Wild Stallion

by Delores Fossen

  More bullets slammed into the sofa. But not just there. A spray of shots went into the entryway where José was making his way toward them.

  “Stop!” Jackson told José. “The shooter must be able to see you.”

  Probably through a long-range scope on his rifle. And that meant, if the gunman could see José, he wouldn’t have any trouble homing in on Jackson and Bailey if they tried to dive through the entryway.

  But what choice did he have?

  They couldn’t just lie there and wait.

  “Where’s Steven?” Jackson called out.

  “On his way,” José relayed. “He was at the gate.”

  No doubt ushering out their guests. Hopefully, Steven was armed and was already trying to pinpoint the shooter so he could try to take him out. Or at least create a diversion. And that gave Jackson an idea.

  He could create his own diversion.

  “Everyone inside, get down,” he instructed. Jackson had to yell over the sounds of the gunfire. “José, crawl toward the window and lift the rifle so it can be seen. Stay down though. Don’t get anywhere near the window.”

  Because, if the shooter took the bait, it wouldn’t be long before the bullets went that way.

  “Get ready to move,” Jackson told Bailey, and he got her into a crouching position so she could scramble to the entryway, a move that would happen only if the diversion worked.

  The seconds crawled by, and with each one, Jackson had to fight to stay calm. Timing and a clear head were everything right now, and he had to focus solely on getting Bailey out of there.

  “I’m lifting the rifle now,” José called out.

  Jackson could no longer see the young man, or for that matter, the window where he had positioned himself. But he had immediate proof that José was there.

  The shooter shifted his aim, and the bullets blasted through the window.

  “Stay down!” Jackson reminded everyone. But as he was shouting out that order, he grabbed onto Bailey’s arm.

  They had one chance at this. Just one. Because once they were out in the open, the shooter would no doubt turn those bullets back on them.

  “Now!” Jackson shouted, making sure that Bailey heard him.

  He turned, placing himself behind her and began to shove her toward the entry.

  Bailey didn’t have time to think. She scrambled forward, with Jackson pushing her toward what she prayed would be safety. Somehow, they had to get out of this nightmare.

  In the back of her mind, she realized that Jackson was protecting her. He had taken the most dangerous position, placing himself behind her like a human shield. Bailey didn’t want him to take that kind of risk, but it was too late to reverse things. The only thing that counted now was speed, because the sooner they got inside, the safer they would both be. She hoped.

  Bailey prayed this wasn’t some full-scale attack. If so, Caden could be in danger.

  Each step seemed to take a lifetime. Probably because she had no breath and her entire body was a tangle of nerves and adrenaline. They were just a few feet away when the bullets shifted again. Away from the window, and back to Jackson and her.

  Several shots slammed into the jamb around the entryway and tore through the wood. Still, Jackson didn’t stop. He made a feral sound of outrage and rammed into her, shoving her through the entry.

  Bailey landed hard on the floor, knocking what little breath she had right out of her, but she still managed to latch onto Jackson and haul him inside with her.

  Jackson looped his arms around her and rolled to the side, away from the gaping entry. Some of the bullets ricocheted off the marble floor and careened into the walls and furnishings.

  “Everybody get out!” Jackson shouted, and his staff began to scramble.

  Jackson dragged her behind a large stone coffee table and pulled her back to the floor.

  “José, I need that rifle. And I need you to take Bailey to the panic room. When you get there, give Tracy the code word, ‘silver rose,’ and she’ll let you in.” Then he turned to Bailey.

  Somehow, she managed to shake her head. Bailey wasn’t objecting to the panic room order. She wanted to go there. She wanted to be as far away from those bullets as possible. But she wanted Jackson, José and anyone else in the house to go with her.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked Jackson.

  Every muscle in his body was rock-hard and primed for a fight. His face was misted with sweat despite the cold air gushing in through the broken glass.

  “I’m going after this SOB,” Jackson insisted.

