Page 46 of Her Redeemed Protector

“Juliet has been in California for the past week,” he responds. “She’s in rehab, and I’ve confirmed she’s securely confined within the facility.”

The gravity of a child’s peril overshadows everything. My earlier hesitation evaporates.

I leave the room and scramble to get dressed. The morning that had been a gentle stream is now a maelstrom pulling me into its current.

Back in the living room, the silence between Savannah and Fabian is a thick fog hanging heavily around us. I break it, taking command of the situation. “I’ll help you find Kayla.”

“Thank you, thank you,” he stammers. “I love Kayla. I’ll do anything to get her back.” The father cries.

“But I have terms,” I interject. “My team at Red Mark will be informed.”

“That’s acceptable, just… no police, please.”

I press on, the weight of authority clear in my tone. “If I decide police involvement is crucial, your secrecy ends. Understood?”

“Do whatever it takes,” he concedes, his façade crumbling to reveal a father’s raw fear.

The anxiety that haunts his features is mirrored in Savannah’s eyes, but she keeps silent.

I ask, “Where and when was the last time you saw her?” The question is firm, demanding detail.

Fabian’s voice is a ghost of its former self. “Our house, in Bozeman. Kayla woke up early this morning, all smiles and sleep-soft eyes.”

I catch a glimpse of Savannah closing her eyes, holding a breath.

The man continues, “I flipped pancakes, her favorite, asshe cuddled back under the covers, waiting for me to bring it over. But then, an urgent call yanked me away. By the time I returned to her, the room was empty. She wasn’t just out of sight. I felt it in my bones. She was gone.”

“Who was on the phone?” I probe deeper, hunting for a lead, a potential misstep.

“My financial adviser. He was pressing to offload more shares,” Fabian answers, a note of irritation threading through his worry.

“Is that usual?” I need to know the patterns, the breaks in routine.

He nods as he receives a pack of frozen peas from Savannah. He answers, pressing it against his nose. “Yes, it’s his way. He calls me at all hours, as per my instructions. It keeps me ahead in the game.”

I store each piece of the puzzle away, mindful that every second counts. There’s a child out there waiting to be found.

“Take me there. Now,” I demand, already mentally mapping the course of action.

17

SAVANNAH

As we follow Fabian’s car, I watch Huxley from the passenger seat, a coiled spring of focus, dissecting each word Fabian tosses over the line as their conversation continues. Motives for the kidnapping circulate between them. Grudges, retribution, leverage?

One detail from Fabian catches Huxley’s attention—a botched business deal in Monterey, a partnership gone sour. I see the vein in Hux’s neck bulge slightly, a sign I’ve come to recognize as his intrigue peaking.

“Do you really think it’s him?” Fabian’s voice breaks through the tension. “How could he do this to Kayla? He was my friend!”

“Until he wasn’t,” Huxley’s tone is matter-of-fact. “Where’s he now?”

“Still in Bozeman, last I heard.”

“Does he have the resources to move Kayla across state lines unnoticed? Maybe a private plane?”

“No. He’s wealthy, but not private-jet wealthy.”

“You need to call him.”

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