But he wouldn’t leave the search for the shooter entirely to the police. Not when he had his own skills, his own insights and motivation to catch the person responsible. He’d not only find the shooter, but also the person who’d hired the gunman. Maybe that person was Hugh Barrington, maybe not. Either way, he had an itchy feeling that told him something significant was behind the attempt on his and Pen’s lives. The shooting wasn’t random.
He turned off the rural highway, down the narrow dirt path that was more like a cow trail leading to his lake house, and Pen sat taller on the backseat, her gaze darting about the isolated property. Fitting to his mood, a line of gunmetal clouds crept in from the north to blot out the December sun and cast the world in a dreary shadow. As they bumped down the rutted trail, branches from overgrown scrub bushes and winter-dead weeds scraped the sides of Pen’s Explorer like skeletal hands grabbing at them. The fingernails-on-blackboard screeching sent a shiver to Reid’s marrow.
Judging by the pained expression on Pen’s face, the noise, or maybe the implied damage to her SUV, unnerved her, as well.
“Sorry. I’ll spring for a new paint job when this is over,” he said, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror.
She shook her head. “That’s the least of my worries right now. Where are we?”
“At a property I bought a few years ago for this very purpose.”
“You anticipated having someone trying to kill us?”
“Not you, specifically. But I figured in my line of work I could earn a dangerous enemy. Or need to hide a witness. Or...” He shrugged. “More often than not, I use it when I’m hiding from my family.”
She snorted a deprecating laugh. “Well, that I can understand. What I meant was where are we? We’ve been driving a long time.”
“Mmm-hmm.” He could tell his noncommittal hum of agreement didn’t appease her curiosity. If anything, his avoidance irritated her further. “Once I get you and pipsqueak settled, I’ll go into town to get you some things. Change of clothes or two, toiletries. Anything specific you want me to get you?”
“How about an answer to my question? Where are we?” Her scowl matched her tone.
“Better you don’t know. That way you can’t accidentally give yourself away.” They emerged from the tunnel of overgrowth to a field that stretched down to the lake house and waterfront.
Pen craned her neck, leaning toward the front seat to peer through the windshield at the terrain. “A lake? Which lake?” When he stayed silent, she grunted her exasperation. “Who am I going to tell?”
“Nothing personal. Just precaution.” Braking in front of the three-vehicle garage, he shifted the car into Park, then climbed out. When he’d punched the security code into the panel by the garage, the door rumbled and rolled open. He pulled the Explorer into the only open space in the garage and cut the ignition. The two spaces to the left were taken by his water ski boat, covered for the season with a giant tarp, and his Range Rover. Parked behind the garage was an older four-wheel-drive Jeep Wrangler he never drove anymore but hadn’t bothered to get rid of yet. As he exited the Explorer and cast a glance around his garage, he spotted damage to the insulation around the roof vents. Probably raccoons or squirrels had gnawed their way in to make a winter nest. He huffed a sigh and made a mental note to repair the damage. He scooped the pieces of their disassembled cell phones from the passenger seat.
After helping Penelope unbuckle Nicholas from his child seat, he led them into the house through the door from the garage. He paused in the mudroom, flipping switches to turn on lights, adjusting the heat to a more comfortable setting and entering the passcode to close the garage doors and rearm the security system. With a few more buttons and a typed password on a small keypad, he turned on the secured Wi-Fi.
“This way,” he said and hitched his head toward the kitchen.
Leading Nicholas by the hand, she followed him into the fully equipped kitchen, her gaze taking in all the newest gadgets and screens. “Pretty fancy technology for a lake house.”
“Remote doesn’t have to mean ill-equipped. I furnished the place with the expectation I might have to work a case from here. And I like keeping my electronics updated.” He opened a drawer by the refrigerator and dumped in the keys to Pen’s Explorer as well as the pieces of the phones and the batteries.
“Only the best for a Colton,” she muttered, her tone dark with sarcasm.
