Colton Christmas Protector

by Beth Cornelison

  Barrington’s eye was twitching harder, and he hesitated before saying carefully, “Fowler, let’s be honest...”

  “Please.” Fowler turned up a palm of invitation, although he was certain the “honesty” Barrington proffered in his next breath would be anything but.

  “We both know your father was a bit...eccentric.”

  Fowler arched an eyebrow. Eccentric wasn’t the half of it.

  “There were many times in our association that your father asked me to conduct our business in unorthodox ways.” Hugh paused and gave Fowler a you-know-what-I-mean smirk. “Because of who he was and the power he had in the business community, because of our history together and friendship—” here he pressed a hand over his heart as if to seem more sincere “—I often made exceptions for Eldridge that weren’t typical business or legal protocol. Not illegal, mind you,” he added quickly with a stilted chuckle, “but definitely not my standard practice.”

  Fowler calmly folded his hands in his lap. “Hugh, let me be honest. I think you are full of shit.”

  Barrington’s face fell, and he blinked rapidly as if trying to decide if he’d heard correctly.

  Fowler might have laughed if he weren’t seething inside at the lying sycophant’s betrayal. “You see, I believe you altered Eldridge’s will so that you were the main beneficiary.”

  Barrington sat taller in his chair, sputtering, “I... I did not!”

  “Furthermore, I know my father would not have trusted you, or any one person to keep the only copy of his will safe. He was far too savvy of a businessman and far too suspicious by nature to trust something as important as the dispersion of all his worldly goods to one copy of one document.”

  “But he did!”

  Fowler continued, his tone flat but deadly. “I will find the other copies of his will, his real will, and I will use them to not just contest the one you have, but to have you disbarred and prosecuted for fraud, malpractice, theft, malfeasance—whatever the hell my attorney can make stick.”

  * * *

  Penelope wished she had emergency lights on her Explorer so traffic would yield her the right-of-way. Frustration and impatience gnawed at her as she waited for a short string of cars in front of her to each wait for an opening in traffic at the most recent stop sign. She couldn’t remember having to stop so often when she’d ridden with Reid into town a few nights ago. Perhaps the GPS app was sending her the shortest route rather than the fastest. Or maybe in her haste she’d typed in the wrong address. Or maybe—

  As she approached the intersection, she noticed a gold SUV headed toward the crossroad. The SUV was traveling fast. Too fast for her to safely pull out. Damn it!

  The gold SUV whizzed into the intersection and skidded to a stop, blocking traffic in both directions.

  “Oh, for crying out loud!” Pen groused, plowing her hands into her hair, tempted to pull out handfuls from the root. “Move!”

  The SUV’s passenger door and both backseat doors opened, and two men climbed out. They were both large, with football-player builds and scowling expressions. And guns.

  When she saw the weapons, her breath whooshed from her lungs. No! Not again!

  “Nicholas!” she rasped as panic swelled in her chest. The two thugs marched toward her, weapons raised. She hit the button on her armrest that locked the doors, but locks were no defense against bullets. If they shot up her car, Nicholas would be unprotected.

  Get out of here! Hands shaking, she jammed the Explorer into Reverse and punched the accelerator. Only to come to a crunching halt as another car slammed her from behind. Trapping her.

  Get help! The impact had slung her phone from the seat onto the floor. Quickly, she fished it up and tried to dial 911. One of the men appeared at her window. The other had circled the fender to Nicholas’s side door.

  The thug outside her window held his gun trained on her head. “Get out!”

  She continued dialing, waiting for an emergency operator. Pleasepleaseplease!

  The thug rapped the gun on her window. “Drop the phone and get out! Now!”

  At the back door, thug two yanked on the handle, trying to get to her son.

  “911, what’s your emergency?”

  Before she could answer, a loud bang made her yelp. Her driver’s-side window shattered. Nicholas shrieked in terror. Shock and fear paralyzed her voice and brain for precious seconds. No, no, no!

