “But not probable, especially when the scrutiny comes off and the stakes of losing the kid goes away.”

“You speak from experience, I take it?”

Rather than answering, she turned back toward her computer screen, revealing a fine-boned profile enhanced by a delicately upturned nose and a firm, rounded chin. If she’d tried to charm him with a smile, he had no doubt it would have worked. Just as well for him that she hadn’t tried.

“Can you see well enough to read along with me?”

The tone of her question left no doubt that she wouldn’t allow him to direct the conversation back to his question about her past experience. Let no one say he couldn’t take a hint, but the legal bloodhound in him was on the hunt. Would it be out of line for him to request her file from Rey? Probably. He’d have to satisfy his curiosity the lawman-turned-lawyer way—evidence collection and finessing information from witnesses.

Marlowe wasn’t a terribly unusual surname, but it did ring a bell from some type of years-ago media hoopla about tragedy and scandal in a filthy rich founding father–type family from Boston. Surely, this down-to-earth Marlowe wouldn’t turn out to be from that bunch, but he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d tracked down the reason for his hazy recollection. Online homework for tonight.

Two hours later, he and Daci had exhausted the information in the files on Serena Farnam and Liggett Naylor, uncovering and discussing some extremely disturbing facts about the latter. A career criminal from a single-parent household—father unknown—he’d been involved in everything from home burglaries and drug dealing to bank holdups and freight-cargo heists, most of these involving the murder of any possible witnesses.

By the time law enforcement brought him down, he was a kingpin in various criminal enterprises ranging from stolen-vehicle chop shops to hot-property fencing rings and racketeering. Anyone who got in his way was annihilated. Homicidal maniac would be a mild description of the charismatic and remorseless criminal with a trail of dead bodies and destroyed lives in his wake.

“How does society breed these animals?” Jax shook his head.

“You’re blaming society as a psycho-mill now?” She gazed at him coolly.

He almost responded with a quick defense of his comment, then noted the slight curve at the corners of her mouth. She was teasing him—and a goofy heart-thump startled him into openmouthed silence.

Her grin broadened. “With your years in the Marshals Service, I’d think you would have run into plenty of this type along the way. What soured you into litigator over lawman?”

“Soured?” The sudden taste on his tongue matched the word.

The churning in his gut was a toxic cocktail of grief, guilt and regret. A timely reminder of why he could not allow himself to respond to his attraction to this woman.

He sat back in his chair and looked away from those deep brown eyes. “It was either get out of law enforcement or have my own humanity eroded into oblivion. God opened the door for me to do something that daily allows me a different way to protect the most innocent from the most depraved.”

“God opened the door, or did you make a choice that required drastic action?” Again, that fine eyebrow went up, but then she waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind. I guess I used to have more of that faith stuff than I do now. Bottom line, I admire you for admitting when you needed a change and then making it happen.”

Jax bit back further remarks on faith. Who was he to talk when he sometimes wrestled with his own?

He leaned closer to Daci. “My bottom line? If this guy does try to reenter Serena’s life, we need to nab him before he can inflict any damage—either by hurting Serena or grabbing his son. Serena and Chase are so close to becoming a healthy family.”

Her mouth tightened. “If that’s going to happen, she needs to do more than stay alive and off the sauce. She’s going to have to perform an extreme makeover on her taste in men. That’s rare. I rate their chances a long shot, but I’m all for offering them the full protection of the law.”

A low rumble originating from her belly punctuated her last sentence, and a blush crept up her neck.

“Hungry?” Jax grinned.

She managed an answering smile and rubbed her middle. “Time got away from us, and my tummy noticed.”

Jax rose. “I know a place a few blocks away that serves the best clam chowder in a fresh-baked bread bowl I’ve ever tasted.”

“Sam’s Clams?”

“You’ve eaten there?”

“The day I came in for orientation. My new coworkers recommended it. Apparently, the charm of the place is an open secret around here.”

“I remember that from my marshal days.” His grin faded.

Why was he inviting Daci Marlowe to have lunch with him? It would have been just as easy to wave and walk out to each seek their own meals.

“Okay, partner, you talked me into it.” Her lighthearted words jerked him back into the moment. “A working lunch it is.”

A tight coil unwound in Jax’s belly. A working lunch. That’s all this was. He could do that.

