She took a step back and Louis nodded. She kept walking, her eyes on his gun as she made her way into the kitchen. She needed to make that call. Her safety came second to that little boy’s future. If Louis Stanton shot her, walked out of here and back into that courtroom, if by some horrible twist of fate the judge granted him access to Jay . . .
“Do you have the number?” she asked.
He reached in his pocket and withdrew a slip of paper. Of course he’d brought the contact information. He was crazy, but clearly on a mission. He held it out to her and she took it, careful not to touch his hand. One touch and she might lose her nerve and start screaming, begging, and trying to run away.
She picked up the cordless phone. She looked at the number scrawled on the paper, then drew a deep breath and dialed Big Buck’s Bar.
“Hello, this is—”
“Is this the Forever courthouse?” She spoke fast, talking over the man on the other end. If the words “Big Buck’s” carried through the receiver, if Louis Stanton realized she’d called for help . . .
“I need the family court division.”
“Lily?”
She heard the shock in Dominic’s tone and pressed forward. “The extension is three, three, two? Could you, um, connect me?”
Her voice faltered over the words. She closed her eyes and hoped the man she’d kicked out of her house got the message and rushed to her rescue.
Chapter Sixteen
FUCK THE FLOWERS.
Dominic dropped the phone. By the time it hit the rubber mat, he’d vaulted over the bar’s polished surface.
“Lily needs help,” he called to Noah as he pushed through the customers. “Call my dad. Call the station. It has something to do with the family court in town.”
He’d reached the door and had his hand on the knob. Three, three, two? What the hell did those numbers mean? Where was she? Not at the courthouse, if she was pretending to call. Her house? She lived at number sixty-eight. Hell, he’d memorized her address in high school along with her home phone number.
Three, three, two—the first three digits on her home phone number.
“She’s at home,” he added. And then he ran out the door and headed for his rental. But Caroline beat him to the driver’s side door.
“Take this.” She thrust a pistol into his hand. “It’s loaded with a round in the chamber.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t have time to ask questions and figure out if she’d broken into Noah’s gun safe. He climbed into the car and peeled out of the parking lot.
Please let there be a cop between here and there. He’d lead them right to her damn house. If the man who’d attacked Lily in the park was with her, if he was hurting her, Dominic needed backup. Hell, he wanted the whole damn police force with him. Otherwise he was going in with a gun, one good hand, and the determination to bust in there and save her.
I can’t let her down.
The stakes were too damn high. If she died, if that bastard killed her because he hadn’t believed her when she’d told him again and again that she’d been targeted . . .
But he had been on her side. Until he’d started to doubt his judgment and wonder if he’d been blinded by fucking love.
Still, he’d looked into her list. He’d used his dad’s computer—and the police department’s resources—to search for anything he could find on the list of names.
Which one has a connection to family court?
The peanut butter dad was a certified ass, but from everything he’d dug up on the family, the man’s wife was his perfect match.
Dominic accelerated down the familiar stretch of road leading to Lily’s quiet neighborhood. Family court. The dad who didn’t have the correct paperwork to pick up his son . . .
Louis Stanton.
He turned on her street and mentally ran through everything he knew about Louis Stanton. Nine years at a desk job outside of town. He was laid off about a year ago. His wife kicked him out, filed for divorce and sole custody. She’d won. Louis moved back to Washington to live with his uncle. He’d secured a new job that paid well. Apart from being dealt a rough blow when he lost his job, Louis Stanton was a model citizen. He didn’t even have a parking ticket. The man was a getting his life back.
But not his son.
Dominic slammed on the brakes and put the car in park. He didn’t know why Louis thought Lily held the key to getting his son back. But any man who’d attack a woman was crazy in his book.
A patch of red on the white porch steps caught his eye.
Not Lily. Oh God, please not Lily.
He was out of the car, running for the house before he saw the bottles strewn about the porch. Boxes of crayons spilled everywhere. There was a patch of blue in the corner. Hell, it wasn’t blood. It was finger paint.