Chapter 15

15

Heather Coleson just couldn't believe this. Daniel McKellen—that was a man she was going to despise until her dying day, especially for this . The man had no clue how difficult flying with a three-year-old, a five-month-old, and a Cara Coleson could be.

She didn't know who had had the most trouble with the flight—her baby or her twenty-three-year-old niece. Heather was never flying with Cara again. She was reserving judgment on flying with Ember. And Frankie? That child wanted to ride upside down the entire way just to see how it felt to fly upside down . Then she'd wanted to know why and how planes flew and why couldn't she fly if she flapped her arms fast enough. And she had tried. Over and over again.

Only that it was a small jet with no other passengers—one owned by Houghton Barratt, surprise, surprise—had kept it from being completely horrible. At least no one had been watching them while Cara had struggled. Or when Frankie had attempted to fly—off the back of the seat. Heather had caught her little daredevil at the last possible moment to avoid a head-on collision.

Except Barratt's bodyguards he'd sent with them for some reason Heather didn't fully understand. They'd watched every move Heather and Cara had made. Closely.

Cara had some significant sensory issues—no surprise, a great deal of the Coleson brainiacs did, even Heather—and they had made flying difficult for her. Made the whole suddenness of this little trip more than Cara could process quickly. Heather probably shouldn't have brought Cara, honestly. One of the other girls would have handled it a bit better—except Crispin.

That niece was as quirky as Cara at times.

But Heather had had no choice.

It was part of her job, she had been told. To do this fetch-and-carry for the TSP.

Damn it, she had been suspended.

Didn't McKellen understand what that meant? She had been suspended. That meant no working for the TSP for three whole weeks.

Three whole weeks of being at home. With her girls. With nothing to really do but be with her girls and the rest of her family.

Daniel had called her the next day to tell her he had changed his mind—it would be paid leave . Three weeks of no work and it had been paid. She'd been happy to be suspended after that. She had thanked him, after all. She had made plans for her unexpected little vacation—including spending time with her sisters and her little girls and her nieces and nephews.

Until that asshole had shown up with new orders. Ruining her plans once again. Damn that man.

Heather wasn't exactly stupid.

He was trying to get her far from home. To make her more vulnerable, maybe? Her stomach tightened when she looked at the three girls with her now.

She definitely didn't trust Daniel McKellen one bit.

She should have been left alone with her family to stew over her actions that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. To hover over Hope when her baby sister finally got out of the hospital, to come up with a plan for her family going forward to help them all deal with the inevitable publicity that had followed Hope getting shot. Publicity—and trauma.

Didn't they already have enough trauma after what Eastman had done? Now they had to add this, as well? How much more could her family take?

She was being punished, damn it. Heather had intended to enjoy it.

But when the chief of the TSP showed up on your doorstep, your commander next to him, and told you that you'd drawn the short straw on flying stealthily to Wyoming—you did what you had to do. They hadn't liked it when she'd pointed out she was on suspension, had no babysitter, and was a nursing mother who couldn't just go to Wyoming for four days to meet with some sheriff up there over some drug case she wasn't even assigned to, and since the men involved had shot her baby sister, never would be assigned to…ever. She couldn't even put her name on any evidence or report they found up there.

What was she supposed to do, pump breastmilk in the middle of this little meeting in Wyoming and express mail it back to Texas?

She'd asked those two gentlemen that very question—as sweetly as she could. She'd had the breast pump in her hand when she'd answered the damned door.

Heather hadn't been able to resist waving it lightly under McKellen's nose.

As she'd waited.

The men in her living room had just stared at her for the longest time after she'd asked that. Once McKellen had realized just what she had been holding, his entire face had turned so red that it still made her want to laugh when she remembered it.

Apparently, she'd stumped them on that one.

Then they had told her they'd handle everything after that.

Daniel McKellen and his pals were up to something. And it involved her.

Then the chief had arranged things with his good old buddy, the billionaire, so she could take the private jet since she refused to leave her little girls behind. The chief and McKellen wanted her up there to talk to the Wyoming sheriff specifically.

Heather still wasn't entirely certain why.

Why had it mattered that it was her? Why not Charlie Fields—who was already in Wyoming? Or Gunnar Erickson, who was the head of the OPJ case in the first place?

Nothing that damned McKellen did made sense.

Heather didn't even have a coat heavy enough for Wyoming. There were blankets on her baby, and her three-year-old had a jacket on over her hoodie and was wrapped in another blanket, for heaven's sake.

Talk about mother of the year.

And her niece was about to shiver right apart.

"I'll need to find a secondhand store. See if I can find us some cheap coats," Heather told her niece. Cara just stood there, shivering and shivering. She had an overwhelmed look in her big brown eyes. Cara blinked at her and waited.

She looked so much like her mama right there.

