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Protective Custody
Lynette Eason
Guarding witnesses? All in a day's work for deputy U.S. marshal Carly Masterson.Protecting the judge who was indirectly responsible for her mentor's death? That's another story. Still, she won't let harm come to Judge Nicholas Floyd, or the niece and nephew in his care. She's determined to do the job right, and not let her emotions take over–no matter how wonderful it feels to be accepted by the little family. Can she let go of the past and learn to trust again before danger finds them once more?
“Think of your niece and nephew, Nicholas,” Carly offered softly.
When she’d first met him two years ago, he hadn’t had the children. His wife and sister had been alive. She’d seen pictures of the kids and he’d told her about each one in detail like the doting uncle he was.
Since then a lot had happened. He’d lost two women he’d loved, gained two children—and released a killer to kill again.
She blinked that thought away.
He blew out a breath and undid the buttons on his cuffs. Forearms roped with strength emerged as he shoved the sleeves up to his elbows—Carly swallowed hard desperately trying to convince herself she was not feeling another tug of attraction.
What was wrong with her?
LYNETTE EASON
grew up in Greenville, SC. Her home church, Northgate Baptist, had a tremendous influence on her during her early years. She credits Christian parents and dedicated Sunday School teachers for her acceptance of Christ at the tender age of eight. Even as a young girl, she knew she wanted her life to reflect the love of Jesus.
Lynette attended the University of South Carolina in Columbia, SC, then moved to Spartanburg, SC, to attend Converse College, where she obtained her master’s degree in education. During that time, she met the boy next door, Jack Eason, and married him. Jack is the executive director of the Sound of Light Ministries. Lynette and Jack have two precious children: Lauryn and Will. She and Jack are members of New Life Baptist Fellowship Church in Boiling Springs, SC, where Jack serves as the worship leader and Lynette teaches Sunday School to the four-and five-year-olds.
Protective Custody
Lynette Eason
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For in the day of trouble he will keep me safe in his dwelling; he will hide me in the shelter of his tabernacle and set me high upon a rock.
—Psalms 27:5
To my Lord and Savior who keeps me safe and secure during the storms of life.
And to a young man who wanted to see his name in a book. Here ya go, Nick.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LETTER TO READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
ONE
In the downtown courthouse, Deputy U.S. Marshal Carly Masterson eyed the three bloody fingerprints on the cracked door and pulled her weapon.
Blood on the door to the judge’s chambers.
Not a good sign.
Her partner, Mason Stone, followed her actions. In a low whisper, he asked, “Is he in there?”
Heart picking up speed, Carly toed the door open. Without a sound, it opened inward, exposing Judge Nicholas Floyd’s chambers. “Nick?” She kept her voice low.
No answer.
They’d been on the way to the courthouse when they’d gotten a call that the judge had received the second threat of the day. This time the authorities were sending protection whether he wanted it or not. Three minutes later, Carly and Mason arrived to find themselves in this situation.
A sweep of the room showed nothing amiss.
Except for a few drops of blood trailing across the floor.
So where was the judge?
Anxiety twisting her stomach into knots, Carly said, “I’ll take the bathroom.” She headed for the closed door. “The drops of blood are fresh.”
“Look at the shape of the drops. They’re leading from the bathroom,” he noted in a matching whisper.
She could feel her heart thudding in her chest. Her fingers reached for the knob then pulled back. “Blood on the knob.”
“Noted. I’ve got your back.”
She knew he would. Having been partners for two years, she trusted Mason with her life.
“Here.” He thrust a tissue he’d retrieved from the desk into her hand. Standing to one side of the door, with Mason on the opposite side facing her, she placed the tissue over the knob, nodded to him and twisted her wrist. The door flew open at her shove, and they rounded the edges of the door frame as one, guns pointed inside.
Empty.
The bathroom contents lay scattered. Water tinged with red filled the plugged sink.
Adrenaline rushing, Carly pulled back and let the thudding in her chest subside.
Mason looked at her. “Now what?”
“We follow the blood.”
Nicholas pressed his fingers to the cut and bit back a word he hadn’t said in a long time. “Did you have to barge in while I was shaving? You could have at least let me grab a towel.” He swiped the blood on his pants, not caring if it left a stain. That was the least of his problems right now.
