girl’s mother, either. Her mother was Boone Anderson’s deceased wife. Boone was the kid’s father, and five years of searching, five years of hoping and praying that the infant Boone’s wife had stolen away from him would be returned, had finally ended. Boone would have what he’d been praying for. He’d have his child back. Everyone at HEART was focused on making sure that nothing went wrong, that the little girl who might be Boone’s would arrive in DC safely.
If Boone hadn’t been on the way home from a hostage rescue mission in Turkey, he’d have been the one hanging onto Quinn Robertson listening to the kid scream. Boone had been notified of his daughter’s supposed return. He’d be stateside in thirty hours. Until he returned, Malone and Chance were taking responsibility for the child. There’d be lots of questions, lots of police and FBI involvement.
And Malone was going to be in the middle of it all until Chance arrived from DC. Another two hours maybe. That’s what Chance had said when he’d called to ask Malone to drive to August McConnell’s place. It had seemed like an easy enough thing to do. Malone was taking his vacation in a cabin not too far from McConnell’s property. All he had to do was wait around until Chance arrived.
Of course, things were never as easy as they were supposed to be. At least not in Malone’s experience.
And, this?
It was proving to be pretty complicated.
He eased his hand from Quinn’s mouth, took a step away. He hadn’t meant to scare her or the child. He’d been working out of an abundance of caution, making sure that the person crawling out from the roots of an old tree wasn’t armed and dangerous. He and August had found Quinn’s abandoned Jeep, they’d heard men moving through the forest, they’d assumed trouble. Doing that was a whole lot better than winding up dead.
“No more screaming, kid,” he said quietly.
“Telling her that isn’t going to make her stop,” Quinn muttered, taking a step back and then another. If she kept going, she’d fall into the hole he’d watched her climb out of.
“And running from me isn’t going to keep you safe,” he responded, snagging her elbow as her foot slipped between thick roots. The tree throw had been a good hiding place. He’d give her that, but she should have stayed put until her brother arrived, and she knew she was safe.
“Watch it,” he cautioned, pulling her away from the roots. “We don’t want to end our first meeting on a bad note.”
“We sure began it on a bad note. Where’s August?” she asked, shrugging away, her arms still tight around the little girl.
“Probably hiding until the kid stops shrieking.”
“She wouldn’t be screaming, if you hadn’t terrified her.” There was no heat in her words, no fear. For someone who’d been run off the road and chased through the woods, she seemed calm.
“I know, and I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure who was coming up out of that hole, and I didn’t want to be shot before I figured it out.”
She nodded, her attention on the girl. “It’s okay, Jubilee. Everything is going to be fine.”
She smoothed thick braids that fell over the kid’s shoulders.
Red braids?
It was too dark to see, but Boone’s little girl had red hair. At least, she had when she was a baby. Malone had seen the photo in Boone’s office, sitting right next to the one of his new wife and their children.
“Hush,” Quinn murmured against the girl’s hair, and to Malone’s surprise, the kid pressed her lips together and stopped screaming, the abrupt silence thick and heavy.
He glanced around, eyeing the shadowy trees and the heavy undergrowth. Anyone could be hiding there, and all it would take was one bullet to take Quinn or the little girl out. If that was the perp’s goal. If not, Malone would be the target. Take him out. Grab the kid. Get out before August arrived.
“Let’s go.” He took Quinn’s arm, leading her toward the ridge and the Jeep that was parked at the top of it.
“August—”
“Is smart enough to figure out that we’re not going to wait out in the open for him to show,” he cut her off, digging into his coat pocket and pulling out the little pack of chocolate candies he always kept there. Years ago, he’d used them to bribe his siblings and cousins. Now, he used them to comfort scared kids. A necessity, because he wasn’t like Boone or Chance or Chance’s brother Jackson. He didn’t have the ability to look kind or easygoing or harmless. Most kids took one look at Malone’s face and were terrified. According to his coworker Stella Silverstone, that wasn’t because of his scar. It was because of his scowl. One he apparently wore all the time. The candy might not make that any easier on the eyes, but it sure helped get cooperation from kids. That went a long way when he was trying to get them out of dangerous situations.
“You hungry, Kendal?” he asked, holding the little packet out to her.
“Her name is Jubilee,” Quinn said.
“Not if she’s Boone Anderson’s daughter, it isn’t,” he responded, smiling as the kid took the candy from his hand.
“Even if she’s his daughter, her name is Jubilee. That’s what she goes by. It’s what she knows. Forcing her to respond to something else would just be cruel.”
“Okay. Jubilee it is.” It wasn’t his battle to fight, and he wasn’t concerned one way or another with the kid’s name. What he was concerned about was getting her to Boone alive.
That shouldn’t have been a problem.
Chance had assured him that the job would be easy. Meet August McConnell at his house, wait with Quinn Robertson and the little girl she was traveling with until Chance arrived. Go back to his vacation.
Piece of cake.
Only, of course, it wasn’t.
That was a lot worse for Jubilee than it was for Malone. He could vacation anytime. He had plenty of leave saved and plenty of freedom to go when and where he wanted. Jubilee deserved better than this, though. He planned to make sure she got it. He’d spent too many years helping raise his four siblings and six cousins to want to spend much time with kids now, but he wasn’t going to let a child be hurt or scared without doing something about it.
Maybe that’s why he loved his job so much. He got to effect change in the lives of kids like Jubilee all the time. As a matter of fact, half the cases he’d worked for HEART involved kids who were being used, abused or held hostage. It seemed as though that was the way of the world—the innocent were often the most ill-used.
God was still in control, that’s what Granddad Cooper had always said. Granddad had been a preacher. He’d also been caregiver to a houseful of kids. All of them left orphaned when their parents died in a multivehicle car wreck outside of Reedville, Tennessee. That wreck had cost Granddad Cooper his two oldest sons and their wives, but it hadn’t cost him his faith. He’d held fast to that through the next twenty-some years of trying to raise eleven kids.
Malone probably could have learned a thing or two from that. If he’d ever slowed down enough to think about it.
He