  “No!” But she might as well have been talking to herself because Jackson motioned for José to switch places with him.

  They did, and the moment José had hold of her arm, Jackson signaled for them to get moving.

  “No!” Bailey repeated. “Think of Caden. He needs you.”

  “I am thinking of Caden.” Jackson took the rifle and checked to make sure it was loaded. “José, get her out of here.”

  Bailey wanted to argue. She wanted to convince Jackson not to do this, but another round of bullets sent José and her running for their lives. The shooter might not be able to see them inside the house, but with the bullets bouncing off all the marble and stone, it wasn’t safe to be anywhere near a window or exterior door.

  Of course, that meant Jackson was right in the line of fire.

  José had a death grip on her arm and sprinted with her toward the center of the house. She could still hear the gunfire. Heavy, thick blasts. Each of them potentially lethal. And she prayed Jackson would have backup soon.

  “This way,” José told her, and he led her into a library that was on the same floor as the sunroom.

  There were floor-to-ceiling shelves lined perfectly with books, but there was also a floor-to-ceiling window on the far center wall. José didn’t take her anywhere near that. He pressed a button beneath one of the shelves, and a small book-size monitor dropped down. Bailey immediately saw the nanny, Tracy Collier. She looked as terrified as Bailey was.

  “Mr. Malone says I’m to tell you ‘silver rose,’” José said to the woman.

  Tracy nodded and turned from the screen while she pressed in some numbers on a keypad behind her. A moment later, the shelf slid back to reveal a metal door. Bailey heard the locks disengage, and José opened it. Tracy was there, just on the other side, and the nanny was armed.

  “Stay here,” José insisted. “I’m going to see if I can help Mr. Malone.”

  Good. She wanted Jackson to have all the help he could get, but she had second and third thoughts about going into hiding while Jackson and José were taking all the risks.

  “Mr. Malone’s orders,” José reminded her, and he pushed her inside and shut the door.

  Bailey was ready to pound on the door, but then she looked around the room. Tracy and she weren’t alone. Two of the housekeepers were there as well, and they were standing against the far wall, apparently waiting for the nightmare to end.

  The room wasn’t that large compared to the rest of the house. Probably twenty by thirty feet. There was a sofa, several chairs, a fridge, desk and a storage cabinet.

  And then she saw Caden.

  He was sleeping on a thick quilt stretched out on the carpeted floor. Oh, mercy.

  Again, she was hit with all the feelings of motherhood. All the things she had missed in the past four months. Bailey didn’t know if this baby was hers, but she felt the love pour through her heart.

  “The sheriff just arrived,” Tracy whispered.

  Bailey tore her gaze from the baby to look at the monitor set into the wall. Actually, it was a series of monitors, six of them in all, and they showed various parts of the estate.

  “There,” Tracy said, pointing to the monitor that displayed the front gate. The sheriff’s vehicle was indeed there, along with two other cars, and they were making their way to the estate.

  “What about Jackson?” Bailey asked. She frantically searched the screens but didn’t see
him. She didn’t see the shooter either, and since the panic room was apparently soundproof, she couldn’t hear if there were shots still being fired.

  It seemed to take forever, but Bailey finally spotted him. Jackson was out of the now-shredded sunroom and was in the rose garden. He had the rifle and had taken cover behind a marble statue.

  “He shouldn’t be out there,” Bailey mumbled, and she put her fingers to her mouth to stop her lips from trembling.

  Here, she barely knew Jackson, but he had risked his life for her. He had saved her from those bullets. And now he was outside, continuing to risk his life so he could make sure Caden would stay safe.

  She glanced at Caden again and understood his need to protect that precious little baby. The gunman, whoever he was, had to be stopped. Killed, even. Bailey didn’t want a repeat attack.

  Volleying glances between the baby and the monitors, Bailey watched as Jackson leaned out from the statue. He took aim.

  And fired.

