“Hands!” the deputy repeated.
Her heart rate sped up.
“They don’t know what they just walked into,” Whit said. “It’ll be fine.” With a nod, he lowered himself to his knees, encouraging her to do the same. “Keep your hands where they can see them.”
She did as ordered, although every instinct cried out that she should cradle the baby. Lowering her gaze to the green lawn, Carly wondered how long she’d have to remain in this subservient position.
You’ll sit here until you tell us the truth.
Carly shoved the memory aside. This was different. She wasn’t being punished...well, not exactly.
“I...I’m sorry you got pulled into all this,” Whit said.
She glanced at him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I just...wanted...” He blinked his bloodshot eyes a few times and collapsed.
* * *
Harry Bremerton struggled to breathe through the pain of a throbbing head injury. The tight blindfold didn’t help. He reached for it.
“If you take off your blindfold, you’re dead.”
As if Harry and Susan weren’t already dead.
Harry couldn’t think that way, wouldn’t give up so easily. He needed to negotiate with their kidnappers, or at least buy some time.
“If this is about—”
“I didn’t give you permission to talk!” the kidnapper shouted.
Susan whimpered, and Harry pulled her close.
Was this a kidnapping for ransom? Who’d pay it? His mother and stepdad did okay but they weren’t nearly as wealthy as Harry, and Harry’s brother, Whit, was just a cop.
“Okay, you may speak,” the kidnapper said.
“Please, my daughter is sick,” Susan said. “She needs us.”
Their kidnapper didn’t respond.
“I have money,” Harry said.
Maniacal laughter echoed off the walls, sending a chill down Harry’s spine.
“Where is the child?” the kidnapper said.
Stunned, Harry didn’t answer. Why did they care about Mia? Were they going to use her to manipulate him? Control him?
Suddenly Susan was being pulled away. Harry held on to her.
“Stop, please, wait!” Harry shouted.
“Who has the child?”
“I assume Carly, our nanny.”
The kidnapper released Susan and she curled up against Harry’s chest, sobbing.
“What’s Carly’s last name?”
“Winslow.”
“Where does she live?”
Buy time.
“At our house.”
“Where would she go if she couldn’t be at your house?”
Harry had no idea. Between her nanny responsibilities and studying for her nursing exam, she didn’t have much of a social life.
Something jabbed his ribs, sending a sharp pain through his body.
“I don’t know. I really don’t,” he croaked.
Harry feared that was the wrong answer. It was the only one he had.
Was this it? The last moments of his life? Regret tore through him for many things, especially for the resentment he’d carried around for years.
Regret for not making peace with his brother.
The next few, torturous minutes seemed to stretch like hours. Harry held his wife tight.
Please, God, he prayed, because during the course of their marriage he’d grown to accept the concept of a higher power. He’d opened his heart to God.
A door clicked shut. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when he finally felt bold enough to peek out from beneath the blindfold.
He and Susan were alone.
* * *
Whit struggled to remain conscious. Pain seared down his arm as if someone held a branding iron against his skin.
Suddenly he was back in the dark alley lying in a pool of his own blood. Was this it? Was this how it was going to end, with Whit alone and bleeding out in a foul-smelling alley having done nothing substantial with his life? The thought made him fight back, fight harder than he thought possible.
“Brody, open your eyes,” a woman said.
A woman, not his partner, Tina. She’d never call him by his given name.
“He’s stable,” another female said.
Stable? More like unstable and disabled. For life.
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to release the child,” a man said.
“I’d rather not.”
Whit recognized her voice. He fought the urge to drift off to sleep.
“The child isn’t yours, and it’s not his,” the man said. “Which is why you need to relinquish her to the state.”
“Absolutely not.”
The edge to her voice sounded more than determined. It sounded threatening.
“If I have to arrest you, I will,” the man said.
Whit groaned and willed his eyes to open. Talk about a crowd. One guy, obviously a cop, stood at the foot of his bed, a woman Whit guessed was a doctor stood next to him, and on Whit’s left was a nurse in colorful scrubs. Then Whit slowly turned to his right.
There stood the woman he’d rescued from his brother’s house and she still clung to Whit’s niece. What was the woman’s name again? Carly, that’s right. The nanny.
Carly was glaring at the cop. “Brody Whittaker is the child’s uncle and he should decide what happens next with the baby. I’m not surrendering Mia to the foster care system when her uncle is right here and perfectly capable of taking custody.”
All eyes focused on Whit. He wanted to puff out his chest, sit up in bed, something. His arm still burned. He clenched his jaw against the pain, not wanting to wince and expose his weakness. Carly was right. The child shouldn’t be sent into temporary foster care, especially with a potential threat still out there.
The threat. Someone was after Whit’s niece and Whit had bashed the guy’s head with the shovel before he could shoot Carly. Whit would’ve shot him if the guy hadn’t taken his piece.
“Brody, I’m Dr. Monroe,” the woman with short red hair said. “You have a bullet wound, a head injury and a concussion. How is the pain on a scale from one to ten?”
“About a three,” he fudged. “What about the assailant?” he asked.
“He’s in custody. I’m Detective Harper with the Summit County Sheriff’s Office,” the cop, midforties, introduced himself.
“My weapon?”
“The hospital has secured it until you’re released.” Harper glanced at the others. “Can I get a few minutes alone with Detective Whittaker?”
Okay, so Harper must have checked with the Dallas PD to confirm Whit’s identity.
The nurse in colorful scrubs placed the call button beside Whit’s hand. “Use this if you need