They left the office and walked out the building’s glass doors into the warmth of a New England spring day. The sky was blue and nearly cloudless, and a breeze carried the scents of flowering landscape bushes.

Crossing the small courtyard to the sidewalk, Jax stuffed his hands into his pockets and fell into step with his companion. “Have you always lived in Springfield?”

“Moved here from Boston when I got the posting. This is my first duty day.”

“That’s why you didn’t eat breakfast this morning.”

She sent him a sharp look as they entered the crosswalk of a busy street, along with a straggling line of pedestrians. “How do you know I didn’t?”

He smirked. “First day. First assignment. Oh, yeah, I remember what that was like. Hunger was gnawing a hole in my stomach by noon, but if I had eaten breakfast before I reported for duty, I would have puked on my boss’s shoes.”

A full-throated laugh burst from Daci, and Jax’s heart tripped over itself at the husky, happy sound.

The roar of an engine and screech of tires yanked his head around. A small SUV jetted around the corner through a red light and roared straight at them.

Two

Icy-hot sparks shot through Daci’s middle as she and Jax leaped forward. The SUV whipped past them so close the air current shoved her into a silver-haired woman ahead of her. With a shriek that blended with the startled cries of others in the crosswalk, the woman sprawled to the pavement. Heaving in long breaths, Daci squatted beside her. The silver-haired woman lay on her side, her complexion bleached, her eyes and mouth as round as eggs.

“Are you alright?”

The woman blinked up at Daci. “That car nearly ran you over. What is wrong with people today?”

Daci shook her head. “I can’t answer that, ma’am. Are you able to stand?”

“I—I don’t know.” She rubbed her elbow and attempted to sit up but subsided with a groan. “My arm hurts...and my hip.”

“Stay still.” Daci put a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “We’ll get paramedics here.”

“I’ll call for an ambulance,” a deep voice said from behind her.

Daci looked up to find Jax gazing down at them. A strange buoyancy filled her chest at seeing him standing there, safe and sound, tapping on his phone to call for assistance. She glanced around to see if anyone else had been hurt. People milled in the street in various stages of wide-eyed shock. On the sidewalk, a few gawkers excitedly chattered on their cell phones. Traffic was at a standstill, though a few impatient souls were starting to honk.

Sirens began to wail in the distance as DC Reynolds and the desk clerk, Randy Lathrop, hurried out to them in the street. Daci remained beside the injured woman as her coworkers took charge and rerouted traffic until the local authorities could arrive and assume command.

Daci rose as her boss strode up to her.

“Glad to see you’re okay,” he said.

“Just a little shaken, sir.”

“See what you can do to get witnesses to stick around until they can be interviewed. Folks are trying to slip off and get on with their day.”

“Will do, but if nothing else, the traffic cam might give us a lead on the perp.”

Reynolds grimaced. “If it was working. Road construction in the vicinity has been interrupting coverage. I know because Randy has been running automated searches of footage for any of Naylor’s known vehicles suddenly appearing on the road.”

Soon, law enforcement and emergency personnel had cleared the scene, and Jax and Daci stood together near a squad car giving their statements to Detective Herriman, who was in charge of the investigation. By the familiarity of the greeting between the two men, Herriman apparently knew Jax either from his deputy marshal days or from his current gig as a lawyer.

“I doubt I can contribute much to the information pool.” Jax scrubbed his fingertips through the hair above one ear. “It was a bright red compact SUV. I have no clear recollection about the license plate, except that it was Massachusetts. Make and model escaped me as I scrambled out of the way.”

“Understandable.” Herriman made notes on his electronic tablet. “At least your account tallies with the majority of witnesses. A few descriptions we got ranged from monster truck to souped-up sports car.”

Jax chuckled. “If only the general public had a clue about the unreliability of eye-witness accounts. But I guess I can’t claim superiority in that area.”

The detective grinned as he turned toward Daci. “Do you have anything to add, ma’am?”

“Daci Marlowe, new with the Marshals Service.” She stuck out her hand, and Herriman shook it. “I may have a little to contribute. The vehicle was a late-model Toyota RAV4. Definitely Massachusetts license plate. I only remember two digits and a letter. Not necessarily in this order—three, eight and E. The driver was a male Caucasian, mid-to-late thirties. I didn’t see anyone else in the vehicle, and in the blur of leaping out of the way, I didn’t catch any facial details.”

