Christy Barritt - High-Stakes Holiday Reunion

What she wouldn’t give to be able to protect him now. Her heart squeezed with pain.

Minutes ticked by. Just what was going on outside? Had the shooters given up? That just didn’t seem likely. But why else would they leave? Or had they?

She hugged her knees tighter.

Lord, help us. Help David and Josh.

“I’m going to go down and check things out.” Christopher’s voice pulled her from her heavy thoughts.

New alarm spread through her. She straightened, forcing herself not to grab him. “But what if they’re still there?”

His jaw flexed. “I haven’t heard a sound in a half hour.”

“But—”

“I’ll be careful, Ashley. I’ve been in hostile situations before. I can handle myself.”

She stared at him a moment, knowing that his mind was equally as strong and tough as his well-defined muscles and quick reflexes. She had to trust him. What other choice did she have? Finally, she nodded.

She wanted to blurt out everything on her mind before he walked to his possible death.

Just in case you never come back, I thought you should know that I found out a month after we broke up that I was pregnant with your child. My brother adopted the baby, and his name is David. I’ve been wanting to tell you for years...

She sucked on her bottom lip.

It’s your son who was snatched today.

How exactly did someone tell her ex-fiancé that?

How did she tell him that back when they’d been young and foolish, that one night of passion had turned into a baby? The sweetest little baby that Ashley had ever laid eyes on. Giving him up for adoption had been the most gut-wrenching thing she’d ever done. But she couldn’t provide for a baby. Not only had she been in college and without a job or the ability to get a job that paid more than minimum wage, but then there was the car accident that happened when David was only two months old. Ashley had spent six months in the hospital, and she’d had months of physical therapy after that. Her brother and his wife had been so desperate for a child and she’d been unable to take care of little David. They’d adopted him before his first birthday.

That’s why she knew Christopher was the only person who could help her right now. This was his son.

Everything that she’d tried so carefully to control was slipping away. She couldn’t protect David. She couldn’t keep Christopher at a distance. She would have to face her fears and eventually tell Christopher the truth. The walls she’d so carefully constructed were coming down fast.

She sucked in a long, deep breath. Silence surrounded her again. Was Christopher okay? She’d heard nothing since he left.

At least nothing meant no gunfire, either. Right?

How long did she wait before checking on him? She glanced at her watch. Ten more minutes. That was as long as she could possibly stand it. What if he was bleeding and hurt? What if he needed her help? She’d sent him into a battle that wasn’t his to fight.

She let her head fall back against the cold tile wall. All was quiet. Suspiciously quiet. The silence was driving her mad.

She stood and began pacing the small space. Maybe she could go to the window and peer out. She could be quick and quiet.

It beat sitting here and doing nothing.

Before she could second-guess herself, she twisted the doorknob. Slowly, she pushed the door open. Her gaze roamed the space there. Everything looked the same. No figures lurked in the shadows...she didn’t think, at least.

She took her first step out, every cell of her body alert and ready to pounce into action. Slowly, she tiptoed across the floor to the window, not relaxing for even a second. Would someone jump out at her? Were they lying in wait?

She ducked low under the window and carefully raised her head to peer out. She flinched when she saw all of the windows in Christopher’s house had been shattered. Christmas wreathes that had once graced the glass panes now lay like corpses on the deck and in the flower beds.

She watched for a sign of movement, but saw nothing. Where was Christopher? What was taking him so long?

She crawled across the floor to the closet. Was there anything left in here she could use as a weapon? She spotted a vacuum, some old coats and a wooden bar full of clothes hangers that stretched across the top. It would have to do. She stood and wedged the bar from its holders. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

Doubt filled her as she crept toward the door. She shouldn’t do this. But she had to. If they were going to shoot her, they would shoot her. But if they were gone and Christopher needed help, then she had to get downstairs.

Stark fear gripped her as she opened the door. She listened. Nothing except the wind blowing some stray leaves across the ground. Her heart leaped into her throat when she saw blood across the wooden landing at her feet.

Blood? Whose blood? What had happened? She followed the trail all the way to the bottom. Someone had been shot up here and then dragged back down. Terror rose in her.

She couldn’t turn back now. If she let fear dictate what she did, she might be in the bathroom for days, afraid to leave. But each step down the stairs felt like a step closer to her death.

Be strong, Ashley. You can do this. She’d never been a quitter. Not even when she gave David up for adoption. No, she’d simply been giving him the opportunity for a better life—a life that she could still be a part of.

But if she hadn’t given him up for adoption, would he be in this situation now? Regret squeezed her heart again. She couldn’t think like that. Not now.

She continued her descent. Everything remained silent. She gripped the wooden rod like a baseball bat, wishing it would protect her from bullets.

At the bottom of the stairs, she saw that the blood trail ended at the edge of the deck. Whoever had been shot had been dragged onto the grass. Into the woods? She couldn’t be sure.

She swung her head back up, soaking in her surroundings. She had to pay attention. Her life depended on it.

The back door of Christopher’s house was wide open. She paused at the corner of the garage and slowly peered around. Nothing. No one. As quickly as possible, she darted across the deck. She stopped at the doorway.

With baited breath, she raked her gaze across the inside. Lots of broken glass. A splintered coffee table. The Christmas tree lay wounded on its side.

But no one was in sight. Not even Christopher.

Certainly he hadn’t abandoned her. Not again.

She shook her head. No, he wouldn’t do that. Not in this situation.

Still, doubt trickled down her spine. Trust was such a fragile, fickle thing at times.

She stepped inside. Glass crunched at her feet. She froze, waiting for the telltale sound that someone had heard her.

Nothing.

Slowly, carefully, she crept forward. She kept her back to the wall. Her breathing sounded so heavy in her own ears that she wondered if she’d even hear someone sneak up on her.

When she heard a noise upstairs, she knew she would.

Someone was in the house. Had that person killed Christopher, dragged his body into the woods and gone back upstairs to check for her?

Just then, the stairs creaked. Someone was coming down. Coming toward her.

She glanced around, desperate for a place to hide. Instead, she pressed herself into the wall.

When the intruder got to the bottom of the steps, she would swing the stick and hit him.

And she’d pray that her hit would knock him out.

But before she had a chance to swing, a gun cocked behind her, and the fear that was becoming all too familiar froze her blood—again.

FOUR

Christopher approached the intruder from behind, veering off the main staircase at the last minute and taking a second set of stairs on the other end of the house. There was still one person in the house. Just one, best he could tell.