  The recoil snapped his shoulder back, but he quickly re-aimed and fired again before taking cover. For a moment she thought he was going to repeat the process all over again, but he stopped and looked in the opposite direction.

  Where the sheriff was approaching.

  Two deputies got out of their vehicles and fanned out over the garden. She saw Steven, the estate manager. He was armed, and he followed behind one of the deputies. Along with the sheriff, they all began to walk toward the west fence, partly concealed by clusters of trees and shrubs.

  The sheriff said something to Jackson and then motioned toward the estate. It was clear from Jackson’s expression that he was arguing, but he soon turned and began to race back into the house.

  Bailey’s heart dropped.

  My God. What was happening now? Had the gunman managed to get into the house?

  “No one can break in here,” Tracy reminded her. “There’s another panic room where most of the household staff went, and even they can’t get into this one without the password and then me punching in the code to the locks.”

  That made Bailey breathe a little easier, but Jackson was still out there, possibly under the same roof with a would-be killer.

  Tracy adjusted one of the monitors, switching to a camera inside the house. Jackson was running through the foyer and toward the library.

  Behind them, Caden made a sound, and Bailey saw his eyes open. It wasn’t a happy sound, either. He immediately started to cry.

  “Pick him up,” Tracy said to no one in particular. She hurried to the door, probably to wait for Jackson so she could let him in.

  Bailey glanced at the two housekeepers. They were still huddled in the corner with their arms wrapped around each other. One of them moved, as if to go to the baby, but Bailey got there first.

  Her heart was pounding out of her chest by the time she leaned down and picked up Caden from the quilt. He didn’t stop crying, and it actually got worse when he looked at her. No surprise there. She was a stranger to him, and he had just woken up in a strange room. He was scared.

  “Shhh,” Bailey whispered. She brought him closer to her, snuggling him against her chest, and she started to rock, hoping it would soothe him. It worked.

  The sobs turned to a whimper, and he stared at her as if trying to figure out who she was. Bailey was sure she was staring at him the same way. He felt like hers, but she couldn’t dismiss that serious emotions were playing into this.

  Tracy punched in the codes, and the door slid open. It was Jackson of course. His gaze fired all around the room until his attention landed on her.

  Part of her was so relieved to see him, to know that he was safe, but he put the rifle aside and immediately went to take Caden from her arms.

  Bailey thought her heart might have literally broken at that moment.

  Jackson didn’t ask why she was holding his baby, and he didn’t have to voice his disapproval. She saw it there, all over his face.

  “Where’s the gunman?” she managed to ask.

  Jackson kissed the top of Caden’s head and hugged him, maybe a little too tightly, because Caden protested.

  “I don’t know,” Jackson answered. He kept a firm hold on Caden while he checked the monitors.

  Bailey checked them, too, and saw the sheriff and the others converge near the west fence. She held her breath, waiting and praying.

  Jackson’s phone rang, and Tracy put aside her weapon so he could hand her the baby. Bailey didn’t have time to be hurt that he hadn’t offered Caden to her. That’s because she was on pins and needles waiting for an update.

  But Jackson didn’t say anything. He just listened to the caller.

  “Where?” Jackson asked. But it was more like a bark than a question.

  Sweet heaven, whatever he was hearing, it obviously wasn’t good news.

  “No,” Jackson said a moment later. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Jackson ended the call, snared her gaze and then took a deep breath. “The gunman wasn’t on the estate,” he told her. “He launched the attack from one of the trees just behind the fence. The sheriff just found what appears to be his vehicle, dozens of spent cartridges…and some other things.”

  Bailey took a step closer, almost afraid to hear the answer to the question she had to ask. “And the gunman?”

  Jackson shook his head. “He got away on foot. But the deputies are in pursuit.”

  Oh, God. Jackson didn’t have to spell out what that meant. There could be another attack. Maybe soon.