Jax and Herriman stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

She stifled a smile. “You might want to write that down.”

“Uh, yes, absolutely.” The detective pecked at his tablet.

A short time later, she and Jax were cleared to leave the scene, and they headed up the block toward the restaurant.

“Do you have any idea how unusual that was?” Jax leaned his head down and spoke close to her ear.

The sensation of his breath against her cheek was pleasant, but she made herself ignore it and put a few extra inches of distance between them.

“I agree,” she said, keeping her voice neutral and professional. “Absolutely nuts if he was attempting a hit-and-run in the middle of the day on a busy street. I suppose the perp might have been substance-impaired, but if not, he sure couldn’t claim distracted driving as cause for running a red light. He had to turn a corner. That smacks of deliberation. But why us? Or were we random targets?”

“Good questions, but no, I meant the details you remembered from a split-second, crisis experience. That’s not normal.”

Daci stopped and faced him. He must be about six feet three inches to her five feet seven inches, which meant she looked up a significant distance to meet his gaze. Those blue eyes were clear and cloudless. Hers? Well, he was probably glimpsing the fringes of the storm that brooded inside her.

“You’re right. I’m not normal.” If she couldn’t manage utter calm, at least the tone emerged quiet and fiercely controlled. “With the way my life has gone since my earliest memory, I’ve had to develop certain skills so that my loved ones and I could survive. I don’t have a clue what it means to live in normal. I wish I did. So many times, I’ve prayed to God, begging for normal to somehow find me. It never has.” She broke eye contact. “Thanks for the lunch offer, but I’ve changed my mind. If you’ll excuse me, I don’t think I can eat anything. I’d better get back to my desk. See you tomorrow at the day care.”

She chewed out those last two words as she hurried away. If this first day of the rest of her life diverged any more radically from all she had confidently expected, she might simply implode into a splat on the sidewalk.

An hour later, she sat at her desk, staring at her computer screen, a half-eaten candy bar and a mug of cold coffee at her elbow. That incident in the street today puzzled her. Had the driver been impaired by drugs or alcohol to the point where he had been unaware of pedestrians? But his driving had seemed anything but erratic as he shot toward Jax and her like an arrow off a bowstring.

She’d tried running through the system the scrap of license-plate identification she’d remembered. However, following up on the number of RAV4s that popped up was beyond her ability, even factoring in the color of the vehicle. Red was highly popular. If she wanted to identify the driver, she’d have to approach this from a different angle. She came back to the same question: Who had been the driver’s target?

Jax may have made enemies during his days in the Marshals Service, maybe even more enemies during his dealings with volatile family court situations. Or could the target be her? She wanted to believe that the idea was ridiculous. Unless the attempted hit-and-run was connected to that stupid prank with the basket of rotten baby paraphernalia. What if the disgusting housewarming gift was not a brotherly prank, but a taunt with evil intent? The advice in the note to “enjoy” her life suddenly took on sinister overtones.

No use indulging needless paranoia. Chomping a bite out of her candy bar, she picked up her cell phone from the desk. A quick text to Nate, thanking him for his “thoughtfulness,” would settle the matter one way or another. He’d either acknowledge his twisted gift or have no idea what she was talking about. If she scored zero with Nate, she’d check with her other siblings. One of them had to be the culprit. The alternative was too creepy, if not downright scary.

Daci shot off a tongue-in-cheek thank-you, then turned her attention back to the research she was conducting on therapy for fetal alcohol syndrome babies. Virtually raising her siblings almost from her earliest memory had prepared her well for normal day care duties. Her boss was right about her mad skills in that area, but she’d never cared for a FAS infant.

That opportunity, which many would have considered a burden, had been denied her. Daci’s parents claimed her newborn baby brother Niall died at the hospital, but with no funeral being held for him, she’d never fully had closure. Where was he buried? Her parents wouldn’t tell, and to this day, she didn’t know and likely never would. As yet, she hadn’t found a way to make peace with that blank spot in her history.

At least tomorrow she’d have an opportunity to make peace with Jax for her abrupt abandonment of their lunch plans. He hadn’t meant anything insulting in his remark that she wasn’t normal, but the whole overload of the day had gotten to her in that moment.

She’d have to step up her game if she didn’t want him to write her off as a flake, which would be so unfair, since she’d never flaked on anything in her life. This case was extremely important on a society-impacting scale, even though parts of the assignment were a disappointment to her personally. Like Reynolds had told her: Suck it up, Marlowe.

