Bodyguard Daddy (25 page)

This time, forever.

Chapter 23

I
t was over.

Milek had had his doubts—even after Jipping had killed himself. But Rus had found some crisp hundreds in the motel room. He had also found Jipping’s prints in the stolen truck. The teenager Logan had talked to had been wrong—or Jipping hadn’t worn gloves every time he’d been in the truck.

He must have been the one who’d tried running Candace off the road. He’d definitely been the one who’d shot at them in the parking garage. And ballistics would probably link the gun he’d used to kill himself to the gun that had killed Frank Campanelli.

It was really over.

Amber had no reason to stay with him anymore. She loved him. He knew it from the way she’d broken away from Agent Rus and run back into the motel room. Her face had been pale with terror; she’d been worried he’d been shot.

She’d clung to him when she’d realized he was all right. And his arms had instinctively closed around her. He hadn’t wanted to let her go then.

But he hadn’t wanted her to see what Brad Jipping had done to himself, either. So he’d had Candace bring her back to the condo.

He’d spent the rest of the night divided between the crime scene and talking to Rus back at the River City PD—even while he’d ached to be with her, to make love to her one last time in his bed before she left. But Rus had had questions, had wanted to tie up all the loose ends to be certain it was over before he let Milek leave.

He uttered a shaky sigh as he punched in the code for the door of the condo to slide open. The guards were gone from outside; nobody from Payne Protection lurked in the shadows anymore.

He suspected the inside was just as empty. She’d had plenty of time to pack up Michael and their things. His breath caught as he thought of his son—of having to let him go again, just as he had let Amber go five years before.

He should have been relieved to be alone again. Unlike his siblings, he enjoyed solitude; that was why he’d always spent so many hours alone painting. But that had changed when he’d met Amber; he’d always wanted to be with her instead. Until he’d realized what being with him would cost her: everything.

That hadn’t changed.

“Daddy’s home!” Little arms caught him around the knees as his son hugged him.

Love and pain constricted Milek’s heart. He reached for the child and swung him up into his arms. He was safe now. His son was safe.

Over the little boy’s head, he met Amber’s gaze, and he saw the same relief in her eyes. There was also a question in them. She wanted to make sure Agent Rus had closed the investigation.

He nodded.

“Me and Mommy are going to the park,” Michael said. “Do you want to go, too, Daddy? You can see how high I can get on the swings!”

Now the sense of longing constricted his heart. He wanted to go with them—wanted to be a family outside the walls of the condo. But he loved Amber too much to cost her the future she’d wanted—the one she’d had to put on hold for a year.

Michael’s small hand touched his cheek. “Daddy? Do you?”

More than anything. But he shook his head.

Michael’s bottom lip stuck out as disappointment darkened his silver eyes.

“Your daddy’s been up all night,” Amber said. “He needs to get some sleep.”

Michael ran his hand over the whiskers on his chin. “You need to shave, too.”

Milek laughed. He loved the boy so much. How would he walk away from him? He would have to work something out with Amber—some type of visitation. While he didn’t want to ruin her life, he wanted to be a part of his son’s life.

He hugged Michael closely, swinging the little boy around before releasing him with a quick kiss to his forehead. “Have fun at the park.”

Already over his disappointment that Milek wasn’t going along, Michael ran toward the door. He was probably excited to finally leave the condo. But Amber didn’t follow their son right away.

She stopped next to Milek and lifted her hand to his cheek the way their son had. But her touch had his skin tingling, had his pulse quickening.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “I hope you finally get some rest.” She knew he hadn’t slept well since he’d found her. She didn’t know about all his sleepless nights when he’d thought she and their son were dead.

He was beyond exhausted. So he just nodded.

Then she rose on her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Thank you...”

He wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. Not going to the park? Saving her life?

He wanted to kiss her back, wanted to close his arms around her. But he held his arms stiffly at his sides. And he forced himself to remain where he was—as she opened the door and left with their son.

He expected to find her bags in the bedroom—already packed and ready to go. But when he walked into the master suite, he found no suitcases. The bed had been made but the blankets were folded back—as if ready for him to crawl between the sheets.

