In Need of Protection Read online

  How had they been found...again?

  “We’ve got to go. Now!”

  Ethan’s urgent growl sent Lara’s pulse skyrocketing.

  Lara snatched up the baby and the diaper bag, then opened the bathroom door. Ethan stood outside, grim-faced and gun drawn. He ushered her and her precious cargo up the narrow hallway in the back of the store toward the emergency exit.

  “Go!” Ethan whispered.

  Ethan’s warm hand pressed between Lara’s shoulder blades, hurrying her, even as a strange man’s voice from the front of the store called out their names.

  She hugged Maisy close and charged for tree cover. A masculine shout came from behind her. Not Ethan. Then a gunshot with another loud report close on its heels. Enemy fire followed by Ethan’s response?

  No time to spare a backward glance. She plunged into the woods, twigs snapping beneath her feet and pine needles raking her body.

  Another gun blast, and a pained cry sounded in the distance behind her. Ethan? God, please no!

  A bitter metallic tang filled Lara’s mouth. This was what terror tasted like...

  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.

  Books by Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  Love Inspired Suspense

  Evidence of Murder

  Witness to Murder

  Calculated Revenge

  Legacy of Lies

  Betrayal on the Border

  Frame-Up

  Shake Down

  Rocky Mountain Sabotage

  Duty to Defend

  Lone Survivor

  The Baby’s Defender

  Hunted for Christmas

  In Need of Protection

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.

  In Need of Protection

  Jill Elizabeth Nelson

  There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.

  —1 John 4:18

  To all the protectors who risk their lives for the innocent and vulnerable.

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Excerpt from Under Surveillance by Jodie Bailey

  ONE

  Lara Werth gasped and lunged upright in bed, heart in her throat. What was that sound? The hair-raising wail wound up a notch. A baby was crying in her house? Then her shoulders relaxed. That’s right. She had company.

  Her best friend from high school, Isabelle Storlen, or at least that had been her maiden name, had suddenly showed up last night. The long-lost friend rang Lara’s doorbell just after midnight with her three-month-old baby in tow. Izzy had said she was on the run from her abusive husband, the infant girl’s father, and had the bruises to prove it. She’d driven twenty hours straight from their home city of Chicago to Lara’s house in Jackson, Wyoming.

  What else could Lara do but offer mother and daughter asylum until morning when they could call the police? At least calling the police is what Lara had wanted to do right away, but her friend had adamantly refused. Maybe Izzy would be more reasonable this morning? But why wasn’t her friend rousing to take care of her baby?

  Lara’s bedside clock said 6:01 a.m. Right on target with the time Izzy had predicted her daughter would wake them all up. Lara rose and donned her slippers and robe, then padded up the hallway to the guest-bedroom. Knocking, she called Izzy’s name. There was no answer except for an increase in the urgency of the baby’s wailing. Lara cracked open the door and peered inside. The bed was made—almost like it had never been slept in. She stepped fully into the room. No one was present except little Maisy in her infant seat, bawling and kicking.

  Next to the baby carrier sat a large bag Isabelle had brought in with her—a diaper bag, judging by the images of baby toys embroidered all over it. Atop the bag lay a short stack of papers. Lara snatched them up. The top sheet was a handwritten note that said “I’m sorry. Maisy is safer with you. My husband will never suspect she’s here. Look after her for me and tell her that Mommy loves her.”

  The bottom dropped out of Lara’s stomach. The message couldn’t mean what she thought it meant. Izzy hadn’t run off and left her baby behind, had she?

  With a dry mouth, Lara turned to the next page. It was an official document with a heading that nearly stopped her heart. “Minor Child Power of Attorney Form.” The boilerplate form looked like it had been grabbed off the internet, but it was fully filled out, signed and notarized. Her name, Lara Werth, was neatly printed in the spot for the individual delegated as power of attorney for “custody, well-being and property” of minor child. This couldn’t be real. People didn’t dump their children off with unsuspecting near strangers, did they? Because, after all these years, she and Izzy were all but strangers.

  Didn’t the parent need the consent of the person getting the POA before executing a document like this? Lara searched but found no line requiring her signature.

  Lara turned to the next sheet in the small stack. It was a one-page will—again boilerplate from the internet—that named her, Lara Werth, as guardian of Izzy’s child in the event of Izzy’s death. A chill gripped Lara. Isabelle must truly be frightened for her life. Did the father have no parental rights? If not, he must be a more dangerous person than her friend had told her last night. Lara’s stomach churned. Perhaps she should have insisted that they call the police.

  She flipped to the final page. It was a list with step-by-step instructions about the care and feeding of little Maisy. Lara exhaled slowly. This was good. Yes, she could do lists. Lists were her friend.

  Lara laid the papers on the bed and reached for the wailing infant, but the clamor of the doorbell stopped her. Who could that be? Had Izzy rethought her outrageous plan and returned for her daughter? Had to be.