While they were studying the files on Farnam and Naylor this morning, Jax had explained that he visited the day care frequently because many of the children were his clients. When he walked in tomorrow, she’d be ready for him with a friendly smile and, if they had a private moment, an apology.

By the time her shift ended, Daci was more than ready to leave the office. But even though she was done with her work for the day, another matter needed to be resolved before she could really relax. She had some thinking and research to do on her basket mystery.

During the drive to her apartment, her tired brain sorted through the results so far. Nate, who was swamped with starting a dentistry practice in Worcester, Massachusetts, and planning a wedding with his fiancé, had responded to her “thank you” text with a question mark and puzzlement emoji. She received a similar response during her afternoon break when she texted Noah, who was on a journalism assignment in London. She could cross them both off her list. If either brother had been behind the prank in person or by arrangement, he would have been proud to take credit and laugh at her scolding.

She pulled into the carport of a large Victorian home converted to side-by-side apartments in the quiet Pine Point neighborhood. A chorus of greetings from the porch of the Victorian house next door met her ears as she exited her little VW. Daci waved at three mixed-age women, members of a group home for mentally challenged adults, who resided there.

She’d been intrigued by the place when she’d moved in a week ago, and had gone over to meet the residents. In addition to rotating shifts of house mothers, there were six residents—two with Down syndrome, two with autism, one with fragile X syndrome and one with FASD. Their intellectual capacities varied from gifted in areas to slow across the board, but poor emotional and social skills guaranteed their need for a supervised environment for the rest of their lives. Once her life settled down a little, she might find time to go over and volunteer, but not today.

“Have a good evening,” she called to her welcoming committee and trod up the three steps onto the porch. At least there were no more weird gifts awaiting her.

Inside, she changed into comfy jeans and T-shirt, then picked up her phone to call her sisters, Amalie and Ava. She was about to peck the speed-dial button for Amalie when her screen lit up and her ringtone began. Am had beaten her to the call. Most likely Ava was present, too, since they shared an apartment near Dartmouth University in Hanover, New Hampshire. Only two years apart in age, the sisters enjoyed a close relationship, despite or maybe because of their differing personalities. Amalie, the elder, was on the serious side, introverted and cautious, while Ava was bubbly and outgoing.

Daci answered and greeted her sister.

“How was your day, Mamasis?” Amalie lilted.

Warmth filled Daci at the familiar, affectionate nickname—though her sibs had sometimes changed it to “Nemesis” if they were at odds with her over some sort of growing pains.

“I’m here, too,” Ava chimed in.

“Can’t tell you the details,” Daci answered, “but I’ve been assigned a small role in a high-profile case.”

Feminine squeals blended.

“Awesome,” Ava said.

“Does it involve danger?” Amalie’s tone went cautious.

“No more than any law-enforcement assignment. Risk is part of the job.”

Ava chuckled. “Our mamasis, the adventurer. I suppose you couldn’t bear any sort of mundane career after the supreme challenge of raising us.”

They all laughed.

“Which of you sent me the ‘welcome to your new life’ basket I found outside my door this morning?”

For a beat, stone silence answered.

“Must have been the neighborhood welcoming committee,” Amalie said.

“Yeah, neither of us thought of doing anything that nice. Wish we had.”

“What was in it?” Amalie was ever practical.

“Small stuff. Pretty much useless for my current lifestyle.” If her sisters weren’t in on the joke, no way was she going to freak them out by detailing the basket’s contents.

“Wasn’t there a card?” Am asked.

“Nothing that identified the sender.”

“Weird,” Ava said.

The conversation veered off into other topics, like Amalie’s upcoming graduation with a major in archeology, followed by a summer internship at an ancient civilization site in New Mexico. Ava lamented the impending absence of her sister as she stayed behind at school, slaving toward her undergrad degree in Film and Media Studies. Daci alternately congratulated and commiserated. Twenty minutes passed quickly, and they ended the call.

If the gift basket was not an off-the-wall inside joke from her often-wacky nearest and dearest, then who had left it for her and why? In light of the seriousness of the attempted hit-and-run, should she report the incident to her boss? To the local police? Unfortunately, she no longer possessed the physical evidence that might yield forensic clues. She’d chucked the gross object into a Dumpster at the nearest gas station.

