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  He was close enough to lean into.

  Near enough to touch.

  She should back away. She should stop staring at the inviting vee of skin where the base of his throat met the sturdy ridge of his collarbone. She should stop wishing she could bury her nose there and have his strong arms wrap her up and keep the terrors of the world at bay.

  Maddie lifted her gaze to his. “Why are you here? You said you wanted nothing to do with me or my family.”

  Edged with shadows she didn’t understand, those gray-green eyes looked deep into hers. “Some fights a man can’t walk away from. No matter how much he wants to.”

  SEARCH AND SEIZURE

  JULIE MILLER

  Thanks to Kimberly McKane and Scott E. Miller for answering all my DFS questions.

  For two bright, talented young people who are near and dear to my heart—Emily and Darin Binger. Thanks for being a part of puzzles and poker, Easter egg hunts and dinosaurs, family reunions and cool movies. The bond you share as brother and sister is an amazing thing to see, and reminds me of the bond I share with my brothers. Work hard, use your brains, listen to your heart and make a difference. The world is waiting for you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Julie Miller attributes her passion for writing romance to all those fairy tales she read growing up, and shyness. Encouragement from her family to write down all those feelings she couldn’t express became a love for the written word. She gets continued support from her fellow members of the Prairieland Romance Writers, where she serves as the resident “grammar goddess.” This award-winning author believes the only thing better than a good mystery is a good romance.

  Born and raised in Missouri, she now lives in Nebraska with her husband, son and smiling guard dog, Maxie. Write to Julie at P.O. Box 5162, Grand Island, NE 68802-5162.

  Books by Julie Miller

  HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

  588—ONE GOOD MAN*

  619—SUDDEN ENGAGEMENT*

  642—SECRET AGENT HEIRESS

  651—IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE*

  666—THE DUKE’S COVERT MISSION

  699—THE ROOKIE*

  719—KANSAS CITY’S BRAVEST*

  748—UNSANCTIONED MEMORIES*

  779—LAST MAN STANDING*

  819—PARTNER-PROTECTOR†

  841—POLICE BUSINESS†

  880—FORBIDDEN CAPTOR

  898—SEARCH AND SEIZURE*

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Dwight Powers—Justice’s staunchest ally. This tough-as-nails prosecutor has a reputation for winning inside the courtroom. The last thing he wants is a woman and child around to remind him of everything he’s lost outside of court.

  Maddie McCallister—A child’s truest friend. This full-figured teacher will risk her life to protect the niece and grandnephew placed in her care. But does she dare risk her heart on a man with nothing but law and order flowing through his veins?

  Katie Rinaldi—She made a deal with the devil to help a friend. Reneging on the bargain could get her killed.

  Joe Rinaldi—Katie’s father. Dwight put him away in prison.

  Roberta Hays—The family services case worker only wanted to help.

  The Hulkster and Stinky Pete—Who are they working for?

  Cooper Bellamy—The Fourth Precinct cop assigned to the case. Not your typical babysitter.

  Roddy—Talent scout from New York City.

  Tyler—Only a few weeks old, he can bring down an entire criminal network.

  Alicia and Braden Powers—Will the memories of one lost family haunt Dwight forever?

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  “Excuse me, have you seen this girl?”

  Madeline McCallister swallowed her fear and approached the tall, dark-skinned woman standing beneath the street lamp. She averted her eyes from the amount of skin revealed by the woman’s tight shorts and sequined halter top and concentrated on the dark eyes framed by sparkly lashes.

  The black woman looked right past her, straight through to the cars that were cruising by on Tenth. The slow parade of headlights briefly illuminated the shadowed alleyways and door stoops, exposing the dangerous, sick, sad and soulless creatures of the urban night before driving past and giving them back to the darkness.

  No-Man’s-Land was a foreign world to Maddie. But she had no intention of leaving until she had answers to her questions.

  Holding up the worn photograph she carried like a shield, Maddie took a deep breath and made herself taller. “Excuse me, could you take a look? Her name is Katie.”

  The black woman, who wore a rhinestone pendant in her cleavage that said Cleopatra, blinked once, sparing a glance at the photo. “Move along, sugar. You’re bad for business.”

  No doubt. Of all the women Maddie had seen thus far, walking the streets of the neighborhood that the KCPD had dubbed No-Man’s-Land, none of them had been of the plain and sturdy variety. Certainly none of them was wearing anything resembling the loose denim jumper and tailored blouse she had on. And not one of them seemed to be affected by the August heat and humidity the way she was.

  Cleopatra turned her back on Maddie and struck a pose with one hand on a very round, very revealing hip. “Sugar, go away. You’re not a cop, you’re not the competition, but you don’t belong here.”

  “Neither does my niece.” Maddie darted around the other woman to stop her from walking away. “She ran away from home a couple of weeks ago. She’s pregnant. I need to find her.”

  Cleopatra twirled around on her white patent leather boots with an annoyed huff. “Your girl’s pregnant? Find her boyfriend.”

  Maddie fell into step beside her. “He hasn’t seen her. He’s already signed away his parental rights. They haven’t been together for months.”