Heather utterly adored her. Cara hadn't had to come with her, but she hadn't protested at all when Summer had pointed out that Cara was the only one on the schedule who could. Cara had come—because Heather had needed her. And that was all that had mattered.

Cara had never flown before. And had never seen snow this deep either. Or mountains everywhere. Cara had never been anywhere at all, really. Colesons weren't exactly made for traveling by private jet.

Especially Cara Joelle Coleson.

"The inn is really pretty, Aunt Heather," Cara said. Cara was right about that. It looked like a Christmas card or something. It wasn't someplace Heather would have ever chosen to go herself if she had had a choice, but she was up there for at least the next four days. Just her, her girls, police business, and one of her nieces that she adored.

"It is. I'm going to deal with the case," Heather said, motioning Cara up the steps. She kept part of her attention on her niece and Frankie, who Cara carried and was sound asleep—and part on the pair of bodyguards Houghton Barratt, billionaire, had insisted accompany them on this little jaunt across country.

Who ever heard of a lowly police lieutenant being guarded by private bodyguards—while on suspension? That was insane.

Heather wasn't a fool. Something was going on here. "Then we'll do something fun, just the four of us. We'll find something to enjoy up here, I promise."

Heather did not like being manipulated like this.

Heather did not like having guards watching her every move either. Especially male ones. Male ones who were former military or law enforcement and who had that same cocky, arrogant man-in-charge look in their eyes when they looked at her. And Cara.

They liked how she and Cara looked. It had been written all over them. Heather had seen that look in men's eyes countless times since she'd been all of fourteen.

It just terrified her more now than it ever had before.

She knew the truth—she and Cara were far from home, with two very small children, alone with two big, strong men that they couldn't defend themselves against, and they didn't know a single person within a thousand miles. She wouldn't rest easy until she had Cara and the girls home and safe—where they belonged.

"Come on. Inside. Let's get checked in. Then I am going to go find coats and supplies." She ran through a mental checklist of everything they'd need; they just hadn't had time to bring everything with them. They had been driven to the inn by the bodyguards. One of them would have to drive her to the store.

That meant she'd be alone in the truck with one of them.

Heather tried to decide which one she trusted most to watch her children. She didn't like the idea of leaving Cara and the girls, but once they were inside the inn, she'd leave her niece and her babies locked in the hotel room. The bodyguards were not getting in the room with Cara and the girls. They just weren't.

Or maybe she'd just carry their bags to their room, then have Cara keep the girls in the lobby until Heather made it back. Where people could see them. Could help them if needed.

Then again, maybe Heather was just letting the paranoia get to her more than she should. Seeing threats in every guy's face.

It was probably going to take her a long time to get over that.

If she ever did.

"Let's just get inside. I'm going to text your mom, see how Hope is doing tonight, and let her know we are safely here." And see which of the TSP she was meeting in the first place. It was most likely Charlie Fields since he had connections to this place. She was okay with that, with Charlie. She didn't find the older man too much of a problem or a threat. He was mostly just focused on his new wife and their newborn twins.

"I think we'll be okay here, Aunt Heather. You don't have to be so scared." Cara looked at her—from eyes the same shape and shade as her own. Sometimes, that girl realized more about people than she knew.

Heather forced herself to calm down. To take a deep breath.

Cara was right—they were going to be okay. She and Cara and the girls were going to do what they could to enjoy this little unexpected mini-vacation. Then they would go home.

And everything would go back to normal again.

It just…might take Heather a while to realize that. To get past the fear .

She'd lived in fear of what Steve or his friends could potentially do to her or her family for more than four years. That man couldn't hurt her now. He couldn't hurt anyone ever again. He wasn't going anywhere, even if he survived the coma.

Everyone knew what kind of monster he was now.

Yes, he had friends. That could make her a target, but she couldn't live her life in complete fear any longer. Everyone knew what Steve had done, what Stillman had not done too. And that brought her a small measure of protection. At least for now. No one would want eyes in their direction if something happened to her now. They just wouldn't.

She still felt like she was in heightened flight or fight mode here. Especially after dealing with McKellen—who reminded her of Steve in so many ways. They didn't look alike, other than being of similar height and build, but they had that same kind of commanding arrogance about them.

Heather had once found men like that attractive.

Well, never again.

She was so doing the Ice Queen thing going forward. For life. That was the plan. Period.

Ember fussed in her sleep, then settled again. With the little hand-knit hat with HHC embroidered in pink on the front, her baby looked so much like Hope that Heather wanted to smile.

With Steve in a coma, Hope didn't have to live in fear now either. Heather would never forget that, forget what that bastard had done to her sister. The fear had changed them both.

She didn't want her babies growing up afraid. She just didn't.

Heather just didn't know how to stop it.

Heather led the way across the snow.