That night, such dilemmas, as well as flashbacks of the SUV bearing down on her and Jax, invaded her dreams. Her alarm clock’s blare rolled her out of bed, groaning and mumbling under her breath. It was a harsher joke than spoiled baby food that she had to dress civilian casual and leave her badge in her dresser drawer on just her second day of work.

Her sidearm she put into a cloth bag to be taken into the day care director’s office and kept under lock and key. Not the best scenario if Liggett Naylor showed up, because she’d have to run to retrieve it. There had been a brief discussion with DC Reynolds about her wearing a small pistol strapped to her ankle, but they’d discarded the notion. Packing a gun while she cared for small children was unacceptable.

Well before the seven o’clock opening time, Daci approached a squat brick building with a sign over the door that read Little Blessings Day Care. Judging by the name, this was a faith-based care center. Unusual choice for placement of a ward of the government, but Jax had said that, while not all pint-size clients here had special needs, this day care offered programs for those who did. Perhaps Chase’s mental and physical challenges were the deciding factor in placing him in this one.

Daci paused inside the front door. The interior was brightly lit, revealing a foyer with a currently unmanned check-in desk standing outside a wall of glass that separated the foyer from a large open play area. Child-sized tables dotted a carpeted interior that featured separate sections for reading, crafts, toys and games. Doorways at the far end of the large room were labeled by age group.

A few adult workers moved around the play area. Children wouldn’t start arriving for another twenty minutes. Daci had thought the environment would assail her with desperation to escape back into the adult world. Instead, the scents of wet wipes, spilled juice and small-child sweat drew a deep calm from her core. There was something to be said for familiarity. And nostalgia. It hadn’t always been easy caring for her siblings, but she had some great memories of them from when they were this small.

A door to her left opened, and a petite, middle-aged woman with graying hair emerged, several file folders in the crook of one arm. According to the label on the door, this person was the director.

“You must be Daci Marlowe,” the woman said, stretching out her free hand. “I’m Naomi Minch, and my staff graciously allows me to believe I run this joyful madhouse.”

Daci smiled as she shook the director’s hand. She was well on her way to liking her temporary boss. This day was actually getting off to a good start.

“Here,” she said, and handed Naomi the sack holding her gun. “You know where to put this. I’ll collect it after hours.”

The director grimaced and accepted the bag gingerly. She hustled into her office and returned in a few moments, minus the bag.

A whoosh and rush of fresh air behind Daci announced someone coming in the front door. Jax? A little early for legal aid to arrive, but... Daci turned to face the newcomer, and her welcoming smile faded into openmouthed amazement. Dismay might be a better term. Somebody please tell her this person was not her assignment.

The garishly made-up woman’s anxious gaze darted from Naomi to Daci and back again. “I’m on time somewhere for once, aren’t I?”

“Of course, Serena,” Naomi answered kindly.

The woman wriggled her whole curvy body like a puppy who’d been praised. “Wow! Cool!”

Naomi stepped forward. “I’d like you to meet another new employee. Serena, this is Daci. Daci, this is Serena. You’ll both be working with our infants.”

“Hi.” Serena’s purple-painted lips curved into a smile, and she waggled a set of fingers at Daci.

The sharply filed nails were painted a brilliant shade of magenta sprinkled with glittery spangles. Those would have to go. As Daci lifted a hand in return greeting, she resisted glancing at her own neatly trimmed fingernails.

Surely, it wouldn’t be her responsibility to instruct the young woman in grooming details, as well as the nitty-gritty of childcare. The task would challenge a professional makeover expert. Short, stiffly spiked hair sported streaks of hot pink between puffs of artificial yellow, sticking out like sheaves of wheat straw. Distressed jeans and the multicolored blouse that hung off one shoulder screamed wannabe teenager rather than twenty-three-year-old mother.

Daci stifled a deep groan. Classic! Addiction stunted the natural maturing process. She understood that concept better than most people on the planet, but bitter experience had left her cold toward the addict caught up in the phenomenon.

“Come on, ladies.” Naomi motioned them deeper into the building. “Let me show you the infant rooms, and I’ll introduce you to the lead teacher for that age group. Then we can issue your staff polo shirts we want you to wear every day at work.”