  “Hang in there, sweetie,” she told the crying infant. “I’ll be back in a flash, hopefully with your mother.”

  A pacifier lay in the car seat, next to the baby. Lara grabbed it and popped it into the child’s mouth. The crying subsided. The doorbell rang again, long and loud, as if someone was jamming their thumb on it and not letting up. She could understand Izzy being anxious to be reunited with her child.

  “I’m coming!” Lara called out as she hustled to the foyer and opened the door, a greeting for her friend on her lips.

  Her smile faded as she stared up into a pair of steely eyes set in a granite face. But it was the gun in the man’s hand, pointed straight at her, that sent her heart into gymnastics.

  “Give me the kid.” The man’s thin lips hardly moved as he spoke, and the creep factor escalated to a new level.

  A second male figure, tall and muscular, charged onto her lawn from behind the cedar hedge that divided her property from her neighbor’s. This one carried
an even larger weapon, trained on the man who held the gun in her face.

  “Drop it, Seton,” the second man said in a flat, no-nonsense tone. “Deputy Marshal Ethan Ridgeway here. You’re under arrest.”

  The first man snarled a swear word, swiveled slightly toward the threat and reached for Lara with his free hand as if he would grab her and use her as a human shield. Not happening! A scream tore from Lara’s throat even as her fist flew out and connected with the man’s shoulder. He staggered, and she ducked away and slammed the door. A gun went off and then a second shot barked on the heels of the first.

  A male voice yelped, and something heavy thudded onto the porch. Her assailant getting the worst of it from the deputy? A gun battle was taking place right outside her front door. How could this be happening? Lara’s arms and legs turned to useless appendages frozen to her body as her pulse thundered in her ears. From the guest bedroom, Maisy’s crying began again, but she couldn’t attend to the child yet.

  “You’re safe,” hollered a deep voice from outside. “We’re taking custody of the suspect now, ma’am.”

  We? She’d seen only one deputy running onto her lawn. Maisy’s continued crying tugged at her, but Lara needed to call the local police first. She didn’t know these people outside her house. Lara darted for her phone in the charger on the table beside the sofa. Her 9-1-1 call took only a few seconds, and after the assurance that help was on the way, she hauled in a deep breath, the first time she’d fully filled her lungs since she opened her door. The creeping dizziness in her brain began to recede.

  A firm rap sounded on the door. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

  “I’m okay.” Her voice quavered. “Who’s out there?”

  “Deputy Marshal Ethan Ridgeway and my partner, Terrill Reed. You don’t need to worry about the guy who accosted you. He’s disarmed and cuffed.”

  On hesitant feet, Lara returned to the door. “I’m going to open up to the length of the chain, but I expect to see your credentials first thing.”

  “No problem.”

  She opened the door and peered out to find a pocket folder inches from her face, displaying the official documentation of a deputy US marshal. Her gaze lifted from the folder and to the man’s blue shirt, where a badge gleamed. At last, she looked into the deputy’s vivid hazel-brown eyes. He had blond hair and a strong face with well-defined features. Youngish, maybe a few years older than her twenty-nine years. Under the strength and calm of his expression, tension eased from Lara’s muscles.

  “What is going on?” At least her voice came out firm this time and not a half octave too high.

  “Let me in and I’ll explain, ma’am. We need to work fast and get you ready to go. It’s not safe for you here right now.”

  “Go?” There went that extra-high tone again, but really, this was too much.

  She had a screaming baby on her hands, a gun had been poked in her face by a very scary stranger and now she was about to be carried off by the US Marshals Service, no less? How had her neatly sculpted world suddenly been wrenched off its axis?

  * * *

  Ethan stared down into one-half of the young woman’s pale and drawn face peering out at him from the gap allowed by the chain. Her multihued hazel eyes narrowed. Then she shut the door, the chain rattled and the door opened fully.

  She wagged a cell phone at him. “I’ve called the police and requested an ambulance.”

  “Good,” his partner, Terry, said from a crouched position over the wounded gunman, who lay groaning on the porch. “Not sure we need the police, though.”

  “The locals are more than welcome on the scene,” Ethan told the woman. “They need to be apprised of what’s happened in their town. Would you tell me your name, ma’am?”

  “Sure, if you’ll agree to stop calling me ma’am. I’m Lara Werth, and again, I’m asking what’s going on here.”

  Ethan assessed the woman in front of him. Late twenties or thereabouts—several years younger than him. Her shoulder-length corn-silk hair fell in loose waves around a heart-shaped face. Petite in height and frame, she stood not quite as tall as his chin, but her fierce expression would give anyone pause, particularly if they witnessed the mean right jab she’d delivered to the thug who’d held her at gunpoint.

  “I’m not sure what part you play in our case, Ms. Werth, but we followed the man who attacked you across the state to your house. We believe you have what he wanted.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Wails from deeper inside the house answered the question.