The marshal simply looked at him. He’d been in the Spartanburg, South Carolina, courthouse delivering a captured fugitive to his hearing when Nick had called the authorities. The first threat had come in the form of a phone call. Nick had hung up on the caller. The letter that had appeared on his desk an hour later had been harder to ignore.
He stomped to the table and yanked a napkin from the holder. The small break room/kitchen now served as his safe area until more help arrived.
“Sorry.” An unexpected apology from the man.
Pressing the napkin to the still-seeping cut, Nicholas paused. “Aw, it’s all right.” He’d been on his last upward stroke when the pounding on his bathroom door had caused him to jerk like he’d been shot. As a result, he’d pressed and yanked on the razor, cutting himself pretty bad.
“Want me to take a look at it?” Concern flickered on the marshal’s face.
“No. It’s slowing down.”
The marshal shook his head and asked, “Who still uses a straight razor these days? You got something against an electric one?”
“It was my grandfather’s. He taught me to use it and…” He shrugged and blushed. “I like a close shave.”
“Huh. Not that close, I’m guessing.”
Nick tossed the paper into the trash and grabbed another one. “You’re right about that.” He winced at the sting. “What’s your name?”
“Seth McCoy.”
“Thanks for responding so quickly, Deputy Marshal McCoy.”
For the first time, a hint of a smile creased the corners of the man’s eyes. “No problem. When a judge gets a letter like that, we don’t waste time.”
Nick grunted. “I noticed.”
McCoy’s eyes shifted as he raised a hand to the earpiece then spoke to the wall. “I got him. We’re in the break area. One way in, one way out.” A pause. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Who was that?”
“Your protection detail.”
“Protection detail, huh?”
“Yeah, and this time you’re not running them off.”
Two weeks ago, marshals had been assigned to Nicholas after the first death threat, a phone call warning him to recuse himself from the de Lugo trial or to be watching his back. Nicholas had insisted it was hoax, just like the one two years ago. The marshals had reluctantly left him alone.
Now he wasn’t so sure. The tone of this letter had been different. It had shaken him because it had mentioned the children. Twelve-year-old Lindsey and seven-year-old Christopher. When Nick’s sister had been killed in a car wreck, he’d become their guardian. “Do you have someone on my house? On the kids’ school?”
“Even as we speak.”
He didn’t like the feeling of relief. That meant he might actually be worried someone was serious about hurting him or the children. At least the children hadn’t been threatened directly. Still, Nicholas didn’t like the fact that they were mentioned—by name. “Tell them not to let the kids know anything is wrong. They’ve had so much turmoil in their lives. The less they know, the better. At least as long as we can leave it that way.”
Again, Seth eyed him patiently. “They’re professionals. The kids will be fine—and alive.”
Before Nicholas could respond, a knock on the door sounded, and he flashed back to two years ago when another knock had jerked him out of his comfort zone and forced him to admit his marriage needed help.
God, please don’t let it be…
“Hello, Nicholas.”
…Carly Masterson.
Staring at the man before her, who was dressed in jeans and a white oxford shirt stained with blood, Carly felt a surge of attraction mixed with disdain.
To cover her shock, consternation and anger with herself at the blindsiding emotions, she moved aside to let Mason in. If she was going to be attracted to someone, why couldn’t it be her partner? Unfortunately, even though she thought he was a good-looking man, Mason didn’t send a single zip up her spine.
Not like the judge standing in front of her. A judge who let a killer get off scot-free. Free to kill again. Free to kill my beloved mentor, Hank Bentley.
Of all the assignments I could have gotten, I pulled this one. Why? Who she was appealing to, she didn’t know. But it sure wasn’t God. They weren’t on speaking terms.
Focus, Carly. Do your job.
Derailing her unprofessional thoughts, she glanced at McCoy. “Took you long enough to let us know you had him.”
McCoy raised a brow and shrugged. “You know the procedure as well as I do. Get the subject safe then report in as soon as possible. That’s what I did.”
Carly did know the procedure and inwardly cringed at the gentle reprimand from her peer. She was being entirely too sensitive about this…and she knew why.
Because it was Nicholas Floyd. A man she’d come to think of as a friend two years ago when she was assigned to him and his wife. A man she once admired and respected. Only to have him turn around and let a killer go on a “technicality” six months ago. She despised the word. There should be no “technicalities” in her line of work.
But Judge Floyd was also a man who was now in danger. She would put her personal feelings aside and do her job.
“Right.” Turning to Nicholas, she asked, “What happened? We found blood in your office.”
