Blake (Blue Halo Book 3)

Willow smiled as Omar read the final sentence. The kid’s progress was out of this world. He was basically fluent, and they’d only been working together for a couple of years.

Omar glanced up, looking proud of himself. “How did I do this time?”

“Amazing, Omar. Absolutely amazing. You must be practicing so much.”

He nodded. “I am very, ah…” There was a pause.

“Motivated?” she suggested.

He dipped his head. “Yes. Very motivated.”

“Well, I can tell.” She pushed the textbook to the side of the desk. “Okay, time for you to teach me your word of the day before we sign off.”

The smile wiped from his face, brows tugging together. She almost chuckled. Her students always loved this part. Omar, in particular, took it very seriously. “I have put a lot of thought into a word. I have still been watching a lot of American sport. But my new favorite is albisbul.”

“Albisbul. Hm, I’m going to go out on a limb and say that it means baseball?”

He gave an excited nod. “Yes, very good! I like watching how far they hit the ball.” His eyes were wide, becoming more animated as he spoke. “And how fast they can throw it.”

“Which team is your favorite?”

“The Red Sox. They are very good.”

Her smile deepened. She wasn’t a huge baseball girl—heck, she probably wouldn’t even be able to pick a Red Sox uniform out of a lineup—but she loved that he loved it.

“A favorite in this country. Many people would commend your choice.” She leaned forward. “I’ll send through your reading tasks for the week in a day or so. Maybe I’ll try to include some baseball in your homework.”

His nod was vigorous. “Yes, please.”

She chuckled. “Keep it up, Omar, you’re doing a great job.”

“Thank you, Miss Cross.”

Once they both clicked out of the video, Willow leaned back in her seat, stretching. God, her neck felt sore.

It wasn’t the only place she felt sore…

Her cheeks heated. It was Friday, almost a week since she’d gone to the bar in Ketchum…another week of Blake. Of him staying at her place, and vice versa. Of late nights together.

She sucked in a deep, shuddering breath as she pushed to her feet and moved to the kitchen. She was happy. The kind of happy she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Surprisingly, other than that first day, Mila hadn’t asked many questions. It was almost like she’d expected this to happen.

Willow wouldn’t be surprised. The kid was five going on thirty.

Filling the kettle, she put it on the stove before grabbing a mug and tea bag. The only thing that had dampened her joy over the last week was her conversation with Janet at the bar.

Her jaw clenched at the memory, fingers tightening around the edge of the counter.

Mila shouldn’t even be around the guy. We all think so.

For a moment, her eyes closed, fury and guilt ripping through her body at the fact that Blake had heard.

What the heck was wrong with the woman? What was wrong with all of them? Blake was both a victim and a hero, yet they spoke about him as if he was some sort of mass terrorist or abomination. The woman didn’t even know Blake. None of them did. The fact that she would dare say something like that when Willow had known the man her entire life was absurd.

He deserved so much more than that. And Mila…she was the luckiest kid in the world to have Blake as a dad. No one could ever, or would ever, convince her otherwise.

Releasing the counter, she poured the boiling water into her cup. She wasn’t surprised that no one from her study group had tried to contact her since. To be honest, she was glad, because she would have told them exactly what she thought of them in no uncertain terms.

When her phone beeped with a message, she pulled it from her pocket, her heart giving a little flutter when she saw it was Blake.

Blake: Hey, beautiful, are you able to grab Mila from school today? I’ve gotten caught up in a meeting.

The man had been stressed all week. He’d tried to hide it, but in the little moments when he thought no one was watching, she saw. There was the slight tightening of his eyes. The tic of his jaw.

Something had gone wrong during their last mission. That’s what the mission he was leaving for tomorrow was about—correcting whatever had happened.

She quickly typed out her response.

Willow: Of course. I have one more tutoring session for the day but will have plenty of time to grab her after. I’ll take her to The Grind so if you finish early, you can meet us there. If not, we’ll see you tonight at my place later.

Blake: I love you. Xox

Her abdomen dipped at his words. They got her every time.