  The gunman reached through the broken window, manually unlocked her door and flung it open. Seizing her elbow in a painful grip, he jerked at her arm. “I said, get the hell outta the car!”

  He pushed her to the back door, while another man climbed behind the steering wheel.

  “No!” she screamed, fighting the hold the other man had on her. Her only thought was of helping her baby, saving him. “Nicholas! Don’t hurt him!”

  The warm muzzle of her captor’s handgun touched her temple.

  “Shut up and move or I’ll waste ya right here.” The dark grating tone of his voice told her he’d harbor no regret over doing just that.

  He shoved her into her backseat next to Nicholas, then followed her in, while a third man piled in the front passenger seat. Her only chance of saving her son was to do as the man said and pray she stayed alive long enough to rescue Nicholas. Her kidnapper wrenched her phone from her grip and disconnected her link to 911. Dropping her phone on the floor, he crushed the screen with his heel.

  She was slung against the man to her left as the driver took a turn at top speed. The man in the front seat pulled out his own cell phone and pushed one button before putting the phone to his ear.

  “Yeah,” he grunted, “we got her and the kid. No. He wasn’t with ’em.”

  He, no doubt, meant Reid. Her heart twisted, both glad he wasn’t going to die like she figured she would, and also wishing fervently he were with her now. She’d feel a hell of a lot more optimistic about her predicament if Reid were here.

  Her thoughts were scattered snippets, jumping one direction then another. Her captors’ faces. Escape. Nicholas’s crying. Regrets. Planning. Panic.

  As the reality of her situation sharpened and shock loosened its grip on her brain, a rock of truth settled in the pit of her stomach. She was to blame for these men finding her and Nicholas. She’d turned on her phone, made calls, used her GPS. Reid had been right about her cell signal being monitored. The minute she’d put the battery back in her phone, these men had begun tracing her location, pinpointing where to intercept her.

  She pressed her lips to Nicholas’s hot forehead, a pulse of tension throbbing under her skull. She’d had to do something for her son. He still needed a doctor. That these terrible men had interfered with getting Nicholas medical help only fueled her fury and frustration.

  “My son is sick,” she said to the man beside her, her tone pleading. “He needs a doctor. Please let me take him to—”

  With a glare, the man growled, “Shut it.”

  The guy on the phone listened for a moment, then said, “We could use them as bait. Right. Yeah, he’ll want proof of life, but then we can pop ’em.”

  A chill shimmied through her, and her tears poured faster. Not for her own life, but for Nicholas’s. Her ears buzzed with adrenaline, but she sucked in a stuttering breath and tried to clear her head. She needed to listen to the one-sided conversation for any clue as to who these men were, where they were going. And she needed to send a signal to Reid, warning him of the danger he was in. She might die today because of her actions, but she’d do whatever she could to protect her son. And to save Reid’s life.

  * * *

  Eldridge glared at Reid and flapped a dismissive hand toward the waitress. “No. No ambulance. I’m not all right, but I don’t need an ambulance. Just a new lawyer, so I can sue that two-faced Hugh Barrington for all he’s worth!” The
old man flattened both hands on the table and drew a wheezing breath. “When I’m done with that rat bastard...”

  Reid returned to his seat but kept a close eye on his father. Eldridge’s color began to improve, though his jaw remained clenched tight, and his eyes flickered with animosity.

  Remembering the earlier comment about Eldridge’s health, Reid pressed, “Why did you say you’re dying? Are you ill?” He had to admit his father didn’t look so good, even before they’d broached the topic of his will or Hugh’s deception.

  Eldridge gave a low, gruff cough. “Hell, boy. We’re all dying. Some of us will just get there sooner than others. I’m seventy-five, have a former smoker’s lungs and the liver of a man who enjoyed quite a few whiskey sours back in the day.”

  Reid shook his head. “So then...”

  “I have cancer.”

  Heart jolting, he studied his father’s face looking for some sign the old man was pulling his leg. But Eldridge wouldn’t look at him, a sure indication he was serious. Slowly, reluctantly he asked, “What...kind? What’s your prognosis?”