  “Typical man.”

  Maddie wouldn’t know. Her experiences with men ran from the extreme nightmare to nonexistent. “I’m sorry to bother you while you’re…working, but I’m asking everyone.”

  Cleopatra finally stopped. She glanced at Maddie, glanced at the photo. “I ain’t seen her.”

  “Look harder. Please.”

  The taller woman waved and winked at a car that slowed down as it passed by. “I’m trying to work here.”

  “Please.”

  “Sugar, do you know how many kids come walkin’ down this street? Runnin’ away from a beating or trying to find their next fix?”

  “Katie’s not like that.”

  “Sure. They’re all good kids. They’re just lost in a world that doesn’t want them.” Maybe Cleopatra was speaking from experience.

  But that wasn’t Katie’s story. “Please, ma’am—”

  “Now, sugar, don’t you go ma’amin’ me—”

  “I’m looking for one girl. One child. I have to find her.”

  “Ain’t the cops lookin’ for her?”

  “Yes. But they’re not having any success. She’s due to give birth this month. I can’t let her go through that on her own.”

  “That’s rough.” Cleopatra lifted her gaze over the top of Maddie’s head and scanned up and down the sidewalks on both sides of the street. Then she held out her hand. “Give me some money.”

  “What?”

  “Give me somethin’. I can’t stand here talkin’ to you when I’m supposed to be workin’.”

  “Oh, I see.” Maddie fished into th
e pocket of her jumper. One of the homeless men she’d talked to earlier had asked for money before sending her to Tenth Street to talk to the ‘ladies,’ as he’d called them. Maddie pulled out all she had left: a twenty.

  Cleopatra snatched it from her hand and stuffed it inside the top of her boot. “Now give me the picture.”

  Sparkly lashes fluttered against her dark cheeks as she studied Katie’s junior yearbook picture. Maddie prayed for a glimmer of recognition.

  “I ain’t seen her.” Cleopatra pressed the photo back into Maddie’s hand. “She ain’t workin’ this street, at any rate. And the mission’s been closed for over a year now, so I haven’t seen her hangin’ around for a handout, either.”

  Twenty dollars for another no.

  Maddie lovingly straightened a bent corner of the photo before returning it to her pocket. She tried to focus on the reassuring notion that Katie hadn’t resorted to prostitution to support herself. Two weeks ago, Maddie never would have suspected a teenager who was eight months pregnant would be in demand on the streets. But she’d seen some disturbing things since she’d begun her search.

  Still, the crushing disappointment of hitting yet another dead end kept her from feeling hopeful. “Thanks.”

  It also kept her from sensing the large black man who’d walked up behind her.

  “Zero!”

  Cleopatra’s shout masked Maddie’s own startled yelp as two big hands closed around her upper arms. The first thing she saw was all the bling on each finger and wrist. The second thing she noticed was the stale smell of rum-soaked breath as the man’s lips brushed against her ear.

  “I don’t know whether to cut you or kiss you.”

  Cleopatra shoved at the man’s shoulder. “Back off, Zero. She’s just lookin’ for somebody.”

  “Yeah, well, look somewhere else, sweetmeat.” He grabbed the hand Cleopatra had shoved him with and tugged and twisted. Even Maddie winced at the angle at which he bent the woman’s arm behind her back. “You. Get back to work. I don’t look out for you so’s you can shoot the breeze with no lady.” He pushed Cleopatra away. “Find a customer.”

  With a proud tip of her chin, the black woman straightened what clothes she had on and sauntered across the street, leaving Maddie alone with the pimp.

  Zero wrapped his arm around Maddie’s shoulders, pulling her tight against his side. When he forced her into step beside him, she knew a stark moment of wondering if she’d ever get back to her car, much less see her home again.

  Still, the violence sickened her. How many times had her sister shown up at the house with a sprained wrist or black eye? “I was just asking her some questions. I paid her for her time. You didn’t have to hurt her.”

  He squeezed her tighter, steering her toward a secluded archway beneath a concrete stoop. “Cleo’s been hurt worse than that. Now you tell me exactly what kinds of questions you were askin’.”

  As she had so many times over the past two weeks, Maddie ignored her own terror and pulled out the photo to show him. “I’m looking for my niece.”

  Zero snatched the photo from her hand. “Now she’s a fine girl.”

  “Have you seen her?”

  “You paid Cleo for an answer. You have to pay me.”

  “I’m out of money.”

  Zero stopped, laughed, crumpled the photo in his fist and spun Maddie around so that he could back her into a brick wall and press his thighs and hips and other vile things against her. “You gotta pay me somehow. That’s how things work around here.”

  Maddie’s blood chilled in her veins, despite the humidity that lingered so long after sunset. She stared at the thick gold chain around Zero’s neck. “I can’t do that.”

  He slipped one hand behind her to squeeze her butt and tangled the rest of his fingers in her hair. “You need a serious makeover, darlin’. But I like some meat on my women. And hair this color of red could be good for business.”

  “Let me go.”

