Colton Christmas Protector (The Coltons of Texas #12)(71)

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.