Daci resisted the urge to wipe imaginary sweat from her brow. One fashion change would be taken care of without her having to add it to her already brimming plateful. She followed the day care director, dragging heavy chains of doubt about her ability to pull off the assignment of chumming with a recovering addict.

* * *

Jax leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and watched Daci interact with a one-year-old on the nursery floor. Since her back was to him, and she was engaged with the little girl, Daci hadn’t noticed his entrance. Her inattention to him suited Jax fine—it gave him an opportunity to observe this fascinating woman when she had no reason to be self-conscious.

He’d spent longer than he’d be willing to confess researching her online last night. He gave himself the excuse that he needed a solid sense of the background and experiences of his colleague, which was only part of the reason for his interest—maybe the smaller part. His discoveries had astonished him. Daci, more than most, had a web presence that had nothing to do with social media. In fact, as far as he could tell, she didn’t participate in social media at all, and he didn’t blame her. The professional media had already hurt her enough.

Their documented history of Candace “Daci” Marlowe gave fresh meaning to the term “poor little rich girl.” Not that anybody looking at her understated grooming and attire would ever guess that her personal resources could put her in with the jet set rather than the workaday world. No doubt, her parents’ antics had soured her on empty glitz and glamour, but she could have easily chosen a quiet life, out of the spotlight, without putting herself in danger. Why choose a career in law enforcement? Had witnessing her grandmother’s murder left her with a score to settle with the bad guys of the world?

As much as he’d discovered in his research, Jax still had a lot of questions about Ms. Marlowe. It was anyone’s guess whether she’d offer him any answers, and he had reasons of his own for not pressing for that level of intimacy, despite his attraction to her. He’d have to force himself to rein in his need-to-know mind. Easier said than done.

“Ja-ax!” Serena’s singsong voice made two syllables of his name.

He turned to find the young woman scurrying up to him, bright red lips pulled wide in a grin. Jax stiffened, then ordered himself to relax.

Last time Serena had rushed toward him like that had been in court when he’d successfully argued not to allow Chase to be placed with her until she’d proved herself capable of remaining sober. She hadn’t been happy with him in that moment and had used vivid language to clue him in on her feelings. At least it had only been words. He’d thought she was going to use those nails on his face.

“Hello, Serena,” he said as she invaded his personal space.

Despite her tendency to overpaint herself, she was a pretty woman, and with sobriety, the health of her personal appearance had steadily improved—eyes clear not bloodshot, cheeks filled out rather than gaunt, and interesting hair clean rather than lank with grease and neglect. “You’re looking well today.”

She wriggled at the compliment. “I feel good, and I’m doing real good. Everything’s perfect, except...” The smile abruptly fell away, and a pout took its place.

“Except what?” Jax rose to the bait.

“Chase isn’t here today.” Daci supplied the answer as she came to stand with them.

His breathing hitched. “Where is he?”

“Those foster parents of his called him in sick,” Serena said. “I think they’re making up excuses. Like, how am I supposed to bond with my son and learn how to care for him if they keep him away from me?”

“You don’t trust people much, do you?”

“Why should I?” Serena crossed her arms over her chest. “All my life, people have done nothing but mess with me.”

A troubled expression flitted across Daci’s face, and she laid a hand on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “I get that sentiment totally, but it really is against the rules to bring a sick child to day care.”

“Ja-ax.” Serena gazed into his eyes and smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket with her palms. “Would you please check on my baby for me?”

He took a half step backward. “I can do that.”

Poor Serena. Her life experiences so full of certain types of men had her thinking that any request made to a man had to be based on sex appeal in order to get his agreement. No doubt, her counselors were working with her in this area, but it took a while to overcome deeply ingrained mind-sets.

“Oh, thank you!” Serena folded her hands together. “Like, as long as I tell myself his foster parents are making stuff up, I can be mad, but if my little boy really is sick, then I’m going to be sad. I need to know. You know?”

“I think Mr....er, Jax gets it,” Daci said, sticking out her hand toward him. “Daci Marlowe, teacher’s assistant.”

Jax didn’t miss a beat in shaking her hand. If Daci were to have a chance at gaining Serena’s trust, it was important the young mother not be aware that Daci and he were previously acquainted. Serena Farnam had a highly developed sense of paranoia that would wreak instant havoc if she thought people were conspiring behind her back, even if it was for her own good.

“Jaxton Williams, juvenile rights attorney.”