He hadn’t slept all night. He should have been exhausted. He should have been relieved enough to sleep. But maybe it was the thought of her and Michael leaving, not just for the afternoon but forever, that kept him tense and unable to relax.

He couldn’t sleep. He could only lie there and worry. About her leaving.

About whether she and the boy were really safe...

But of course they were. Brad Jipping was dead. He couldn’t hurt them anymore. Evelyn Reynolds was in jail—unable to make bail. So even if she had a vendetta against Amber, she had no way to act on it now.

They were safe. Maybe it was just because they had been in danger so long that he struggled to accept it—that he felt as if he’d missed something. Was there another threat against them?

Or was the only other threat him?

* * *

While it was just early spring, the sun was shining so brightly the temperature felt warmer than it was. Amber breathed in the fresh air, grateful to finally be free to enjoy the park like the joggers and dog walkers who milled about. She didn’t have to look at them anymore—with suspicion, with fear—as she had looked at everyone the past year.

Now she could just watch her son as he pumped his legs on the swings. He squealed as he went higher and higher.

“Mommy, look at me! Look at me!”

“I’m looking,” she said. But her attention was divided. She kept glancing toward the parking lot. Not for threats but for the person she’d invited to join them.

Would she come?

Amber hoped so. She really needed to clear up the woman’s misconceptions—the ones Evelyn Reynolds had shared with her. Her pulse quickened when a Lincoln SUV pulled into the nearby parking lot. The driver sat behind the wheel for a while before finally stepping out.

In her expensive-looking wool overcoat, gloves and designer boots, the middle-aged blonde looked out of place in the neighborhood park. She was no soccer mom—no young nanny. She oozed money and class. She was an heiress, though, to her family fortune. Her money was old and her class ingrained.

Amber had met Mrs. Schievink before, but she hadn’t seen her since Gregory’s funeral. They had always been cordial with each other. She’d never detected any suspicion in the woman, hadn’t been aware she’d not only heard the rumors about Amber and her husband but she’d believed them.

She glanced at Michael—making sure he was happily swinging away before she walked over to meet the woman. “Thank you for coming,” she said.

“I was surprised you called,” Patricia Schievink said. “I’ve seen the news and know you’ve been going through a lot.”

“It’s over now,” Amber said. “The person responsible for Gregory’s murder and for the attempts on my life and my son’s life has killed himself.”

“Did he say anything before he died?” Patricia asked.

“He just talked about his son,” Amber said, and she glanced again at hers. She understood Brad Jipping’s inconsolable pain. “It was horrible what he did—to Gregory and to me. But I don’t know how I would react if something ever happened to my son.” She flinched as she remembered those moments she’d worried that something had happened to him—that he’d been injured in the car accident. “I probably wouldn’t survive.”

Patricia sighed. “I don’t know what the bond is like between a mother and her child. Unfortunately, Gregory and I were never able to have children.”

Amber heard the woman’s yearning and regret. She’d obviously wanted a child. She reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

For so many reasons. “I’m sorry you two were never able to have a child.”

“I didn’t have one,” Patricia said. “But Gregory did...” She had followed Amber’s gaze to Michael. She watched the little boy swing.

“No...” Amber said. “He’s not Gregory’s...”

The woman didn’t reply. She said nothing—just continued to stare at Michael.

“Evelyn Reynolds told me what you think,” Amber said. “That you believe those awful rumors about your husband and me. But I want you to know the only relationship we had was professional.” She’d once been foolish enough to think they’d had a friendship, too. But she realized now that Gregory had never been her friend.

Patricia glanced at her now, and a perfectly arched eyebrow rose in skepticism. “You expect me to believe that? I could tell how he felt about you.”

Why hadn’t Amber been able to tell? Why hadn’t she realized the lengths Gregory had gone in order to break up her and Milek? The things he’d said to him...

Claiming her baby was his.

“He wanted you,” Patricia said.

Amber shook her head. “You were his wife.”

