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 behind 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.
Lenny shot a confused glance at the tree. “Who’s there?”
Penelope searched deep in the branches and spied the orange kitten climbing from one limb to another, swatting dangling lights and glittery balls.
And in her next breath, Reid was there, surging out of the kitchen and wrapping an arm around Lenny’s neck.
*
Reid seized the split second of distraction to put the nearest gunman in a wrestler’s hold. With a sweep of his leg against his opponent’s, he brought the man down on the floor. Before he could aim the weapon he’d lifted from the now-unconscious man in the kitchen, the guy’s cohort countered Reid’s leg sweep. The man’s move dragged Reid off balance and flipped him to the floor, as well. The impact as he landed forced the air from his lungs, and the gun was jarred from his grip. He gasped for a breath, while scrambling to right himself, trying to disarm the thug.
“Reid!” Pen cried.
His opponent wrenched free, and as Reid climbed to his feet, the gunman grabbed Reid’s arm and thrust him against the wall. He felt the cool muzzle jam into one ear while the thug’s warm breath hissed in his other. “Well, looky what we have here. We’ve been waiting for you, Colton.”
*
As soon as Reid burst into the room, Penelope had surged to her feet. Only to be met by Greg’s gun in her face and his steely hand banding her upper arm.