“You must represent young Chase,” Daci said. “Serena’s been telling me about her situation.” She sent a kind smile toward the younger woman. “It’s got to be tough.”

Serena’s intense expression lightened. “Yeaaaah.” She breathed out long and low, as if such simple understanding meant the world to her.

An infant in a nearby crib began fussing, and Serena turned toward the sound. “I’ll get him. These babies are so cu-u-ute!” She practically skipped away.

Daci’s gaze followed the younger woman, a small frown on her lips. Jax cleared his throat, and she met his look.

“Since Chase isn’t here, I’d like to see little Annie Brown and speak to her caregiver.”

Daci smiled. “That would be me today. Follow me to the changing room, and I’ll talk with you while I change her diaper. She crawled past me a few minutes ago, while I was finishing up with another child, and I thought she smelled a bit ripe.”

At Jax’s low groan, her smile morphed into a smirk as she scooped Annie up.

“Do you provide nose plugs?” Jax followed her toward a side room.

“Wimp,” she said under her breath.

“I heard that.”

Daci’s answering chuckle warmed Jax from the ground up. She laid the child on the changing table and tickled the little girl’s plump belly. Annie giggled and kicked.

“Hold still, sweet stuff.” Daci began the changing process.

Jax stood rooted, staring, his heart shredding into tiny pieces. He’d visited this day care before, watched other babies being changed—though maybe not from this close up—but this moment was starkly different. Daci didn’t look a thing like Regan, and if their daughter had been born, she would have been much older than Annie, almost ready for kindergarten, but something about the way Daci moved, the expression on her face, the tone of her voice as she spoke to the little one hit him like brass knuckles with fresh realization of what he had lost. A deep groan wrenched his gut.

Daci’s head turned sharply. “Are you all right, Jax? You look like the Red Cross took the last pint of your blood.”

He blinked down hard against the wet sting behind his eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Or I will be.” He opened his eyes to find her holding the little girl, who had gone limp and was sucking her thumb.

“Did you really have some questions about Annie, or did you need an excuse to talk to me?”

“Both.” Get a grip, Williams. “When you changed her, did you notice any bruises?”

“No, just healthy baby bottom.”

“Good.” Jax smiled. “That’s what I expected to hear. Annie had a rough start in a toxic environment, but the dad has custody now, and she’s been thriving. This was basically a final follow-up visit.”

“Aren’t these kinds of visits more social services territory?”

“Sure, but that department is spread so thin they’re more than happy to enlist the help of a nonprofit like ours to pick up the slack. I’ll write up my report, and they’ll put it in their file. At the next court date, Annie will likely be released from the system into the mainstream. We call that a success story.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Daci held the child toward him, and he received the warm bundle. The girl stared at him for a few blinks, then laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

“She likes you and trusts you.”

“I like her, too.” He gazed down at the head of wispy brown hair.

“You’re a natural. Any little Williamses at home?”

“No, not married anymore.” Jax grimaced. “That’s a story for another time. I need to get going and stop at Chase’s foster home. How are you doing with Serena?”

“You saw.” Daci rippled her shoulders. “She may be sober, but she’s still a hot mess. I’ve stuck close to her all day and have begun to believe she genuinely wants to be a good mother to her son, but she’s so pathetically clueless about what that entails.”

“Contrary to her airhead demeanor, which I suspect is an ingrained facade to make her seem no threat to the predators in her environment, testing has shown she’s bright. She’s also motivated. She’ll learn. No sign of our target?”

“Nary a one. Though I don’t suppose he’s going to announce his presence beforehand.”

“He might call or text Serena.”

“Workers here can’t use cell phones except on break. Following her to the break room when I’m supposed to be on duty would be irresponsible in regard to the children, and it would look suspicious to Serena, but I’ve kept close watch to see if she exhibits any nervousness when she comes back on duty. I don’t think she’d be able to hide her reaction if he reached out to her. Even if she believes he doesn’t know she betrayed him, anyone would get the willies if contacted by an escaped felon. Besides, the Marshals Service is monitoring her cell communications.”

“Do you have a plan to get into her circle of friends?”

Daci’s expression clouded. “I’m going to express interest in attending an addiction-recovery meeting. If she accepts me as one who understands her issues, I should be a shoo-in.”

“Sounds like a great plan to me, but you don’t look happy about it.”

“This is a world I thought I escaped. I’m not eager to revisit it.”

