Page 61 of My Secret Santa Clayton

My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my tone level. In the background, a sound caught my attention. A whimper, low and distressed. My breath hitched, my mind raced. Animal or human? It was hard to tell. But it sounded pained, scared.

“Who is this?” I demanded, my fingers curling into a fist. Fear clawed at me, but I shoved it down. Panic wouldn't help anyone now.

“We have your sister,” he said with a short laugh. “If you want her to live, you’ll come to us. Alone.”

“Grace, help!” The cry tore through the static—not an animal but Mariah. My hand clenched the phone so tight it hurt. Mariah was alive, but she and her baby were in deep trouble.

“Did you hurt her?” I demanded.

“Nah…but I’m pretty sure the poor girl’s in labor,” the man said. “Better come quick.”

I didn’t have a choice.

I had to get to her.

“Give me the address,” I said, my voice calm, my hand steady as I grabbed a legal pad from my bag.

He rattled off a string of numbers and a street name that sounded like it came from out in the mountains—somewhere in Whispering Pines Forest, I thought.

“Leave her alone,” I warned him. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Can't make any promises,” he sneered through the static.

Then he hung up.

I threw the phone down, its clatter loud in the sudden silence. I mapped the address on my laptop, barely glancing at the screen before shutting it with a snap.

Adrenaline flooded my body as I charged into the bedroom. Clothes flew as I grabbed whatever was necessary—jeans, boots, a jacket. Every second mattered.

Next, I headed straight for Clay's gun cabinet. My hands searched for the key that wasn't there. Locked. A growl escaped my throat as frustration bit at me. No time to search, no time for setbacks. I needed a weapon—any weapon.

My taser was still in my bag, its presence a small relief. I snatched it up and jammed it into the waistband of my pants, covering it with my shirt.

There was just one last thing I had to do before I left.

I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, my hand steady as I wrote.Clay,the note began, emotions flooding each word.If you get this in time, please hurry. The address is below.

I paused, willing myself to stay strong. He needed more than this.

We had something special, repairing what was broken. I love you.

I didn't allow myself a second to hesitate or to let the tears brim. I placed the note on the kitchen table, where he couldn't miss it.

Then, I turned and walked out the door.

The cold air bit at my cheeks as I stepped onto the porch. I hurried down the steps, my boots crunching in the snow. When I reached the truck, I yanked the door open and slid into the driver's seat.

“Thank God for new tires,” I mumbled, glancing at the dashboard before inserting the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, and I felt a surge of gratitude for our preparedness. I looked up at my reflection in the rearview mirror. “You can do this, Grace. Mariah needs you.”

With one final, lingering look at what I was leaving behind, I put the truck in drive. My foot eased off the brake, and the truck rolled forward, taking me away from the cabin. Snowflakes danced wildly beyond the windshield as I navigated down the mountain road, each turn taking me further from safety, closer to danger.

I had a sister to save.

Even if it killed me.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Clay

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