  “What should we do?” But Bailey was already considering the possibilities. This danger was linked to her. She was the one the gunman was after.

  “I should leave,” she said before Jackson could speak. “If I go, the gunman won’t come back to the estate.”

  Jackson went to her and slipped his arm around her waist. “You’re wrong. Yes, it appears the gunman was trying to kill us. But a rifle wasn’t the only thing he had with him. In the vehicle, he had an infant seat and baby supplies.”

  She shook her head, not understanding. “Why?”

  “Because he didn’t just come here to kill us, Bailey. He came here to kidnap Caden.”

  Chapter Eight

  Jackson sank down in the chair behind his desk and drained the shot of whiskey he’d just poured. He swore to himself.

  It was the first time he’d had a few minutes to himself since the attack in the sunroom, and even though he was well aware of how close Bailey and he had come to dying, the alone time allowed everything to sink in.

  He cursed again.

  Someone wanted him dead. And worse, that someone wanted his son.

  Who the hell was doing this? And better yet, why? If he knew the why, he would probably know the who.

  He glanced at the threatening letter again: “Jackson Malone, I won’t forgive and forget. Watch your back.”

  It was pretty generic for a threat. There were plenty of people he’d crossed while taking his company to the billion-dollar level. But why would someone he’d trampled over in the business world want to go after Caden?

  They wouldn’t, he decided.

  A person out for that kind of revenge would go after the company. Since the company was no longer Jackson’s top priority, it would be easier to try to worm into the investments and create some havoc. But there had been no such attempts on Malone Investments.

  So that brought him back to Bailey. Now, this is where the pieces fit.

  Someone, a woman, had taken Bailey’s newborn, and maybe this woman was afraid of being caught. Of course, that theory worked only if Caden was indeed Bailey’s missing son.

  Or if someone believed he was.

  Jackson glanced at his laptop, which showed split screens of the estate and grounds. There were people and law enforcement officers milling around both inside and out, most either working on the investigation or putting the new security measures in place. Jackson had hired new guards—as many as he could get on such short notice—and a new security sy
stem was being installed.

  On another monitor, he saw Bailey in the nursery with Tracy and Caden, who was taking his afternoon nap. Tracy was reading a paperback, but Bailey was sitting, staring at Caden. Keeping watch.

  While Jackson didn’t care much for the idea of Bailey spending time bonding with Caden, he welcomed the extra set of eyes and ears. Especially Bailey’s. If someone tried to get to Caden, she would die protecting the baby. He had no doubt about that, and right now he wanted to do any-and everything to protect his little boy.

  That included learning the truth.

  Jackson took out his phone and called Evan.

  “Are you okay?” Evan asked, the moment he answered.

  “No,” Jackson answered honestly. He was dealing with the adrenaline crash from hell, and he still wasn’t completely confident of his security measures.

  “I’ve been looking into places where you could take Caden,” Evan went on. “How about your ski lodge in Colorado? It’s at the top of the mountain, and it might be easier to control security.”

  Jackson had already considered it. He’d also considered his other properties. Or maybe his parents’ villa in France.

  “The problem is, that no matter where I go I have to set up security.” And not just any ordinary security. It had to be all-encompassing. “At least here at the estate, I already have people and equipment in place.”

  “Yes, but is it a good idea to stay here?” Evan pressed.

  “It will be, if we can get to the bottom of what’s happening.” Jackson looked at the security screens again and saw Bailey leaving the nursery. He watched as she stepped into the hall and headed toward his office. No doubt she wanted an update, and Jackson hoped he was about to get one.

  “What about the DNA test?” he asked Evan.

  “The lab found the samples and they’re running them now. We might have results by the end of the day.”

  Well, that was…progress at least.

  “I do have some information on the background checks I ran on the two women from the maternity hospital. Shannon Wright and Robin Russo. I just emailed you an interesting financial report on Shannon. And as for Robin, well, she’s actually in the waiting room right outside my office.”