And the kids would grow up without a mother and with a piss-poor excuse for a father.
“She’s dead and”—her brow furrowed—“and the kids are living with her mother because”—she glanced back up at him—“because Donald Trent has been missing for the last two months.”
Well, well. The trip to the PD might be paying off, after all. They’d already figured the stalking began with the Trent case.
Maybe because the stalking had come from the ass**le Trent? “You ever get a sense this guy was more than human?”
“I got a sense the jerk was less than human.”
He reached for the file. Scanned the details available about Donald Trent. Age: forty-five. Height: Six-foot-three. Weight: one ninety. An ex-football player who’d busted his knee the first year in college. He’d bounced around after that, gotten into bar fights, racked up a few restraining orders from former girlfriends.
The guy liked to play rough. And he liked to hurt his ladies.
“You ever see any sign of this guy in Baton Rouge?”
A shake of her head. “You think Trent could be the one after me?”
Maybe. One way to find out. “Let’s go see the grandmother.”
“What? Why?”
“Because old Trent might have been able to hide his shifter scent, but he left his kids behind. They won’t be so skilled at cloaking without dad around.”
“I’ve been around the boys, I never noticed—”
“You said he might have been taking herbs to hide his scent.” He’d heard of that before. Even used some herbs himself once on a case. “Could be he was feeding the kids the same herbs he was taking.” He wouldn’t overlook any possibility. “But with him gone…”
Their systems would be clean.
Erin grabbed her bag. “Let’s go.”
With him gone, no one would have been around to pump the kids up, and if they were hybrids, he’d know it on sight.
Or rather, on scent.
“They don’t talk about their father. They never ask about him.” Katherine LaShaun brushed away a stray lock of gray hair that had escaped from the bun at her neck. “It’s Sylvia they talk about. They keep asking when she’s coming home.”
Erin glanced into the kitchen where the two boys were sitting at the table, pushing bright race cars back and forth. Jude stood over them, talking and smiling.
One of the boys—she’d never been able to tell Jake and Joseph apart—gave a loud laugh and revved his car.
“I’m glad the bastard is gone, and I hope he never comes back. These boys, they’re mine. I know what he did to my Sylvia. He’s not gonna get the chance to hurt my boys, too.”
No, he wouldn’t. “You’re going to call that lawyer, right?” Erin had written down the name and number of the best child custody lawyer she knew. She’d given the slip of paper to Katherine. Just in case, just in case, Trent showed up again, she wanted to make sure Katherine and the boys were protected. Permanently.
Katherine gave a grim nod. “I just—I don’t have much money.”
“Don’t worry about it. Larry does a lot of pro bono work.” Larry Myers. He didn’t handle many cases anymore, but she’d call him and tell him this one was important. His semi-retirement was built for cases like this.
“You sure I can trust him?”
“Yes.” Larry had been the lawyer her father used all those years ago, when she’d first appeared on his doorstep.
Is she coming back? The question had been hers, as she watched her mother’s taillights disappear into the darkness.
Her father—a stranger—had pulled her close. “I hope to God not.”
Erin glanced back at the boys. She’d looked for her mother for so many days after that. Years. But her mother never came back.
Erin blinked, clearing vision gone foggy. Kids always got to her. They were so vulnerable. Too easily hurt.
“You okay?” Jude stood in front of her, eyes seeing too much.
Great. Just what she wanted. Him to see her as some kind of emotional wreck. “Fine. We should go. The boys need to eat their supper.”
“Right.” He offered his hand to Katherine. “Pleasure, ma’am.”
She gave him a weak smile, and her gaze drifted back to her grandchildren.
Moments later, they were out of the house. Back in the heat and the darkness.
Erin waited until they were in Jude’s truck, then asked, “Well?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t catch a trace of shifter on ’em. You?”
“No.” So much for that theory. But if Donald Trent wasn’t the shifter after her—
“Trent pissed you off. Beat his wife. Was a general ass**le who made the world a hell of a lot worse by living in it.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and glanced her way. “You went toe-to-toe with this guy in a courtroom.”
Yes, she had. He’d threatened her. Screamed at her. Even had to be restrained by his lawyer once.
“Can’t help but think…the last guy who went after you in court wound up left for dead.”
She knew where this was going, dammit.
“Sure does make me wonder—if Trent isn’t the perp, maybe he’s the victim.”
And in that case, Donald Trent wouldn’t be making an appearance in that town again.
Another present? Hell.
And what about Sylvia? Had she been some twisted gift, too? She and Sylvia had fought that last day in court. In the hallway, where she’d thought they were away from prying eyes.
“Why, Sylvia? Why the hell are you doing this? He’ll walk, and he’ll come after you.”
“I don’t have a choice!” Sylvia had screamed at her. “My life, not yours! You don’t understand, you don’t know—”
Her forehead fell against the glass of the window.
An image of the two boys flashed before her eyes.
Damn you, bastard—stop!
Chapter 12
The motel room was small. The bed was big. And Erin was close.
He’d never been good at resisting temptation, but, this time, he was gonna have to f**king try.
Jude clenched his back teeth and tried not to notice the way her br**sts stretched the front of her blouse, urging the buttons to pop loose.
He’d been trying not to notice and so had all those cops at the precinct.
Seeing the other men eyeing his lady…well, his beast had been ready to attack.
“What’s the next move?” she asked, kicking off her pumps and making her way to the bed.