Christmas Justice. Robin Perini

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       Chapter Three

      The phone slipped from Laurel’s hand. Her father couldn’t be gone. “Daddy?” Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor. She looked up to Garrett. “Get my father back, please.”

      Garrett scooped up the phone and pocketed it. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

      He slid his arms beneath her and lifted her. Laurel grasped at him. Her mind had gone numb. She couldn’t feel a thing.

      With silent steps he carried her to the sofa and sat down on the smooth leather, anchoring her beside him. “Laurel.” He used a finger to force her to meet his gaze. “Stay with me, honey.”

      Her body shuddered, and she couldn’t stop the trembling. This couldn’t be happening. She wanted to bury herself in Garrett’s arms and just forget everything. Pretend the past few days hadn’t happened. But she couldn’t.

      Molly. Molly needed her.

      She fisted the material of her jeans, fighting to calm the quake that threatened to overtake her. She had to know. Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his. “My father? H-he’s dead, isn’t he?”

      Laurel hated the words coming out of her mouth. The last bit of childish hope, that her father would rescue her and Molly, disintegrated into a million tiny pieces.

      Garrett’s face resembled a stone statue. He gave nothing away from his expression. He didn’t have to say anything.

      A burning crept behind her eyes and she pressed the heels of her hands against them, trying to curtain the emotions. “God.”

      James McCallister had always been invincible. But after the past few months, when she and Ivy had been braced for the worst, for a few brief moments tonight Laurel had gotten her father back.

      Now she’d lost him again. Maybe for good this time.

      “So many bullets flying,” she said, her voice hushed. “How could he possibly survive?”

      He hugged her close. “James is smart. And resourceful. If anyone can survive out there, your father can. Right now, I’m more worried about you.”

      Garrett pulled a small leather case from his pocket and unzipped it before grabbing a small screwdriver. He pulled his cell from his pocket and opened the phone. Quickly, he popped the battery and a small chip from the device and tossed it onto the coffee table before tucking his kit back in his jacket.

      “You removed the GPS.” The truth hit her with the force of a fist to the chest. “If they’re tracing his calls, they know our location. That’s what I do for the CIA. Track locations from cell towers and satellites.”

      “Then you know we can’t stay here.” Garrett stood.

      Laurel swiped at the few tears that had escaped. “How long do we have?” She wasn’t stupid. She made her living analyzing data. A price came with being connected at all times. Cell phones, computers, tablets, internet—everyone left a trail. She rose from the couch, her body slightly chilled once she left the warmth of his. She shouldn’t get used to it. She knew better. “I’ll get Molly.”

      At her turn, Garrett touched her arm, stopping her. “I’ll see you through this.”

      Laurel paused. “I’ve driven clear across the country, and a phone call from Afghanistan is bringing whoever killed my family down on top of us...and you. How can it ever be all right? How can I ever keep Molly safe?”

      The question repeated over and over in her mind. She knew better than most people how easy it was to track virtually anyone down. Biting her lip, she hurried into the bedroom and wrapped the blankets around Molly. There was no telling where they’d end up.

      Molly squirmed a bit. “Aunt Laurel?” she whispered.

      “Go back to sleep, Molly Magoo.”

      “I had a bad, bad dream,” she said.

      “I’ve got you,” Laurel whispered. “I won’t let you go.” She hugged Molly tight, humming a few bars of “Hush, Little Baby.” Thankfully, Molly snuggled closer, yawned and settled back to sleep.

      Laurel exited the bedroom, hurrying to the garage door. It squeaked and she paused, praying Molly wouldn’t wake up.

      Her niece didn’t budge. The dim garage light shone down. Garrett shoved a few last boxes into the back of his SUV and opened the back door, a tender expression when he looked at the sleeping girl in Laurel’s arms pushing aside the intensity of just a moment ago. “You better do it. Better if she sleeps.”

      Laurel gently settled Molly onto the backseat, snapping the seat belt around her.

      Garrett closed the door, his movements almost too quiet to hear. “Watch her. I’m going to wipe the house down.”

      Laurel gave him a quick nod and he disappeared into the house. When he returned, he stuffed a microfiber cloth into his jacket pocket, hit the garage-door opener and slid into the SUV beside her. “Fingerprints would make it too easy for them,” he said. “You’re on file with the FBI because of your clearance, and so am I.”

      With a quick turn of the key in the truck, the engine purred to life. He quickly doused the automatic lights and pulled out slowly.

      After pressing the outside code, the garage door slid down. The house appeared vacant again.

      Laurel looked through the windshield, right, then left, then behind. Tension shivered between them.

      Garrett maneuvered onto the deserted street, still without headlights. Trouble had gone to sleep. He didn’t plan on anyone waking up as they left town.

      He didn’t need lights to see anyway. The church auxiliary had gone and wrapped every lamppost and streetlight with garland and twinkle lights, ribbon and tinsel. With each gust of wind the decorations clattered against metal, leaving his neck tense and his hair standing on end.

      He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. God, he hated Christmas. Hated the memories it evoked. But at least the bulbs lit their way through Trouble.

      “Where are we going?” Laurel asked, still alert and searching the surrounding landscape for anything out СКАЧАТЬ