Fowler almost laughed. How was his current gloating covering his tracks? The voice recorder was taking down everything Hugh had said, but he needed more. Where were his men taking Penelope? Could he warn Reid before his half brother walked into a trap? He’d never much liked Reid or any of Whitney’s children, but that didn’t mean he wanted him murdered.
“Too bad Reid caught on. Now too many people know what you’ve done.”
“Which is why your brother has to die. I refuse to spend my remaining years in some stinking jail cell.” He took a long swallow of whiskey. “I only need a couple hours, and I’ll be gone. Maybe to Mexico. Definitely somewhere warm with no extradition to the US.” Hugh slammed down his drink and stalked back to open his desk drawer. “But I can’t allow anyone to talk about what they know. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep my secrets hidden.”
A prickle of alarm shot through Fowler a split second before Hugh pulled a revolver from his desk. And aimed it at Fowler.
Pure gut instinct took over. Fight or flight. Fowler chose fight.
He launched himself across Hugh’s desk, hands outstretched. He heard the click as Hugh tried to shoot, but the gun didn’t fire. An empty chamber or an unloaded weapon?
No time to find out. He grabbed at Hugh’s wrists, trying to shove his hands up.
“Mr. Barrington!” the secretary screeched from the office door.
“Call the cops!” Fowler barked. He blocked Hugh’s arm when he tried to angle the gun in his direction.
An earsplitting blast jarred Fowler. He froze for a split second. The chemical tang of gunpowder filled his nose. A numb ringing muted his hearing. And then he felt the pain.
* * *
Penelope sat with her back rigid, fear tensing all her muscles. She listened with her heart in her throat as the men discussed their next move.
“I say just take her into the woods and finish ’em both. Leave ’em for the animals to eat.” The man to her left, who had bad teeth and a tattoo of a fist on his neck, gave her an evil grin. “Crows gotta eat same as worms.”
Her stomach rolled at the morbid line she recognized from a Clint Eastwood movie she’d watched with Andrew. No doubt Tattoo Neck thought he was clever, quoting the line.
“Not yet. We still need Colton,” the man in the front seat countered. “Barrington said to use her as bait for Colton, then get rid of them both.”
A shiver chased up her spine hearing her father’s name, having this confirmation that her own father was behind the kidnapping and her impending murder. Rage and hurt seethed in her belly, a toxic brew that left her nauseated and heartsick.
“So then we’re going back to Lenny’s to wait?” the driver asked.
“Hell no! We can’t risk my neighbors hearing anything or seeing her,” Tattoo growled.
“So where do we go with her until we have Colton?” the driver asked.
“Back to Colton’s hideout.” The man with the buzz cut in the front passenger seat tapped the screen of his phone. To the driver, he said, “We picked up the first signal about two miles from here. At the lake.”
Penelope’s heart scampered, but she fought the panic. She had only a few minutes to make a plan. Her only advantage was knowledge of the house layout. How long would it be before Reid showed up? Could she signal him in some way, warn him?
Tattoo jabbed his gun toward Nicholas, who continued crying pitifully. “Shut that kid up, or I’ll pop him now!”
She recoiled, ice sluicing through her as she angled her body to shield her son. “He’s scared! And sick! We were headed to the doctor when you stopped us.”
Tattoo scowled, then jerked his head toward Nicholas. “What’s that on his neck?”
When Penelope cast a glance down at her baby, she spotted a blood-stained fluid dripping from his ear.
* * *
White-hot pain stole Fowler’s breath. The sonofabitch had shot him! Disbelief and horror rode shotgun to the burning ache that paralyzed him momentarily. When he was finally able to suck in a gurgling breath, he clutch at the hole in his side and lifted his palm to stare numbly at the red staining his hand.
Barrington took advantage of Fowler’s incapacitation, shoving at him to free his legs. And roll away.
Fowler fumbled to grab at Barrington’s pant leg as the lawyer untangled himself and staggered to his feet.
