Page 19 of Her Remarkable Protector

I hand Colt a twenty. “If he comes back, call me.” I scribble my number on a napkin and slide it across the counter.

Mira Stone’s voice crackles through the phone just as we step onto the street. Perfect. Because clearly, the universe thinks I haven’t had enough crap to deal with today.

“Chase Samson,” she begins, her tone unforgiving. “Any update? I thought you were supposed to be the best. It’s been weeks, and all I’m seeing is zero progress.”

I take a measured breath before answering. There’s something off about her tone—not desperate, like she’s more interested in control than concern. My gut says there’s more to this story than a worried mother. And where’s Damon in all of this? Wouldn’t shock me if he still doesn’t know. Maybe he’s out of town. He’s not the kind of guy who checks in with his wife to say ‘I love you.’ He only calls when he needs something. If he does know Oakley’s missing, he’s avoiding me on purpose.

“We’re working on it, Mrs. Stone,” I say. “You’ll hear from me if there’s anything concrete.”

“I want results, Chase, or you’re out,” she warns. “She’s almost due—has to be! Hospitals, Chase. That’s where you should be looking. I’m a woman. I know these things. Consider that a little help from your client.”

Well, I’m a man, and I know that too. But I bite back the retort because, honestly, I’m nowhere near my best right now.

“Mrs. Stone?—”

“You’re welcome!” She interrupts. “Now get to work.”

With the silence of the disconnect, I shift my focus back to the task at hand.

After driving through the neighborhoods near the takeout joint and asking around, we finally pull up to a condo complex. It’s unassuming, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it, but something about it feels like the closest we’ve been to a real lead all day.

We hit the first house, a guy in plaid pajamas and slippers. Mr. Pratt, he says. He squints at us like we’ve interrupted his favorite show.

“Can I help you?”

I keep my tone steady. “We’re looking for a pregnant woman and a teenage boy. Have you seen them?”

He scratches his head, his expression blank. “Nah. Didn’t notice anything. Kept to myself.”

I nod, stepping back without wasting any more time. “Thanks.”

Next door, Mrs. Dawes opens up, a toddler wrapped around her leg and a baby balanced on her hip. She’s frazzled but quick to respond.

“Pregnant woman? You mean, the one from next door? Oh, yeah, she looks like she’s about to pop. I’ve had seven myself. I can tell,” she says, gesturing with her free hand.

Ethan checks out the house next door, peeping in, then giving me a shake of the head.

“They left,” she says.

My pulse picks up. “They? So she was with someone and you saw them leave?”

“Yeah. She got in a little beat-up car with her older boy and took off. That boy must’ve been twelve or thirteen. She’s gotta have had him when she was real young.”

So they interact like Honor Deveraux and Oakley Stone are mother and son. A potential clue that supports our theory—it’s not a kidnapping after all.

“When was this Mrs. Dawes?” Ethan asks.

“Day before yesterday,” she says, shifting the baby on her hip. “She was holding her belly, looked like she was in pain. They packed up fast.”

“Which way?” Ethan chimes in.

She points toward the road. “South, from here. But of course, her destination could be anywhere.”

I nod my thanks and rush back to the car.

“She’s almost full term now,” I say to Ethan, starting the engine. “She can’t be far from a hospital. It’s not optional at this point. If she’s not in Great Falls, where else could she be?”

Drained and teetering on the edge of frustration, we call it a night and check into a nearby motel. I wish I had the full resources of the Helena command center at my fingertips. But for now, I have Cora-Lee, Red Mark’s tech genius. We call her, looping her into the search.

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