Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(23)

When he saw what the man was pointing to, ice streaked to Reid’s marrow. A bullet was lodged in the ripped foam, where Pen’s head had been seconds earlier.





Chapter 7

“Yeah, I need to report a shooting...” the older man said, turning his attention to his phone.

“Reid...” Penelope carefully shook the sharp bits of glass from her sweatshirt and the top of her tennis shoes. “If this wasn’t a random drive-by, then...are you saying you think it was planned?” She raised wide eyes of distress to his. “That someone wanted to kill us?”

As a cop, he’d known the risks he faced on the job. But having someone he cared about put in the line of fire shook him hard. If they had, in fact, been targeted—and he would operate under that assumption until proven wrong—he had to take measures to protect Penelope.

He reached for her cheek, careful to dust aside the slivers of broken window clinging to her shoulder and in her hair. “Maybe. We have to consider it a possibility.” He held her gaze. “But I promise I will not let anyone hurt you. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

A detective made his fair share of enemies in the line of duty. Reid didn’t know of anyone who wanted him dead, but that meant little. God only knew who he’d pissed off, who might have recently gotten parole and might be coming for revenge.

And just because Andrew had been gone for more than a year didn’t mean his enemies knew about his death. This attack could even be tied to the odd circumstances surrounding Andrew’s death. If Andrew didn’t put those stolen drugs in their squad car, who did? And most important, who had replaced Andrew’s insulin with potassium? Someone had been setting Andrew up, maybe even setting Reid up to take the fall for killing his partner. This attack, he knew, could very well be related to Andrew’s death. Reid simply didn’t believe in coincidences.

As he opened his truck door and eased out, the tinkle of glass shards littering the street scraped his nerves. Even if he replaced the windows, had the interior professionally vacuumed and repaired, he’d likely be finding bits of safety glass in odd places for the rest of the truck’s life. Not that he couldn’t afford a new one, even a whole fleet of trucks. It just ticked him off to need a new truck because of some punk shooter. Even angrier that the dirtwad had endangered Pen.

Come after me if you must, scumbag, but if you hurt my family or friends, I’ll end you.

“So...you really think—” Pen drew a shuddering breath as she climbed from the front seat and slid to the ground on wobbly legs. He put an arm under hers to steady her, and she clung to it with a white-knuckle grip. “But who? Why on earth...?”

“I don’t know.” But a low, uneasy gnawing had started in Reid’s belly. The itch of something dark and dangerous tickled his spine. His premonitions weren’t often wrong. Could the shooter have been sent because they were found snooping in Hugh Barrington’s office?

“Reid? What?” Pen stepped in front of him, one hand fisting on his shirtfront. “You look like someone just walked on your grave.”

He tried to shake off the gut feeling about Barrington. “It’s...nothing. I—”

Barrington’s involvement in the attack seemed unlikely on the surface. First, it had been no more than two hours since they’d been at the Barrington estate. Sure, they’d detoured by the park for their talk, so there might have been time to call a hit man if the butler had reported their activity to Barrington the minute they left. Or could Stanley have called in the shooter, with or without Barrington’s knowledge?

No coincidences...

Reid’s jaw tightened, and his gut knotted as he tried to decipher the unlikely turn of events when Penelope gasped in terror. She grabbed both of Reid’s arms and rasped, “Nicholas!”

Reid blinked once as his brain shifted gears, following her line of thought, and a bolt of fear shot to his heart.

“If this was targeted at me...or related to Andrew, they...” She seemed to have trouble catching her breath. “They could go after Nicholas! I have to get him from the church. Now!” She wrenched herself out of his grip, her steps unsteady as she spun away.

“Pen, slow down. Don’t panic.” He scrubbed a hand down his cheek, thinking fast. “We can’t take my truck. The cops will need it for the crime scene. Where are your keys?”

“H-here.” She fumbled for a moment in her pocketbook before dumping the contents, including the jewelry box, on the street. She grabbed her keys and phone, shoved the necklace and her wallet back in the purse and started at a run for her driveway.

“Tell the cops we’ll be back. We have to get her kid!” he shouted to the elderly man who, at their abrupt departure, sent a startled look after them.

“I’ll drive!” he shouted, and she tossed him the keys over the hood of her Ford Explorer. Gunning the engine, he pealed out of her driveway and raced back toward the neighborhood entrance.

“Buckle up and hold on,” he told her as he punched the gas.

He’d lied to her neighbor. If someone was trying to kill Penelope, even just maybe, he would not be bringing her or her small son back to her house. Andrew’s family was now officially in protective custody, Reid Colton–style.

*

Penelope wouldn’t take an easy breath until Nicholas was in her arms. She squeezed the armrest of her Explorer as Reid whizzed down back streets, taking the shortest route to the church.