“Stop...him!” he rasped to the secretary, gaping at them from the door.
To which Hugh, waving his weapon, countered, “Out of my way, woman!”
Yelping, the secretary stumbled backward as Barrington plowed through the door.
Fowler struggled to his knees. The burning sensation arcing through his midsection was enough to make his head spin and nausea swirl in his gut.
Was this what it felt like to die? He thought of Tiffany and the life they might not get a chance to build together. But most, he thought of his failure today. He’d handled the situation with Barrington all wrong. He’d flown off the handle, letting his damn impatience and need for vengeance push a dangerous man into a corner. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t a cop like Reid or a trained secret agent like Jake McCord.
He could hear the frantic sobbing voice of Hugh’s secretary on the phone calling an ambulance and asking for police assistance.
Fowler closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He needed to get off the floor. With a groan of agony, he struggled to his knees. He might have blown this encounter, but he could warn Reid about Barrington’s hit men. With a hand slippery from blood, he fumbled his cell phone from the floor where it had fallen in the tussle and tapped the screen, leaving red fingerprints as he dialed.
Reid didn’t answer. Instead, the call went straight to voice mail. “Damn it, Reid!” he groused, then with a labored breath he blurted, “Barrington shot me...and...men have Penelope. Orders to...kill her! Hugh’s...running.”
Then his peripheral vision blurred, and his head felt thick and heavy. He saw a fuzzy image of Hugh’s secretary running toward him...and then the world went black.
* * *
Pen’s heart seized. She was too late. Nicholas’s eardrum had burst and was seeping the built-up effusion. She gave a whimper of dismay. “Please,” she begged, tears filling her eyes, “his eardrum ruptured. We have to get him to the doctor! He could have hearing loss or a worse infection if a doctor doesn’t—”
“Shut. Up!” Tattoo waved the gun in her face again. “His ear ain’t gonna be a problem once he’s dead!”
Bitter tears pooled in her eyes. “You’re foul. A monster!”
* * *
“So what are you going to do, now that you know the truth?” Eldridge asked, leveling a defeated stare at Reid.
“I won’t stay quiet, if that’s what you’re asking. Whitney deserves to know you are alive. I won’t be party to your deception. Hell, the whole family has suffered unnecessarily because of this stunt of yours.”
“But you can’t deny it worked to root out the traitor in my life. Barrington will pay for what he’s done!” Eldridge hammered the tabletop with a stiff fist. Then, his expression softening, he added, “And it’s proven to me the strength of the family bonds that I’d doubted.”
“So the ends justify the means to you?” Reid shook his head. “Our pain and stress and worry over the last six months mean nothing to you?”
Eldridge frowned. “I won’t keep apologizing for that.”
“You’ve apologized to me but you still have to ask your wife and the rest of the family for forgiveness.”
“Well, but...all’s well that ends—”
“Don’t!” Reid dug in his pocket for enough money to cover the food and a generous tip and slapped it on the table. “If all you’ve got left for me are trite expressions, then we’re done here. Come home or don’t. I don’t care. But Whitney
will know you’re alive and where you’re living. She deserves that. I’ll give you until Christmas Eve to call her or show up at the ranch for yourself. Then I’m telling her what I know.” He slid out of the booth and strode toward the exit.
“Reid!” his father called after him, but he didn’t stop. He’d heard enough. When he reached the sidewalk outside the greasy spoon, he paused long enough to check his messages on his cell phone. He had three. He frowned at the number. Having three messages wasn’t uncommon under ordinary circumstances, but only a couple of people had the number for this burner cell.
A tingle of alarm pinched the nape of his neck as he quickly went through all the prompts to replay his messages. The first was from Pen.
“Reid, it’s me. Nicholas has spiked a high fever and likely has an ear infection.” The panic in her voice heightened his concern. “He needs a doctor, and I couldn’t wait for you to return. I’m sorry, but my baby needs help. I’ve taken my Explorer and am headed to his pediatrician. Call my old cell when you get this message.”