“Understood. Hopefully, Naylor will be in custody again soon, and you can move on to a new assignment.”

“One more thing, I want to apologize for leaving you abruptly yesterday. I’m not usually so touchy.”

“No problem. It was an unsettling day.”

Daci smiled up at him. “I appreciate your patience.”

He made himself turn away before he blurted out an invitation to revisit their canceled meal plan. Dating Daci was out of the question.

A few minutes later, little Annie had been tucked into a crib with her favorite blankie, and Jax was on the road. The visit at Chase’s foster home was brief, but it confirmed the little guy was recovering from a cold. His foster parents thought he would be able to return to day care in the morning. Jax called Naomi at Little Blessings with the update and asked that the message be passed along to Serena. Then he headed downtown to his office and worked a few hours on court filings and briefs.

When the clock had finally crept past the time for Daci and Serena’s shift to end, he called Daci’s cell. She answered after two rings.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“At the office, updating DC Reynolds on our activities today. He told me the woman I knocked over in the crosswalk yesterday was treated and released. No bones broken.”

“I’m thankful for that. Just wondering if you wanted to join me for a drive-by of Serena’s apartment building. Maybe do a little recon of the area, too.”

A brief chuckle answered him. “Been there, done that. Plus, I’m picking Serena up at her place at six thirty. We’re attending a recovery meeting together tonight.”

Jax let out a low whistle. “Fast work, rookie!”

She snorted. Odd how even that gruff sound was attractive coming from her.

“Not hard,” she said, “with someone so needy for human companionship and approval.”

“What’s the address of the meeting? I’d like to hang around outside and watch for either our mutual friend or a go-between who might want to contact Serena outside of her workplace or residence.”

“Good idea.” Daci rattled off the address.

“What do you drive, so I’ll know which vehicle is yours?”

“I’ve got a blue Volkswagen GTI. Blurs the line between sporty and utilitarian. Just the way I like it.” She laughed.

Jax grinned as they ended the call. He’d expected at least a Lexus, if not a Mercedes, but a VW? She’d certainly pulled off the balance between maintaining her average-income profile with the flair of something slightly off the beaten path.

Two hours later, Jax parked up the block from Bethany Church in south Springfield, where the recovery meeting was being held. He had arrived early to monitor Daci and Serena’s approach. If anyone was following them, he would spot the tail. He popped open the door on the glove compartment of his Malibu, took out his Glock 19 and checked the load.

Lying beneath the gun, his temporary marshal’s badge caught his eye. Slowly, he hefted it in one palm, testing the familiar weight. Running the pad of his thumb across the gold star and embossed eagle, memories rushed through him. Hissing in a breath, he flung the badge back into the glove compartment and slammed it shut.

He lifted his gaze to find a shiny blue GTI turning the corner and approaching the church. The vehicle drove toward him, then entered the parking lot that was already filling up with those attending the meeting. Jax scanned the area for vehicles slowing down in surveillance mode or parked cars with occupants that seemed to be watching the church like he was. Nada.

He settled back in his seat for a bit of a wait. When the meeting was over, he was going to follow them back to Serena’s apartment. Her part of town wasn’t a good area to be in after dark. Not a good place to raise a child, either, but a rough neighborhood wouldn’t be sufficient reason to deny Serena her son if she met the court-ordered criteria for custody. And at the moment, it was the best she could afford. Sometimes a person had to pick his battles.

The two hours until the meeting let out reminded Jax of how much he’d hated stakeout duty. At last, people began emerging from the church, Daci and Serena in the mix. Jax started his car, but let the VW get on up the road before he pulled out to follow. A few other vehicles from the meeting stayed with them for a while, but eventually, they all turned elsewhere.

Within twenty minutes, Daci pulled over near a corner lamppost in front of Serena’s complex. Jax stopped at the curb on the opposite side of the street and watched as Daci got out with her charge. Had she already wangled an invitation up to Serena’s apartment?

No, Serena stopped at the curb and seemed to be saying good-night. Daci lifted a hand in farewell and turned away as Serena went into her apartment building. Jax reached to put the Malibu in gear, then froze as a rust-bucket van cruised up the street and stopped in the middle of the road parallel with the VW. Jax’s hair stood on end, every instinct screaming that Daci was in danger. He lunged for the gun in his glove compartment as the heavy rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapon fire shredded the night.

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