“Is that going to be a problem for us?”
She turned a startled look toward him. “Your gadgets?”
“My being a Colton. In the past, I never got the sense that my last name was an issue for you, but that’s at least the third time you’ve derided my family connection.”
Chagrin darkened her face. “I’m sorry. I know I owe you better. Especially since you’ve done so much to help me today. I’m just...edgy.” She scoffed. “To put it mildly. More like scared as hell. Confused. Angry.” Her face crumpled as tears filled her eyes.
Reid moved toward her, lifting his arms to hug her, and she raised a hand to ward him off.
“No.” She shook her head and swiped at her eyes. “I’ll be fine.”
She schooled her expression and took a deep breath. Then with a tight, tremulous smile, she lifted Nicholas into her arms and started for the next room. “So show me the place.”
Reid ushered her into the living room, trying to see the house from her point of view. The decor was decidedly masculine. Since he’d been creating a space for himself and had no woman in his life to compromise with on colors or styles, he’d chosen what he liked. Dark bold shades of maroon, navy, dark green. His leather couch was extra large to accommodate his height if he chose to stretch out on it while he watched the huge flat-screen TV mounted over the river-stone fireplace. The stained concrete floor meant no carpet to vacuum, but he could see the wheels turning in Penelope’s head. No doubt she was thinking of how hard the surface would be for her young son to play on.
As he surveyed his belongings, he realized how child-unfriendly the place was. His abundance of technology put buttons and knobs in easy reach of curious, sticky fingers. His coffee and end tables had glass tops and were adorned with heavy, breakable knickknacks. And then there was his gun cabinet...
He saw her bite her bottom lip and scowl as her gaze went to the glass-front cabinet where his hunting rifles and shotgun were stored.
“It’s locked,” he assured her. “But in the interest of full disclosure, I also have a handgun in the master bedroom. In the nightstand drawer.”
“You’ll have to move it. Lock it up with those.” She pointed at the gun case.
“Of course.” He blew out a lungful of air through pursed lips. “And a good bit of other childproofing, I’d guess.”
Nicholas whined and kicked his legs. “Down!”
“You guess correctly. What am I supposed to do with Nicholas?”
“Until we can make this room safer, let’s see what shape the guest bedrooms are in. Can he sleep in a real bed?”
“Do you have a guardrail for it?”
“No.” Wow. He really hadn’t thought this one through before he brought them here. He’d been concerned only about them being hidden, safe from whoever had shot at them.
Pen raked her hair back with her free hand. “I can move the bed against a wall. Maybe slide the dresser up next to it.”
“No.” He shook his head and stalked to a side table where he opened a drawer and took out pen and paper. “Here. Make a list. Everything you need for yourself and Nicholas. Safety equipment, food, clothes, diapers.”
She gave a short humorless laugh. “Thank God we have a few extra diapers in his bag from Mother’s Day Out. But if we stay here, I’m going to need supplies by morning at the latest.”
“I’ll go tonight. I can have everything back here in a few hours.”
&n
bsp; She stared at him, her expression skeptical. “Reid, I don’t think this is—”
“Can you trust me on this?”
She lifted an eyebrow as if to say, Are you kidding me?
“Please,” he added. “I thought you believed me about what happened with Andrew.”
“Maybe. I...” Her shoulders slumped. “I haven’t really had a chance to process it. My hesitance is not really about what happened with Andrew. Not completely. I just...” She blew out a tired breath. “So much has happened today. My head is spinning.”
He closed the distance between them and stroked a hand down her arm. Grasping her elbow, he drew her even closer and held her gaze. “Can you at least believe I’m your friend? That I care about what happens to you and Nicholas, and I’m trying to do what is best for you?”
She moistened her lips, and just the glimpse of her tongue sliding along the seam of her mouth sent a shock wave of lust pounding through him.
He dropped her arm and took an awkward step back, as if Andrew had planted a hand in his chest and shoved. That’s my wife, man. Stay away!
