he could feel her against him. He examined the bruising around her throat, anger firming his spine, pushing aside his deep disappointment. Who would attack a lone woman like that? Why would anyone want to hurt PJ? Since he hadn’t spoken to Cara Jo yet, he couldn’t be certain, but he’d bet his right arm that this was the employee Hank wanted protected.
Chuck had walked into this assignment blind. Hank had assured him Cara Jo would fill him in on what his duties were and, when he had met the employee, he could go to Hank with any unanswered questions.
Chuck had a few, and the sooner he got his answers the better.
After only a moment, PJ’s face stirred against his chest and her eyes blinked open. “Chuck, what are you doing here? I thought you were still in Afghanistan.” She pushed to a sitting position.
His lips tightened. Had he not been a loose cannon and acted on his own, he would still be in Afghanistan for another two months, fighting with his unit. Instead he’d gotten himself shot in the leg and medically discharged out of the army. “The army didn’t need me there after all.” It wasn’t a lie. The army didn’t need broken soldiers.
“Oh.” Her gaze traveled across his naked chest, her cheeks reddening. “Why are you half-naked?”
His lips twisted into a wry grin. “I just hired on with the resort as the handyman. I live down the hall.” He frowned. “Why are you in this apartment? I met a woman here a little while ago named Donna or Dana or something like that. She had a baby.”
The baby whimpered from inside the bedroom as if emphasizing Chuck’s question.
PJ’s face paled at the sound, her gaze shifting to the crib against the wall inside the next room. She pushed his hands aside and rose to her feet. “I live here.”
Chuck straightened, heat rushing up his neck into his head. Like a zombie, he trudged toward the bedroom, his fists tightening, a sharp pain pinching his chest. “Then who is...?” In the dimly lit room, Chuck peered down at the baby with a tuft of silky dark hair, and his world crashed in around him as he remembered what Dana had said. “She called her Charlie,” he said, his voice raspy, uneven.
PJ entered the room, switched on a lamp and leaned over the crib, running her fingers over the baby’s face and body. “She seems to be okay.”
The baby slept through PJ’s touch, a soft smile curling her little lips, as if she knew she was safe and in good hands. “I named her after her father,” PJ whispered.
“Charlie.” Chuck’s fingers curled around the crib rail so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
PJ sighed. “You were in Afghanistan. What could you have done? From what I know, the army doesn’t grant leave from a war zone just so a man can be there when his baby is born, unless under dire circumstances.”
“I had a right to know.” His words came out sharper than he intended, but hell, what did she expect? A man didn’t learn he had a daughter every day. The news had his belly flipping into knots.
“So, now you know.” PJ brushed her fingers over her daughter’s hair and stepped back. “You have a right to be angry. But I didn’t know what else to do. We didn’t part on the best of terms.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw, and he had to breathe several calming breaths before he could speak again. “Call the police.”
PJ passed through the small living area and into the kitchen. Her purse lay strewn across the counter. She dug her cell phone out of a side pocket, hit three buttons and then walked back to the threshold of the bedroom, her gaze on the baby in the crib. “This is PJ Franks at the Wild Oak Canyon Resort. I need to report an intruder attack.”
When she’d given details to the dispatcher, she hung up and glanced at Chuck. “They’re sending a unit.”
Chuck straightened and crossed to her, his fingers reaching out to touch her throat. “We should have asked for an ambulance, as well.”
Her eyes filled, but she shook her head. “No. I’m fine.” She raised her hands to the bruising around her neck and gulped. “I was so afraid.” PJ’s head dipped.
Chuck pulled her into his arms. No matter how mad he was, he never could stand to see PJ cry, and after seeing a man choking the life out of her, now was no different. “He’s gone.”
“Yeah, but why was he here in the first place?” She pushed away from him and wandered back into the living room.
Chuck followed. “Is anything missing?”
She checked her purse, thumbing through her wallet. What few bills she’d had were still there, along with her credit card and identification. “The items were scattered across the counter, but nothing seems to be missing.”
“What about the rest of the apartment?”
“I don’t have anything of value. Just a few keepsakes and used furniture. As a waitress, I can’t afford much.” PJ continued around the room, her fingers skimming across the top of the old couch Cara Jo had given her. She ducked into her bedroom and came back out, holding a photo frame, a frown denting her forehead. “This photo is the only thing out of place. It was standing on my nightstand when I left for my shower. I just found it lying on its face.”
“The intruder could have knocked it over.” Chuck reached for the frame.
PJ handed it over. “It’s a picture of me and my birth mother.”
A woman looking remarkably like PJ held a child in her arms and was smiling for the photographer. Her eyes were shadowed, but the love for her little girl was clear in her expression.
“She died when you were little, didn’t she?”
PJ nodded. “I was six. My adoptive mother, Terri Franks, pretty much raised me. We moved to Wild Oak Canyon before I started high school.”
Chuck remembered the pretty young PJ hanging out around the stables, talking to the horses. She’d been more comfortable with the animals than with people.
A knock on the door was followed by a man’s voice. “PJ Franks? Sheriff’s Deputy Johnny Owen. You called?”
PJ hurried to open the door for the officer.
He took her statement, in which she described the attacker, what he wore and which direction he’d gone.
Chuck searched the apartment, analyzing everything he saw for clues as to who had broken into PJ’s apartment and why. All the while he fought to process the miracle of the baby in the next room. His child.
When Owen finished with PJ, the deputy asked Chuck a few questions and then tucked the pad of paper into his pocket and sighed. “Since the man was wearing gloves, I don’t see a need to dust for prints. I’ll have a look around outside to see if there are any footprints on the ground, but—”
“It’s been dry, and the chance of a footprint showing up is slim to none,” Chuck finished. “Thanks for trying.”
After the deputy left, Chuck made a round of the apartment, checking the windows and sliding glass door locks.
When
