Paula hurried through, followed by Miles and Blake. Chloe and Hank pulled up the rear. Blake stepped ahead of Paula and led her to the judge’s chambers. He rapped twice and identified himself, holding his badge up to the peep hole.
The door swung open and Paula pushed past the marshal, making a beeline for her father. She hugged him and Chloe held Hank’s leash while she watched the reunion unfold. The judge still looked shell-shocked, but his arms came up and wrapped around his daughter.
When she pulled back, she touched his cheek. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Paula.” He blinked and shook his head. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
Paula planted her hands on her hips. “This time.”
Judge Worthington sighed and closed his eyes. “Don’t start. Not now.”
Her fiancé had stepped up beside her and laid a hand on her arm. “Paula—”
She shrugged him off and glared at her father. “Fighting them is not worth your life!”
The shout echoed through the office.
All of the marshals found other things to do. They checked the windows, checked the doors, checked their phones. Even Miles backed up a few steps.
Chloe simply watched. Finally, she stepped forward. “You’re talking about the bill you’re pushing legislators to pass, aren’t you? The one that cracks down on perpetrators of human trafficking.”
Judge Worthington turned to her. “I’m working with House of Representatives member, Corrine Johnson. We wrote the bill and she introduced it. It’s making its way through the steps and is at the stage where the House debates it and decides whether to send it on to the Senate. I’ve spoken to the Senate. They know it’s coming. I’m slated to speak to the house—along with Corrine—next week.”
“Has Mrs. Johnson had any threats against her?”
“Yes, as the marshals are aware. But we’ve agreed we’re not backing down. We’ll keep pushing until it becomes a law. We want the death penalty for those who are convicted of human trafficking. Do you know how much prison time an offender serves for enslaving a human being and selling her sometimes as often as twenty times a day?”
“Three years,” Chloe said softly. “On average.”
Her answer raised his brows—and slumped his shoulders. “Yes. Selling dope comes with a stiffer sentence than selling a human being. It’s an outrage.”
“And the shorter sentences mean victims are scared to come forward to testify,” Chloe said.
“Or they’ve been brainwashed,” Blake murmured.
“Exactly.” Judge Worthington rubbed his hands together and crossed his arms. “So, the only way to make a difference is to change the law.”
“And you have to be the one to do that?” Paula demanded.
“If not me, who?” he asked.
She stomped a foot and spun on her heel. Striding to the door, she tossed over her shoulder, “Then make sure your will is up to date if you continue down this path, because I’m afraid you’re not going to live much longer.” A tear trickled down her cheek and she swiped it away before stepping out of the chambers.
The slamming of the door echoed for long seconds after she was gone. Miles sighed. “I’m assuming there’s an officer outside who’ll stop her and hold her?”
“Yeah. She can’t be loose in the building. It’s a crime scene,” Blake said.
“Then I’d better go rescue him and talk her into cooperating.”
“That’s a real good idea.”
Chloe’s buzzing phone jerked her from her stupor and she yanked it off the clip. Dispatch. “St. John here.”
“You and Hank are needed. Are you free?”
“I can be. Where?” Chloe noted the address and typed it into the GPS app on her phone after she hung up. “Hank and I have got to go.”
Blake nodded, his brow furrowed, eyes thoughtful. “Text me when you’re finished. I’ve got an idea.”
Curious, she nodded. “Will do.” Chloe said her goodbyes and led Hank out of the chambers, down the hall, and out of the building.
Blake sat in the parking lot of A Taste of Yesterday restaurant and pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes. It was nearly 6:30 on this chilly Friday evening. Another day had passed with no sign of Rachel. How could she have just disappeared? Again. He slammed a fist against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Three times. It didn’t help.
Tears swept past his lashes and he pressed his thumb against his eyelids as memories of her toddler days blipped like an old movie through the front of his mind. Her tight hugs and cute lisp. The way she said, “I love you, Daddy,” before planting a wet kiss on his nose. And then all of a sudden, she was calling him Blake. What was up with that? He wasn’t Blake. He was Dad. Daddy.
Sobs threatened. With mammoth effort, he held them back. What was he doing? Big boys didn’t cry. Men didn’t show emotion or let the tears fall. His father had beaten that into him at a young age. Blake immediately snipped that train of thought off and focused on the building in front of him while he swiped at the tears on his cheeks. He found a napkin, blew his nose and cleared his throat.
Distraction would be good, food would be good. But he would only allow himself to be distracted for a short time. Then he would be searching once more.
Linc was on his way, as well as Chloe, Izzy, Brady, Ruthie, and Derek. All of the St. John siblings under one roof. It could be a bit overwhelming, but he was grateful for the short respite before he went back to searching for Rachel. His stomach had been growling at him all day, since he’d barely eaten anything and had consumed entirely too much coffee.
Too much caffeine. Too much emotion. Too much stress. At the rate he was going, he’d be gray and nursing an ulcer by this time next week.
Chloe’s SUV pulled into the spot beside him and she climbed out. He couldn’t help noticing once again that she was extremely pretty.
And he was extremely annoyed with himself for being drawn to her. She was Linc’s sister, for crying out loud.
But she’d been on his attraction radar from the moment he’d seen her at the hospital. He’d just been so focused on finding Rachel, he hadn’t addressed it.
And besides, why would she be interested in a guy with as much baggage as he had attached to him? No, it wouldn’t be fair to ask someone else to hook on to that baggage. Once he got himself free of it, cleaned up, so to speak, then maybe he’d be ready to find someone to settle down with. Give marriage another try. Maybe. Not necessarily with Chloe—he wasn’t that far gone to start thinking along those lines—but marriage in general.
Then again, after his ex-wife’s betrayal, trusting someone else to that extent—to actually be willing to marry again—would take a lot of . . . something.
Maybe prayer.
Chloe slammed the door and the frown on her face said something was on her mind and it wasn’t good.
He rolled down the passenger window. Cold air rushed in, but he ignored it. At least it wasn’t raining. “What’s wrong?”
Startled, she turned. “Blake. You scared me.”
“Sorry.” He leaned over and opened the passenger door and she slid in. He rolled the window up and cranked the heat up a notch. “What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing. Just thinking.” She held her hands against the nearest vent. “It’s cold.”
“Thinking about the weather put that frown on your face?”
She shot him a small, tight smile. “No, not really.” Her lips turned down again. “I was thinking about Penny. Is she okay? Is she alive? Does she wish she was—” Her mouth snapped shut and she glanced at him. “Never mind.”
“Does she wish she was dead?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay, Chloe. I’m scared to death for Rachel, and I can’t say I haven’t had those same questions when it comes to her.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I can’t believe this whole human trafficking thing has touched both of us in such a personal way. I mean, as a cop, yeah, of course, I expect to come across it. But with Penny . . .” A sigh slipped out.
He sighed. “I don’t think Rachel’s started out as a human trafficking thing. They took her to get to me.”
“So you’d kill the judge?”
“Yeah.”