Willow: I love you too. Xxx

Pushing the phone back into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around the warm mug. She’d only taken one step into the living room when she heard something from elsewhere in the house.

Mila’s bedroom, maybe? The sound had been light, barely touching her ears.

Frowning, she moved down the hall. Maybe Mila had left one of her battery-operated toys on. She loved the things, whereas Willow hated them.

Stepping inside the small bedroom, she was checking the floor for toys when her feet stopped. A chill crept over her limbs and dread crawled along her spine.

The window was open. Wide open.

Willow hadn’t done that. And Mila wasn’t able to unlock it. She took a couple of slow steps closer, studying the lock. Her breath caught.

Broken.

Spinning around, ready to run—her feet stilled, heart catapulting into her throat.

A man stood in the doorway. A tall man wearing a white bag of some kind over his head, the eyes cut out. His shoulders were broad, eyes dark, and he wore a baggy sweatshirt and jeans.

She took a step back. The man took a step forward.

A strong scent permeated the air. Some sort of chemical?

Her gaze flicked to the cloth in his hand, every muscle in her body tightening.

Oh, God, what was on it? What did he intend to do with it?

But she already knew the answer.

Suddenly, he lunged forward.

Willow reacted on instinct, throwing the contents of the mug at him, aiming for his face.

The guy turned his head to the side just before the hot liquid hit, crying out as it covered the bag covering the side of his face and neck.

Willow tried to dodge past him, but strong arms wrapped around her middle.

The mug slipped from her fingers, shattering on the floor. Immediately, she grabbed the arm around her middle with both hands, dropping her weight, just like Blake had once taught her.

The attacker stumbled, and she took advantage of the moment, elbowing him and twisting out of the hold.

Again she tried to run, but this time, the guy shoved her hard from behind, propelling her into the wall. Her face collided with the solid surface seconds before she dropped to the ground.

A splintering pain pounded through her head.

As she tried to push up, a heavy weight suddenly pressed on her back, pushing her to the floor. The cloth covered her mouth.

Her eyes watered, the skin around her mouth stinging, burning. Willow held her breath as she writhed beneath him, refusing to inhale the chemical. Something to the side caught her eye. A shard of broken porcelain.

Stretching out her hand, she closed desperate fingers around the jagged piece of mug. The sharp edge cut into her flesh, but she ignored the sting, flinging her hand back over her shoulder and thrusting it toward her attacker.

Another loud cry pierced the room. The cloth dropped from her face.

Pulling the shard back, she saw crimson coating both the piece of mug and her hand. She had no idea where she’d stabbed the guy. She didn’t care.

The man was already half off her. She dug deep, using every ounce of strength she had to push him the rest of the way off.

Struggling to her feet, she realized fog clouded her vision, blurring everything in front of her.

She fought it with everything she had. Grabbing the wall, she used it to keep herself upright, leaning heavily as she moved out of the room.

Her breaths were shallow as she stumbled her way down the hall. When footsteps sounded behind her, she all but threw herself into her bedroom, just clicking the lock before the knob twisted from the other side.

She fell backward, the thud to her backside hardly registering.

“I-I’m calling B-Blake. He’s…fast. He’ll be here within…minutes.”

Her words started to jumble, her brain not working. Her tongue was almost numb.

It took her three goes to get her phone from her pocket as her fingers refused to work.

In the back of her mind, she knew that she’d inhaled whatever had been on that cloth. It would have been impossible not to. She also knew she didn’t have long. Her limbs were shutting down, her vision blurring more by the second.

She tried pressing keys on her phone, she really did, but getting her eyes to focus was impossible. Even worse, her fingers felt so heavy that the phone was slipping from her hand.

Darkness hedged her vision. She grit her teeth, holding the blackness off by sheer will and determination.

She forced her voice to work. “Blake, y-you need to…come to…my house.” She cried the words as loud as she could, praying the man bought the lie. “Two minutes. You’ll be here in…two minutes…”

The last word had barely left her lips when her lids shuttered, too heavy to keep open. She heard movement from the hallway but couldn’t be certain the man was leaving her home.

She prayed he was. It was her final thought before the world darkened around her.