  Her flare of panic only made him laugh. He pulled the hair from her ponytail and draped it over her shoulder, dragging his palm over her breast. “Uh-huh. Lots of meat.”

  Maddie swallowed her gag reflex and batted his hand away. “My niece is pregnant. Don’t you have any heart in you to help her?”

  Zero rubbed her reddish gold hair against his nose and sniffed. “Word’s out about a clinic in town that helps young girls who get knocked up. They’ll take the girl in until she delivers. Then, in exchange for the baby, they’ll pay a nice price. I thought about letting one of my girls go off the pill just to see how much money we could get off that scam.”

  Revulsion aside, Maddie lifted her gaze to Zero’s hooded eyes. “They buy the girl’s baby?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Katie wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m just tellin’ you what I heard.”

  “Does this clinic have a name?”

  “Sweetmeat, you don’t pay me or flash a badge, you don’t get an answer.”

  In a surprisingly quick move, he grabbed her arm and slung her toward the street. Maddie stumbled off the curb and smacked into the fender of a parked car. But she ignored the pain radiating through her hip and elbow. Katie could be suffering something far worse. Maddie had no right to complain.

  “Please,” she begged, throwing pride and safety to the wind. “Tell me what you know.”

  Zero laughed and tossed the crumpled photograph at her. “You ain’ worth it, sweetmeat. Now get off my street and go home where you belong.”

  Chapter One

  Assistant district attorney Dwight Powers loosened the knot on his paisley silk tie and unhooked the top button of his wilted broadcloth shirt as he rode the elevator up to his eighth-floor office.

  Night should have cooled the air and tempered his mood. But the midnight humidity had captured the day’s heat radiating off the concrete and asphalt of downtown Kansas City. It steamed through his pores and into his blood, melting into a suspicious tension he couldn’t quite shake.

  The three-hour drive from the state penitentiary in Jefferson City had given him plenty of time to think about the parole hearing he’d attended. Plenty of time to consider the crocodile tears in Arnie Sanchez’s eyes as he apologized to Dwight for the death of his family—without ever admitting any responsibility or connection to Alicia’s and Braden’s murders.

  He’d had plenty of time to replay the high-priced words that Sanchez’s lawyer had used to claim that his client was being cruelly and unusually punished by a prolonged sentence. The KCPD and the Kansas City district attorney’s office had a personal beef with his client. Sanchez’s business had suffered. His wife had divorced him. His grown sons were feuding over property entitlements, and his grandchildren were growing up without ever knowing him.

  Sanchez had paid his back taxes and court costs, the lawyer claimed. He had a spotless record of good conduct during his incarceration. The State of Missouri had no right to punish a man for crimes that had only been attributed to him—crimes that the KCPD and other law-enforcement agencies had never proven. They claimed locking him up under maximum security for another five years was harsh and unfair.

  Dwight scraped his palm across the blond stubble that peppered his jaw and rolled his neck to ease the weary kinks from his body.

  It had taken him all of five minutes to present himself to the parole board and outline in succinct terms the crimes Sanchez had been convicted of. He’d explained in remarkably cool, detached logic that Sanchez’s ex-wife and grandchildren could visit him in prison any time they so desired. Even if parole was never granted, after twenty years he’d be free to spend as much time as he wanted with his family.

  Dwight had neither option. His family was gone.

  Permanently.

  Courtesy of Arnie Sanchez.

  The light for the seventh floor lit up and the elevator began to slow its ascent.

  The parole board had voted quickly, without debate. They thanked Dwight for his time, denied Sanchez’s petition and moved
on to the next hearing.

  On the drive back to Kansas City, Dwight had had plenty of time to recall the cold, black fury in Sanchez’s eyes and wonder why that unspoken threat hadn’t fazed him. Maybe he was hoping that Sanchez would blow any chance for an early release by giving voice to that threat in front of witnesses.

  Or maybe it was because a threat was useless against a man with nothing left to lose.

  The number eight lit up, the elevator dinged and Dwight switched the briefcase to his right hand to dig the keys out of his left pocket as the doors slid open.

  As soon as the elevator closed behind him, Dwight sensed trouble. Not the Arnie-Sanchez-is-beating-the-system kind of trouble. But something was off-kilter, out of place.

  He peered into the long, deserted tunnel of marbled walls and shadows, letting his eyes adjust to the dim glow of the security lights illuminating the hallway. His soft-soled oxfords made no noise on the marble tiles as he headed toward his office.

  The emptiness was no surprise. By this time of night, even the die-hard workaholics like himself would have gone home. And he’d passed most of the cleaning crew outside at the utility entrance, taking their first break of the night.

  He listened to the cranking, whooshing sounds of the air conditioner regulating the building’s temperature against the August heat. Perfectly normal.

  And yet…

  Dwight crinkled up his nose. Maybe it was the whisper of cigarette smoke. Someone had broken the rules of the smoke-free building. But that wasn’t what nagged at him. Beneath the tobacco pungency that lingered in the air, he detected something fresher, sweeter—definitely out of place in an environment that typically smelled of leather attaché cases and disinfectant.