“I was his meal ticket,” Patricia said. “The bank for his campaigns. He never felt about me the way he felt about you. He never wanted
me
...”

Frustration tightened Amber’s stomach into knots. “I’m sorry,” she said again.

“You should be,” Patricia replied. “You should be...”

“But I wasn’t involved with Gregory,” she continued. “I never had an affair with him.”

Despite her class and elegance, Patricia Schievink snorted—derisively. “You expect me to believe that?”

“It’s the truth.”

She pointed one of her gloved hands at the boy. “That’s his son.”

“No,” she said. “Michael is Milek Kozminski’s son. I was going to marry Milek.” She still wanted to marry him—wanted to be with him always. “I love him. I have always loved him.”

“So you just used Gregory?” Now the woman laughed. “There’s something almost poetic about it. You used him like he used me.”

Amber shook her head. “I didn’t use anyone.”

“You expect me to believe you were given all the best assignments because you were that good?”

“I was.” And would be again if she was given the chance. But there was something about the woman’s cold fury that chilled Amber’s blood, making her uneasy.

This had been a bad idea—asking Gregory’s wife to meet her.

“That’s not what Evelyn Reynolds told me,” Patricia said. “She told me all about the two of you.”

“Evelyn was lying,” Amber said. “She’s opportunistic and vindictive. She wanted Gregory’s job.”

Patricia snorted again. “She could have had it. He had his sights set much higher than the DA’s office.” She glanced at Amber’s face. “But you knew that. He shared all his aspirations with you.”

Amber just shrugged. She knew there was nothing she could say—nothing that would make Mrs. Schievink believe her.

“Why was he going to give it up?” Patricia asked.

“Give what up?”

“His job. His career goals.”

“I didn’t know he was.”

“I found the plane ticket,” Patricia said. “The one-way ticket. I assumed he’d already given you yours.”

Amber shivered as realization dawned. “It was you...” Tears threatened, but she blinked them furiously back so she could see Michael. He had stopped swinging to watch them. He must have noticed she was getting upset. He rose from the seat of the swing and started toward them.

“Run!” she yelled at him.

But instead of running away, he ran toward her—as if he instinctively knew she needed protection. He took after his father in so many ways—the artistic talent, the protectiveness.

“I found this, too,” Patricia said as she drew a gun from her designer bag. The sleeves of her coat were so long that it covered the weapon, leaving only the end of the barrel visible. None of the joggers or dog walkers were close enough to see it—to call for help. “You look as surprised as Frank Campanelli was.”

“What’s wrong, Mommy?” Michael asked as he joined them. “Do you want to play tag?”

Biting her lip to hold back a cry, she shook her head.

He turned toward Mrs. Schievink. “Do you want to play tag?” he asked.

She smiled at him—a strange, sad smile. “We’re going to play another kind of game,” she said.

Amber reached for her son, trying to step between him and the madwoman—as Milek had stepped between her and Brad Jipping. But Brad Jipping hadn’t been the killer. Patricia Schievink was.

The woman grabbed the little boy before Amber could. While she held his hand in her left one, she pointed the gun at the back of his head.

Amber’s heart slammed against her ribs with fear and pain. She held in a cry—not wanting to startle either of them. If Michael moved...

He turned slightly toward Mrs. Schievink. But he must not have seen the gun, because he calmly asked, “What kind of game?”

“Hide-and-seek,” she said. “You and I are going to hide, and your mommy will have to find us.”

“Patricia,” Amber implored her. “Please, don’t do this...”

“You should have thought of that before you got involved with my husband,” Patricia said.

The little boy’s brow furrowed with confusion, and he stared at the woman before turning back toward Amber. He must have seen what she could see now—so clearly. The madness. “Mommy?” he asked nervously.

“It’s okay,” she said. But she didn’t know how.

What could she do? If she grabbed for her son, the woman would shoot him. And with where she was holding the gun, it wasn’t possible that she would miss.

But if Patricia left with him...

She would undoubtedly shoot him anyway—once she took him wherever she intended to take him. With her financial resources, she would be able to take him anywhere she wanted.