  Eldridge was quiet for a long time, ignoring his food and squeezing the handle of his spoon until his knuckles blanched. Finally he mumbled, “Prostate.” He aimed a finger at Reid and warned him sharply. “Don’t you dare say anything about this to Whitney. She doesn’t need to know.”

  “She’s your wife! Of course she should kn—”

  “I said no. I don’t want her worrying about something she can’t do anything about. When I go home—if I go home—I’ll tell her myself, if and when I decide to.”

  Now Reid leaned forward and pointed a finger at his father. “When you go home. Not if. You’ve hidden out and left us worrying and questioning each other long enough, old man.”

  “Soon. I want to finish this round of radiation treatments first. That’s where I was this morning. Every Wednesday morning for the last three months. If I get a good report next week, I plan to come home by Christmas. I want a chance to say goodbye.”

  Reid grunted. “Don’t be defeatist. Prostate cancer is beatable. It has a high recovery rate if detected early enough.”

  Eldridge averted his gaze toward the window again. “Yeah, that’s the hearts and roses my doctors keep prattling on about. They keep telling me I’ll be fine, but...it’s cancer, damn it. I’ve known too many people who died from the big C to believe the doctors are doing anything but blowing sunshine up my ass, so I’ll pay for expensive treatments and more office visits.”

  “Listen here, old man,” Reid drilled a finger to the sticky tabletop and nailed his father with a no-nonsense glare. “You will do what the doctors tell you, and you will recover. You will adopt a better attitude and quit being a miserable old cuss about your diagnosis, because there are millions—no, billions—of people who are sicker, poorer, have harder lives than you and don’t bellyache half as much as you. And you will bring your sorry ass home ASAP. Got it?”

  Eldridge sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, giving Reid a stubborn frown. “Says who? You don’t get to tell me what I will and won’t do.”

  “Oh, really? After all the hell you’ve put your family through these past months, disappearing with no word and leading us to believe you were kidnapped or killed, I have every right.” He aimed a finger at Eldridge. “You owe us this much. You owe Whitney better than grieving for a man who’s not dead.” He paused a beat, gritting his teeth before adding, “And you owe your conniving lawyer a come-to-Jesus confrontation for the years of lies and theft and manipulation.”

  Eldridge inhaled slowly and, his gaze distant, took a bite of his stew. Reid would wager his father didn’t taste the stew, that he tasted nothing but the bitterness of his lawyer’s betrayal. Turbulent shadows chased across his face like the skittering black clouds of a fast-approaching storm. “That I do, son. That I do.”

  Chapter 18

  “Now, see here!” Hugh shot out of his seat and puffed out his barrel chest.

  “I don’t have all the proof I need now,” Fowler said, “but Reid assures me he’s building a case against you that—”

  “Reid? That washed-up cop can’t prove anything! I’m the one who will be filing charges against him for libel, and theft of property and—”

  “Reid says you tried to have him and Penelope killed. We are onto you, Barrington. All of your misdeeds and deception and crimes—”

  Hugh aimed a finger at Fowler. “You listen to me, Colton...”

  “No!” Fowler sat forward in his chair impatiently, tired of Barrington’s games. “You listen to me, Hugh—”

  Barrington’s phone interrupted with a jarring old-fashioned ring, but Fowler continued, “If you think our family is going to sit back and—”

  The older man had the gall to ignore Fowler and lift the receiver. “Barrington.”

  “We’re not finished!” Fowler fumed. “How dare you take—”

  Hugh turned his back to Fowler as he listened to the caller.

  Fowler leaned forward, prepared to knock the phone from the lawyer’s hand.

  “You’ve taken them both? Alive?”

  Fowler stilled, the lawyer’s words chilling him.

  “No. Leave them alive. He’ll take the bait and try to rescue them. When he does, finish them all. Yes, the kid, too. I have no time or interest in raising another brat.”

  Fowler straightened his spine. What the hell?