Penelope lowered her chin to stare at the floor for a moment before nodding. When she raised her head again, tears had filled her eyes. “It’s just... Damn it, Reid. I’m scared. I don’t know what to think, who to trust. Andrew is gone, and my father might be a crook. Someone hates me enough to have me killed, and everything I’d been told about your involvement with Andrew’s death may have been lies.”
He raised a finger. “Not lies exactly, but half truths. Deceptive half truths.” She pulled a face, displaying her frustration with his quibble over semantics, and he pressed on to the more important point. “And I wouldn’t say the shooting today was based on hatred.”
Her eyebrows darted up in disbelief. “Then what—”
“Fear. Someone has something to lose if they don’t get rid of you. Get rid of us. Remember I was there, too.”
Now her expression crumpled into confusion.
“That something could be money, position, power, love—”
She frowned dubiously. “Love?”
He hesitated a beat. “I have to ask... Are you having an affair with anyone? A married man maybe?”
She scoffed an incredulous laugh. “No! How could you even think—”
“Okay!” He held up both hands in surrender. “I’m just trying to get a handle on who might be behind this.” Rubbing his palms on his jeans, he sighed. “I’m still inclined to think this has to do with your father, but I don’t want to miss something because of tunnel vision.”
Her face paled, but she didn’t argue, which said a lot about her own thought processes on the matter. She carried her squirming son to the couch and dropped heavily on the cushions. “Oh, my God,” she whispered, her gaze growing distant and disturbed. Nicholas wiggled free from her slackened grasp and toddled across the floor, taking in his new environment with eyes rounded in wonder.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe your own father would try to hurt you, but we can’t—”
“No.”
“Pen, we have to consider...”
“Not hard to believe...” she muttered, still staring into near space. “Believable. He’s heartless when it serves him. He...” She swallowed hard and blinked rapidly as if clearing tears from her eyes. “He was cold and dismissive of my mother when she got sick. I’ve seen him treat the house staff like dirt. He can be a self-centered bastard over and again and lose no sleep over it.”
Casting a glance to the toddler to check on him, Reid joined her on the couch, his thoughts spiraling in new directions. “Pen, if your father knew Andrew was building a case against him...” He scrubbed a hand down his cheek and scratched the stubble on his chin. He didn’t like the direction his train of thought was going, but he couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling in his gut.
“My father had something to do with Andrew’s death,” she said in a rasp, completing the sentence for him. She lifted bleak eyes to him. Swallowed hard. “He could have tampered with Andrew’s insulin. He had the opportunity.”
Reid sat back, eyeing Pen and digesting her assertion. “Opportunity? When?”
“A couple months after Nicholas was born, he showed up at our house saying he wanted to get to know his only grandson. Forget that we hadn’t talked more than five minutes in three years. Suddenly he wants a relationship with his grandchild. Not me, mind you. Nicholas.” Bitterness weighted her tone, and she shook her head as she turned to search the room for her wandering child. Nicholas had found a stack of magazines he was spreading out on the floor, crumpling the covers in his fist.
She made a move to get up, and he waved her back onto the couch. “Let him have ’em. They’re not important. Finish what you were saying. He came to your house to see Nicholas, and...”
“He came a few times, but he never spent much time with the baby. I mean, Nicholas was only a couple months old at the time. He could hardly hold a conversation with him or throw a baseball in the yard.”
“What did he do?”
“He sat in the family room with me, and we had extremely awkward conversations about the weather and how cute the baby was. I’d offer him something to drink and leave him alone in the family room for a while so I could start a pot of coffee. Once, I recall, he excused himself to use the bathroom and was gone for a long time.”
Nicholas abandoned the magazines and headed for the large window with a view of the backyard and lake. Reid kept half of his attention on the boy as he plastered slobbery hands on the glass and pressed his runny nose to the window.
“Out?” Nicholas chirped.