“Damn it!” he groused, not just because Nicholas was sick, but because Pen had taken it upon herself to leave the safety of his lake house to get him medical attention. Then the rest of her message sank in, and he cursed again, louder and more profanely. Call her old cell? That was the number he didn’t recognize and had ignored while he was meeting with Eldridge. A number that Hugh Barrington knew. A number that was almost certainly being watched so Pen’s location could be tracked.
“Reid, wait.” Catching up to Reid, Eldridge shuffled out to the sidewalk.
“Save it, old man. I have an emergency,” he said in a rush even as the next message started. “Penelope’s compromised her location, and Barrington’s men will have a head start in finding her.”
He ran to the Range Rover with the phone pressed to his ear. He didn’t recognize the wheezing voice at first, but the words sent ice to his core. He stumbled to a stop, checked his phone for the list of calls received and spotted Fowler’s number. Fowler—who had agreed to approach Barrington in an attempt to extract a confession from Barrington. Fowler—his hotheaded, self-righteous half brother who had about as much tact as a warthog.
He replayed the message, his anxiety ratcheting up. Fowler had been shot. Barrington was on the run. And Hugh’s thugs had Penelope.
“Hell!” he bit out as he whipped out of the parking lot and raced to save the woman he loved.
* * *
Numb with shock, Zane tapped the disconnect icon on his phone and lifted a stunned gaze to Mirabella, who sat on the edge of their bed.
His wife’s face was drawn and pale. “What did he say? Zane?”
“Reid found Eldridge. He’s alive.”
She flashed a tremulous smile. “But that’s good, right? Why are you—?”
“There’s more.” Shaking himself from his daze, he told her everything Reid had said in the brief call as he shoved his feet in his boots and found his gun.
Barrington. Fowler. Penelope.
She pressed a hand to her mouth in dismay. “Good Lord, Zane. What if—”
He pressed a kiss to her mouth and turned to leave. “Stay here. You don’t need the stress on the baby. Call Alanna and get her to the hospital to find Fowler. I’m going to help T.C. catch Barrington before he leaves the country.”
* * *
During his years as a detective with the police department, Reid had faced numerous emergency situations. He’d been trained to detach his emotions and apply his training to every crisis. But he’d never had high personal stakes at risk during those events.
He did now. The very thought of Nicholas and Penelope in the hands of hired killers made his blood run cold. He had to fight the panic roiling inside him as he drove, scrambling mentally for his plan of action. All he knew was that Fowler claimed Hugh’s men had her. But where?
Pen’s message had said she was taking Nicholas to the doctor. Had she made it to the doctor? Had the men intercepted her at the lake house? Had...?
His heartbeat tripped. The lake house. The safe place he’d set up for emergencies...had security cameras throughout.
He pulled to the side of the road and, with hands shaking from adrenaline, dug out his cell phone and brought up the application that gave him access to the cameras at the lake house.
He opened the window for the black-and-white images of the camera feed and swiped from one view to the next. Nothing outside, nothing in the master bedroom, nothing in the garage...
His chest constricted and a four-letter word wheezed from his lungs when he opened the first living-room view. Pen sat on the couch holding Nicholas, while two—no, three men—stood around her in various positions in the room.
He tossed the phone aside and pulled back on the highway. Well, at least he knew where he was going. He placed a call to 911 and gave them the address of the lake house, describing the landmarks for the obscure dirt road that led to his property. Then disconnecting, he punched the gas pedal and raced toward his breached hideaway.
* * *
Penelope swayed as she sat on the edge of the couch, rocking Nicholas, whose forehead had grown clammy. She prayed that meant that, since his eardrum had apparently burst, maybe the fever had broken, as well. He still needed a doctor, but at least he seemed to be in less pain. Now he drooped listlessly in her arms, blinking groggily at the scary men.
