Protective Custody

A flush covered his cheekbones, and he shot a look at Seth. “He surprised me while I was shaving.”

Frowning, she eyed the cut on his face. “Do you need a doctor?”

“No.” His lips tightened. “I need to make sure my niece and nephew are safe, then get out there in the courtroom and try the case I’ve got waiting for me.”

“They’re safe,” she assured him. “As soon as we got the call, two other marshals and several officers headed for your house. Authorities are also fanning out around the building here. We’re pulling the security videos from the cameras around your office.”

Nick nodded. “It didn’t come through the U.S. mail. It came through interoffice mail. If you look at the cameras, all you’re going to see is my secretary entering my office and placing an interoffice envelope on my desk.”

“We’ll still check. We’ll be checking your phone records, too.”

Nick shook his head. “Of course, but what do you want to bet that threatening call came from an untraceable prepaid cell-phone number?”

“Unfortunately, you’re probably right.”

Mason cleared his throat. “What exactly did the letter say?”

Nick reached into his back pocket and pulled out a piece of paper encased in a paper bag. At Carly’s raised brow, he shrugged. “I’ve had police training, remember? Before I decided what I wanted to do with my life, I went through the police academy. I can gather evidence without contaminating it just as well as any cop.”

As she took it from him, her fingers brushed his and she felt their warmth briefly against her own. Shivers danced along her spine and she cleared her throat, ignoring the heat flushing her cheeks. She didn’t want to be attracted to a man she didn’t respect.

Focusing, she snapped on a glove and pulled the letter from the bag. She read aloud, “Drop the de Lugo case, Judge, or you’ll be sorry. You’ve already lost a sister and a wife. What would those kids do if they lost you, too? You’re not safe anywhere. Your home, your office, your gym, your bed—there’s nowhere we can’t get to you. If you don’t drop the case, you’d better update your will.”

Carly passed the letter to Mason and looked up at the handsome judge. “The de Lugo trial.” A statement, not a question. She knew about the trial.

“Yes, the trial of Ricardo de Lugo and his murdering band of cohorts is set to start in less than one week. Six days to be exact. Two years of undercover work by two FBI agents finally netted enough evidence to put him away for life—possibly even give him the death penalty.” He paused. “Assuming we make it to trial. No matter how much protection is offered, it seems this man has eyes and ears everywhere.” He gestured to the letter. “Someone who knows me pretty well seems to be passing on information.”

Carly shifted. “We have marshals on the FBI agents’ families, too. As for this—” she waved the letter “—he doesn’t necessarily have to know you well. A little research online probably told him everything ever published in the newspaper about you. But,” she mused, “whoever wrote this appears to be educated. Proper grammar, flawless punctuation…”

Seth stood. “I’ve got to get back to my partner. I left him guarding a prisoner who gets on your nerves after five minutes in his company. He’ll be ready for a break.”

Mason shook his hand. “We’ve got this covered. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime.” Seth left, and Mason turned to Nicholas. “You’re still determined to go out there?”

A hard sheen flattened his gold-green eyes. “Absolutely.”

“When will your current trial wrap up?”

“I’m hoping by this afternoon. It’s a pretty straightforward case.”

“After that, what would you think about hiding out in a safe house until the de Lugo trial starts?”

He didn’t answer at first. “If it were just threats against me, I would say forget it. I’ve had training. But the kids…” He stood. “I’ve got to change my shirt and get into my robe. Let me think about it.”

“There’s really nothing to think about, sir. All the training in the world won’t stop a sniper’s bullet. And while we can’t exactly stop it, either, we give you a better chance of ducking when one heads your way. You need us, whether you like it or not.”

Carly watched Nick and Mason square off.

“Think of the children, 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 them 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 last 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?

“Look,” Nick said as he headed for the door, “we just moved here to Spartanburg a year ago. My mother moved out to California to take care of my sick aunt, and my latest nanny up and quit on me so I have a friend filling in.” He shook his head. “Since my sister died in the car wreck with my wife, there’s been no real consistency in my niece and nephew’s lives. Lindsey and Christopher need that. They crave that. My house is about as safe as you can get. Granted, it’s not hard to find, but I’m not listed in the phone book, either. As for the information online, that was all newspaper stuff. Nothing about where I live.” He shot Carly and Mason a hard look. “If I let you move in to my house, can you keep the kids safe while they go through their usual daily routine?”

Carly glanced at Mason, who shrugged. To Nick, she said, “Yes. The children weren’t threatened. That’s a good thing. But it’s obvious the de Lugos are trying to hit you where you’re vulnerable. They mention the kids, but there’s no overt threat to them. However, if you ask me, that’s still a threat, no matter how subtle. We’ll take extra precautions with the children, of course, but your safety is our main concern right now, since you were the one threatened.”

She wondered if she would believe those words one day, but they seemed to ease Nick’s mind a little. For her, though, just the fact that there were children involved would keep her up nights until this assignment came to an end.

Nick nodded. “Then pack your bags. I’ll tell my housekeeper you guys are moving in for a while.”

Carly watched Nicholas walk up the steps and settle himself into the judge’s chair. The bailiff took up residence off to the side. As the jury filed in, she noted their serious expressions. Several looked at the door through which the defendant would enter. Others watched their feet, never lifting their eyes from the floor even as they settled into their chairs.

Interesting and odd, she noted, picking up on the undercurrents flowing around the group.

The prosecutor already sat at his table.

The door opened, and Seth and his partner led an orange-suited, leg-shackled prisoner through it.

Harrison Frasier. On trial for the murder of a local stockbroker. He claimed he was innocent, but the security video captured him in the office at the time of the murder even though it didn’t actually show him pulling the trigger. The murder weapon was never found. However, a witness and DNA, along with the video, almost assured a guilty verdict.

Harrison Frasier. Carly tapped her lip as she studied the man. Good-looking, athletic build, early twenties. Looked like the boy next door you’d hire to mow your grass.

The jury foreman rose. Judge Floyd nodded to the man. “Has the jury reached a verdict, sir?”

“We have, Your Honor.” He carried it to the bench and handed it over.

Nicholas read it and handed it back without blinking an eye or changing expression, although Carly wondered if she was the only one who noticed the muscle jumping along his jawline.

The foreman returned to his chair and stood in front of it.

Harrison Frasier stood.

Nicholas cleared his throat and asked, “Would you please read the verdict?”

“We, the jury, find the defendant not guilty on all charges.”

Pandemonium broke loose.

“No!” A woman in her forties stood, tears streaming down her cheeks. Carly recognized her from the news. She was the wife of the victim. An older gentleman who looked to be her father wrapped an arm around her shoulder and simply stared at Nicholas, then at the foreman.

Carly had to strain to hear the man’s words over the chaos. “How could you let this happen?”