“Andrew wasn’t home with you?” he asked, facing Pen again.
“No. He never came by when Andrew was home. And he never stayed more than thirty minutes or so.” She rubbed a hand on her opposite arm and glared at the coffee table as she dredged up the memories. “He’d look in on the baby or hold him for maybe five minutes before passing him back to me, have a stilted chat for a few minutes, disappear to the bathroom for ten or so minutes and then say he wasn’t feeling well, or he had a meeting to rush off to or some excuse and take off. I was always relieved to see him go. The visits were so...strained. And strange.”
“Did Andrew keep his insulin in the bathroom?”
She raised an odd look before her expression became crestfallen. “No. He stored it in the refrigerator.”
“What about other medicines Andrew took or products he used?”
“Sure. Basic things like painkillers, antacids, mouthwash and toothpaste...”
Nicholas had grown bored with the backyard view and toddled over to the bookshelf. Reid sat forward, keeping a more attentive eye on the boy now. He had valuable items displayed on the shelves. “Did he ever go into the kitchen without you? Could he have tampered with the insulin without you knowing?”
Penelope turned her palms up. “Probably. I...” She raked both hands through her hair and scrunched her eyes closed. “God, Reid. It’s been almost two years. A lot has happened since then. I don’t remem—”
A crash interrupted her, and both his and Pen’s gazes flew to the bookshelf. Nicholas had started to climb, knocking a candy dish to the floor. Reid bolted from his seat and snatched the toddler into his arms just as the baby lost his footing and toppled backward.
“Nicholas!” Pen gasped as she rushed forward.
“He’s okay.” Reid exhaled a breath made shaky by a post-adrenaline shudder. “I got him.”
Pen stroked her son’s head and raised her eyes, bright with emotion, to his. “You saved him, you mean. That’s twice today. You saved me from the shooter, and now Nicholas from falling on his head.”
The little boy twisted and craned his head to look to the floor, unfazed by his tumble or the adults fawning. He pointed a chubby finger at the spilled
sweets and broken glass. “Candy?”
“I’ll get a broom to clean up. Then we’ll get busy baby-proofing.”
* * *
After several minutes and much persuasion, Penelope was able to convince Nicholas to stay in the guest bed and take a nap. Reid had helped her make the twin bed more secure for the toddler by shoving it against a wall, moving a chest of drawers and removing the mounted trophy bass from the wall over his head.
Guilt nipped at her for having been inattentive enough to let Nicholas even start climbing the bookcase in pursuit of the candy. Reid had tried to assuage her self-reproach, blaming himself, pointing to the kid-unfriendliness of his house. She could argue that her head was swimming with all the crazy twists and turns of the day and that she suffered the lingering chill of having been shot at. She’d also been distracted by Reid’s questions about her father’s access to Andrew’s insulin. But, in truth, she had no good excuses for her negligence. She was a mother, first and foremost, and Nicholas’s safety should have trumped all the other chaos and mind-clutter of the day.
Penelope watched her son sleep peacefully for a few minutes, her heart swelling with a tender ache of affection. As much as she’d love to snuggle up next to her boy and nap herself, she and Reid had too much to do making the lake house safe for Nicholas. They needed to lay in supplies for their stay and start digging into the paperwork and computer files they’d acquired today from her father’s office and Andrew’s secret stash.
She rubbed her throbbing temple where a stress headache had built to a pounding pitch and joined Reid in the living room.
He glanced up from his task when she entered. “I found an empty box in my storage room. We can pack up anything and everything a two-year-old could break or get hurt from.”
She barked a short laugh. “So...essentially every piece of art, technology or furniture in the room.”
He shrugged. “If that’s what it takes. My entertainment center has a locking door, and we can move the remotes for the flat screen and Blu-ray player to the top of the mantel. I’ve already put the gun from my nightstand in the cabinet with the rifles, and the display case has been secured.”
Colton Christmas Protector Page 9