  “That’s what I’m paying you for. Handle it. And don’t call this line again. Ever.” Hugh slammed down the receiver and drew a fortifying breath. His back still to Fowler, he flexed and balled his hands in a jittery fashion before squaring his shoulders and facing his visitor with a smug look. “So what were you saying about your brother having evidence against me?”

  Fowler tightened his jaw, wary of Barrington’s mood change and suspicious phone call. He had an oily feeling in his gut that the lawyer wasn’t talking about leaving wild game alive or baiting traps for pests in his house. But the alternative meant...

  A new, quieter wave of rage and disgust rolled through Fowler, but he shoved it down as he slowly sank back in his chair. “Just what I said. Reid’s been investigating you. He’s building a case against you, and he’ll soon have enough evidence to put your ass in jail.”

  Hugh lifted his chin, the older man’s expression suddenly far too confident and gloating for Fowler’s liking.

  “I’d be very careful what I threatened,” Barrington said. “That call was a report from one of my men saying they’d captured Penelope and Nicholas.”

  Captured? Fowler’s pulse shot up at the term.

  “It’s only a matter time before they have Reid in their custody, as well.” He hiked up a corner of his mouth in a one-sided grin. “Because you know for damn sure he’s going to come after her. The sap. He probably believes he’s in love with her. I saw the way he’s looked at her through the years. His feelings were pretty obvious.”

  Fowler stilled and narrowed a wary glare on Hugh. “What do you mean...captured?”

  “I mean exactly that. They are in my men’s custody, and I will make sure they’re unable to use any of the information they stole against me.”

  Fowler scooted to the front edge of his chair and leaned toward the vile man. Even knowing the fraud and deception Hugh had been practicing against his family for years, Fowler was shocked at what he was hearing. This had to be a stunt. A ploy to throw Fowler off guard or—

  He blinked hard. “You’d kill them? You... You’re talking about your own daughter, your grandson. You can’t mean that you intend to let these men kill your own flesh and blood!”

  Hugh’s face grew dark, angry. “I mean exactly that,” he grated as he began restlessly pacing, “I’ve bowed and scraped to your father and his ilk for too long to let anyone take it from me. I cannot, will n
ot go to jail, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure of it.” He drew a ragged breath and added, “And for the record, she’s not my daughter. She’s just a concession I made years ago, because my bleeding-heart wife couldn’t have her own children. She wanted somebody to coddle, so we adopted Penelope when she was a baby.”

  Fowler couldn’t believe his ears. The man was heartless. Insane. “But she’s still family—”

  Hugh dismissed the connection with a haughty snort. “Like you, a high-and-mighty Colton, care anything about family. The name Colton is synonymous with backstabbing and looking out for number one.”

  Fowler took umbrage and stiffened his spine. “Maybe once. But things are changing. Even for me.”

  Hugh waved away Fowler’s claim like so much rubbish, and continued, “I don’t have any particular attachments to Penelope. We’ve never been close. In fact, our relationship has always been adversarial.” His breathing was fast, shallow, and he flicked a hand as he continued, “She and Reid started this when your snooping brother broke into my office with Penelope and stole valuable information from me.” He nodded, as if agreeing with his sick justifications. “They made themselves my enemy, and I have to protect my own interests.” Another smug grin curved his thin mouth. “I learned that watching your family.”

  A frisson of ice slithered down Fowler’s spine. This merciless, rattled version of the family lawyer was deeply disturbing. “Are you responsible for my father’s disappearance? Did you kill Eldridge, too?”

  Hugh sneered. “I wish I could take credit for that. But I have no idea where your father is.”

  As his disbelief morphed into righteous indignation and revulsion, Fowler was pricked with a sense of urgency. He needed to alert the police, to de-escalate the situation with Penelope and Reid. He slid his phone from his breast pocket and began thumbing the screen to enter his passcode. “You don’t really think you’ll get away with this? Contracting three murders on top of all the fraud and malpractice?”

  Hugh paced to his credenza and poured himself a large whiskey. “I’ve been getting away with it for years. I learned from the best how to cover my tracks.”