  “Vincent Drayton’s granddaughter,” he said.

  All color washed from Ms. Werth’s face. “The Vincent Drayton? The international gunrunner from the news?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “But Izzy told me Maisy’s father is after her, not her grandfather.”

  Ethan took a small step forward, but Ms. Werth gave no ground. “We need to speak to Isabelle Drayton immediately. Please ask her to come out here or bring me to her. We have intelligence that she is in danger. She—all of you—certainly need our protection.”

  Ms. Werth frowned up at him. “Izzy’s gone. She left the baby with me.”

  Gone? Ethan’s heart fell. “When did she leave?”

  “Sometime during the night. Come in.” Ms. Werth jerked her head toward the interior of the house and stood aside to let him pass.

  As she shut the door, the scream of sirens began to draw near outside. Ethan paid them no mind. Terry could handle the local police and EMTs. He followed his hostess into a neat and clean living room furnished for modern comfort with tasteful rustic touches.

  “Wait here,” she said. “I’m going to tend to Maisy and change out of these pajamas. Then we need to have a talk.” She disappeared up a hallway.

  Ethan frowned. Why had Isabelle Drayton involved an innocent outsider in an incendiary situation? Then again, maybe she believed leaving her baby with someone else while she led the pursuers away was the best method to protect her child. Things hadn’t worked out that way, though. Drayton’s people had been right on Isabelle’s heels, and she’d brought danger to the doorstep of the home where her baby was now stashed.

  The sudden cessation of Maisy’s crying brought Ethan’s head up. Had something happened? Tension ebbed as Ms. Werth strolled back into the living room. She was dressed in navy capris and a button-down blouse. A set of papers was clamped under one arm as she cradled an infant, who sucked noisily on a bottle.

  “This must be Maisy,” Ethan said. “We’ll have to take her into federal custody now.”

  “Take her?” Ms. Werth lifted her chin. “Not without my say-so.”

  “I’m afraid you have no legal jurisdiction—”

  “I have documents that say I do. Help yourself.” She nodded toward the sheaf under her arm.

  Ethan took the pages and studied them. “You’ve accepted power of attorney for Maisy Drayton?”

  “Izzy showed up at midnight last night, and I gave her and Maisy a room to stay. This morning, Izzy was gone, but she left Maisy and these papers. The document says that at this moment, I make the decisions regarding Maisy’s well-being. I could even become her permanent guardian if something happens to Izzy.”

  Ethan set the papers on a nearby coffee table. “Then you can legally turn the child over to the marshals service. She’ll be well looked after, I promise you.”

  Ms. Werth blinked and looked away. Signs of indecision?

  “You have no attachment to the child nor she to you.” Ethan pressed his advantage.

  Ms. Werth’s gaze flew to his, and her eyes narrowed. “How do you know anything about what attachments have been formed?”

  “I guess I don’t, but—”

  “I need to understand a lot more about the situation before I hand her over to anyone else’s care. You can’t come in here and swoop
a child away willy-nilly.” She thrust out her chin. “I’m sure a bunch of federal deputies are going to change her diaper with one hand and hold their guns in the other. A baby needs a caregiver’s full attention.”

  “Whoa!” Ethan lifted his hands, palms out. “It’s not like that. A social worker will be assigned to—”

  “A social worker is going to care about Maisy more than I would?” Ms. Werth’s tone had risen and sharpened.

  Ethan’s jaw tensed. He must be losing his negotiation skills, because this chat was going sideways fast.

  “Please let me explain,” he said.

  Ms. Werth’s glare dared him to try.

  “Maisy’s grandfather has taken up the hunt for her on behalf of his son, Ronald, who recently escaped from the maximum-security Stateville Correctional Center near Chicago. The US Marshals Service was hoping to pick up Ronnie’s trail by locating his estranged wife and daughter, but Isabelle and Maisy were on the run by the time deputy marshals arrived at her apartment. Her place had been trashed, and there were traces of a struggle and some blood.”

  Ms. Werth nodded. “Isabelle arrived here bruised and limping. She didn’t say who attacked her. I just assumed it was her husband since she said she was running from him.”

  “As the deputy marshals exited the apartment,” Ethan continued, “they spotted Seton, a known felon, leaving the area in a hurry. Deputies followed him, thinking he’d discovered a clue to Isabelle and Maisy’s whereabouts. The marshals service tailed him from state to state. When Seton reached Wyoming, Terry and I, from the Casper office, took over. We stayed on him all the way here to your house. I understand you want to make sure Maisy is taken care of, but do you want more mercenaries showing up on your doorstep?”

  Ms. Werth’s gaze darted toward her porch, where muffled voices indicated EMTs and local police had arrived.

  “Clearly, the answer is no. I don’t want any more such visits.” She returned her attention to Ethan. “Is that guy out there a mercenary?”