Page 8 of Operation Rescue
“Not even a sign out front?” Blaine asked, wondering how anybody found this firm Rafe worked for.
“The Foxworth Foundation keeps as low a profile as possible. Which,” he added with a wry grimace, “is getting harder all the time.”
And suddenly that tickle in the back of his mind exploded. “Wait… Foxworth Foundation? Like in the people who took down Governor Ogilvie up north, and then that crooked former senator a couple of months ago, what was his name?”
“Maximilian Flood,” Rafe said, and Blaine knew he hadn’t mistaken the pure satisfaction in his voice.
“You’re working for that Foxworth?”
“I am.”
“Taking down crooked politicians?”
Rafe shrugged. “A couple. But that one was personal. He betrayed the country and us, and almost got our entire team killed. Including him,” he added, with a nod toward the dog.
Blaine automatically reached back to pat the dog’s head, and again felt that odd sensation that went beyond warmth into soothing.
“So, Foxworth is karma delivery?”
A grin flashed across Rafe’s usually—at least, it had been—unreadable face. “You could say that. But on any level. One of Quinn’s first cases was finding and returning a stolen locket that was a little girl’s only memento of her dead mother.”
Blaine drew back, staring.
“And then, about six months ago, we ended up helping the reformed thief who gave it back.” That made him blink. “And he’s now working for Foxworth, helping guys like him who have truly turned around and made their way back into society, with the Foxworth name behind them. Which means a lot in some circles. That one was Hayley’s idea.”
Blaine didn’t think he could ever remember this man talking this much. But pride rang in every word. He wasn’t just happy at this Foxworth place, he was proud. And given the medals that could hang on his dress uniform, that was saying a lot. More than a lot. He had a few himself, and he tried to think of something in the civilian world that would make him as proud, but right now saving his son was the only thing that really mattered at all.
“And,” Rafe added, very quietly now, “you’ll have all that team to back you up, if need be.”
Blaine was beginning to think that calling Rafe Crawford hadn’t just been the only thing he could think of, it was the smartest thing he could have done, for Ethan’s sake.
Chapter 5
Erin felt like sinking down to the floor, dissolving into a puddle of tears, the moment she closed the door behind her. She fought it, because it was becoming a habit after every round of going to everyone she knew who knew Ethan, another round of questions until she’d irritated them all, with the same results she’d gotten every time. Nothing. Nobody had seen him since she had, nobody knew anything about where he might be. Teachers, parents of friends, even the clerks at the convenience store where she’d discovered someone had been sneaking them vaping supplies. Since it was against the law for anyone under twenty-one, she understood the hesitancy to discuss it, although she’d assured them she didn’t care about getting them in trouble, only about getting Ethan home safely.
She felt so alone it seemed to twist her heart in her chest.
And whose fault is that?
She didn’t even try to quash the instinctive mental response anymore, not now. It was her fault, because she hadn’t been strong enough, hadn’t been resilient enough to deal with the reality of being married to a hero. She’d spent those seemingly endless days and nights at his side when he’d been in the hospital, and then months in rehab, and later on in out-patient therapy. She’d never faltered, but about halfway through, that little voice in the back of her mind had kept getting louder and louder.
Never again. Never again. Never, ever again.
She simply could not go through this again, could not bear watching this man she loved beyond measure suffer such agony, could not stand ever again finding him on his knees in tears when he thought she wouldn’t see—this man who’d never come close to breaking in all the years she’d known and loved him.
She made herself go to her computer usually reserved for her graphics work, with which she helped support herself and her son.Helpedbeing the operative word, because she knew that without Blaine paying his child support—and more—regularly, they would not be as comfortable as they were. It jabbed at her, but for Ethan’s sake, she couldn’t say no.
She pulled up the file she’d started last night when she’d finally accepted she wasn’t going to get a miracle, that the police were not going to instantly find Ethan and bring him home. She knew that as scattered as she was right now, she needed to keep track of things, of people she’d spoken to and what they’d said, and of people she didn’t know how to find or reach but had reason to think might know something.
She stared at the list of names, some with notes, some blank. If she kept this up, people were going to start running and slamming doors the moment they saw her coming. But she had to do something, she couldn’t just sit around the house and hope he came home. She had todosomething. She had to or she would go crazy with the ever-building worry. She had to or—
Her phone rang and she grabbed for it. It was an unknown number she probably would have blocked as spam a few days ago, but now…
“Hello?”
“I’m here.”
Her breath caught at the deep, vibrant voice. The voice that had once sent ripples of sensation through her, head to toe with several stops in between. Blaine. If she’d been less rattled right now, she might have pretended not to recognize him. Play it cool.