“My son needs rest. If you won’t let me take him to the hospital, can I at least put him to bed?” she asked the driver, who seemed the most rational and whom she’d deciphered was named Greg. Tattoo was Lenny, and the guy with the buzz cut was Marcus. If by some miracle she survived this debacle, she wanted to remember the names to give the police.
Greg narrowed his eyes on her, considering. “All right.”
When his about-face and scoff made it clear Marcus disliked that decision, Greg added, “But after that, you come back out here where we can watch you.”
Pen’s gut flip-flopped. While she was relieved to be getting her son out of the main room, away from the most immediate danger should bullets start flying, she hated, hated, the idea of leaving him in the guest room alone. Lucky, who’d been shut in the guest room until she opened the door to carry Nicholas in, scampered out to the hall. “No, Lucky!” she whispered harshly to the escaping kitten, her heart sinking. “Come back!”
But with her hands full with her sick toddler and gunmen waiting in the living room, the kitten was not her priority. Heartsick over the hard choices the men were forcing her to make, she watched the kitten gambol down the hall toward the front room.
In the end, she made the tough call to comply, to tuck Nicholas into his bed with a tearful kiss, and pray that by cooperating with the gunmen, she could buy time for Reid or the police to rescue them.
When she returned to the living room, she swept her gaze around the floor and spotted Lucky quietly bapping a ribbon on a present under the Christmas tree. Rather than call attention to the kitten, she returned to the couch and sat stiffly on the edge of the cushion. Perched. Ready to jump up at a moment’s notice. Because if the opportunity presented itself to escape, to disarm one of the men, to do anything to improve her situation, she intended to take it.
* * *
Reid checked his phone one last time as he pulled onto the dirt drive leading to the lake house. He needed to know the positions of the men, of Penelope and Nicholas, before he charged in. He took stock of which men had weapons in hand—the one in the living room standing over Pen and the one who’d moved into the kitchen to raid his refrigerator—without assuming that the third guy, standing near the sliding door and looking out at the lake, didn’t have a weapon on him somewhere.
After getting the tire iron from the trunk, he abandoned the Range Rover and jogged the rest of the way, staying hidden in the tree line until he got close enough to dart b
ehind the garage. He didn’t want the gunmen to hear the motor and give away his approach. His plan depended on the element of surprise. On stealth.
Tire iron clutched in his hand, he crept along the back wall of the garage, then peered carefully around the corner. He could see the man in the kitchen through the glass inset of the mudroom door. Moving quickly in a crouch, he repositioned himself just outside that door, his back against the wall. Taking a deep breath and sending up a silent prayer for success, he eased the door open and sneaked inside. Waited for the gunman in the kitchen to turn his back to the door. And swung the tire iron onto the thug’s head.
The man dropped like a rock. One down, two to go.
Chapter 19
A loud thump sounded in the kitchen, rousing Pen from her mental strategizing.
Greg, who’d been staring out the plate-glass door to the back patio, whipped his head around and scowled darkly. “What was that?”
Lenny shrugged. “Marcus?” he called to the next room. “What’s going on in there?”
Marcus didn’t answer.
Pen’s pulse picked up, and she scooted farther to the edge of the couch.
Lenny swung his gun toward her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I—” she swallowed hard “—just wanted to check on my son in the guest room.” She spoke as loudly as she dared, not wanting to either wake Nicholas or tip off the men to what she hoped was true. But if Reid had found his way back to the house, in case he didn’t know what he was walking into, she wanted to signal him some way. Please, God.
Lenny shook his head. “Naw. Sit your ass back down.” Then quietly to Greg, “Watch her. I’m going to check the kitchen.”
After giving the lawn and outbuildings a more careful scrutiny, Greg moved away from the window and withdrew a small gun from his boot.
Pen hovered on the edge of the sofa. Waiting. Listening. Preparing.
In the tense silence, as Lenny sidled toward the kitchen, the boughs of the Christmas tree swayed and the metal ornaments and bell decorations tinkled quietly.
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