Page 11 of Night Moves
“It’s that bad? I mean whatever you found at the house.”
She gave a sharp nod, and her chin trembled.
That gut-wrenching need to protect her, very similar to the one he’d felt for the children, had Drake tightening his fingers on the wheel. “Does it have something to do with the missing mother?”
“Maybe.” Natalie sat back again, but he saw the tremor in her hands as she clutched her suit jacket closed. “Sorry I snapped at you like that. I’m a little stressed.”
“That’s to be expected.”
“Let’s talk about something else.”
Not his first choice, but he’d let it go for now. “You’re safe now, you know? Gentry is under surveillance, and Erik and I have everything under control in your transport.”
She nodded, but her wary gaze gave away her true feelings. “Tell me about your family. Your business.”
Okay, so maybe she needed to know they were capable and discover if she could trust them. He got that and even respected it. “We were all once law enforcement officers. Now we have an investigations and protection agency. We’ve handled a lot of investigations and protection details, even for celebrities.”
She clasped her trembling hands together in her lap. “Which law enforcement agency did you serve with?”
“U.S. Marshals.”
“So you brought in bad guys who didn’t want to be found.”
He nodded.
“What was that like?” She swiveled to face him.
He felt her gaze digging, searching for something he couldn’t quite place. For some reason, what she thought about him felt important when he rarely cared about other people’s opinions of him.
“I worked the fugitive task force,” he said. “We concentrated on only the most violent offenders. Murderers, armed robbers. At first, the target is usually pretty predictable. Going to his family and friends to hide out. But when the felon gets wind that you’re after them and learn they’re wanted, they panic. That makes them unpredictable and hard to find. Takes foot work, and honestly, a lot of luck.”
“Is your current job anything like that?” she asked, her attention still riveted to him.
“Some of the time, but mostly it’s the exact opposite.”
“How so?”
“We have two basic roles. The first and most common is to provide protection for a client who’s in danger, like we’re doing for you and the kids tonight. Our job is to keep the bad guys like the ones I used to hunt down away from our client. So it’s helpful that I once chased down these kinds of offenders because I know how they think.”
She shuddered. “I would hate to think like they do.”
“Someone’s got to do it, or they would all go free and innocent lives could be lost.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” A hint of unease deepened her voice. “And the other role you fill?”
“Investigation. Sometimes it’s investigating a cheating spouse. Or maybe our clients have been threatened but don’t know who’s after them. We investigate and provide the information for law enforcement to arrest the perpetrator and bring them to justice.”
“Sounds like you enjoy it.”
“It’s hard to see people suffering, but I enjoy helping the people who need us.” He glanced at her again, as he couldn’t seem to quit looking at her. “What about you? I can’t imagine a kid wanting to be a social worker when they grow up, so what made you choose your profession?”
“Actually Ididchoose it as a kid. On my ninth birthday to be exact.” She frowned and laced her fingers together, resting them on the short skirt that drew his attention to those amazing legs again.
“Mind sharing why?” he asked for the job, but also because he wanted to know on a personal level.
“My early years were all messed up,” she said, looking down and pressing her hands flat. “My mom and dad fought a lot. Big, huge, ugly fights. And they were consumed with themselves, so my younger sister and I were often left to fend for ourselves. I looked after my sister. Made meals a lot of the time. Got both of us off to bed and off to school. Did laundry. Dishes.”
She drew in a huge breath then let it out slowly. “When I turned eight, my dad decided he’d had enough, and he walked out. My mom didn’t turn to drugs or alcohol for comfort like a lot of the clients I work with. She just got mad. And then bitter. Ugly bitter. And didn’t remember my sister and I existed except to complain to us. She quit her job, and we lived on the child support from Dad. It wasn’t enough, but we survived okay for a year. Then Dad called social services. Told them Mom was neglecting us. Not that he wanted custody of us. He just wanted to get back at her.”
