Page 53 of Clara's Secure Hideaway

She stilled, her brain latching onto her last thought.

Everyone she loved.

No, she didn’t love Heath. That wasn’t possible. She liked him a lot. Respected and appreciated him. She loved watching him with her children and knowing she could depend on him, loved the way he made her laugh and created lasting memories she’d cherish forever.

Did that mean she wasin lovewith him?

A beat of excitement pulsed through the terror encapsulating her body. Her feelings for Heath had come on so fast she’d barely had time to sort through them. No way could she figure them out now, but all she knew for sure was she was falling hard. She’d wade through her emotions once she could actually wrap her mind around anything other than her kids.

Her phone buzzed in her lap, and she jumped. Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and read the message from Elsie.

Hi Clara. Mila and I are thinking of you. Let us know if there’s anything we can do.

She appreciated all the support from her village, but each ring or buzz shot her heart through the roof. Disappointment shoved her back against the leather chair.

Another buzz vibrated her phone, but the number was unknown. Frowning, she opened the message and fear fisted her throat as she stared at photos of herself entering the sheriff’s station.

Another message had her heart pounding.

Your boyfriend has it all wrong. I still have the brats. If you want to see them alive, you’ll come outside now. I’m parked out front. Don’t do anything stupid. I’m watching you.

She leapt from her seat and dashed for the door then stopped. As much as she wanted to race outside to her kids, her brain screamed to slow down. To think. To not fall into some stupid trap Mitch had set. She glanced around the room.

No windows.

Mitch might have seen her entering the station but there was no way for him to see what she did next. Her entire being ached to call Heath but he had to keep his focus on the mission. Even if Mitch had Davey and Avery, other children’s lives were at risk. With shaking fingers, she dialed the station’s main line, knowing she’d reach the young man tasked with keeping her safe. At this hour, the sheriff was home and all on-duty deputies were searching for Mitch, while a handful of others assisted the FBI.

“Sheriff’s department,” the young deputy sitting at his desk said.

“Silas, it’s Clara. Don’t look this way.” She stared through the doorway to the bullpen, willing the young man to listen.

Silas stiffened at his desk but kept his gaze forward. “What’s going on?”

“I got a text from Mitch. He said he has the kids and wants me outside. He knows I’m here and says he’ll kill them if I don’t come out.” Her words were choppy, and her teeth chattered from fear.

“Stay put. I’ll handle this.” Silas stood and snatched his gun from the harness.

Clara walked to the door and watched, hating the all too familiar feeling of helplessness weighing her down.

Silas disappeared around the corner, and she watched the clock. If she’d made the wrong call, if Mitch hurt the kids because she didn’t comply, she’d never forgive herself.

Gunfire rang in her ears, and she fell to the floor. She slammed the door closed and crawled behind the chair she’d occupied. Indecision tore through her. Her mind ran over her options, but they were all so limited. The mace she’d stuffed in the pocket of her jeans when Heath left was no match against bullets.

She held her breath and prayed Silas would come back inside. She grabbed her phone but the door to the conference room banged open. Mitch stood in the doorway, a silver weapon aimed at her head and a smirk lifting one corner of his mouth.

“Stupid woman. I knew exactly what you’d do. Stand up and get your ass outside now before somebody else gets shot.”

20

Lights shone from the windows of the ranch style house. Heath kept his gun ready in his hand and stepped lightly across the lawn and up the ancient porch steps, his body attuned to every single sound. His mouth was dry, and he fought the urge to burst through the door, guns blazing.

Sadie and Owen surrounded the front door while the FBI agents rounded the back of the house. Tommy stood in the cover of the trees as backup.

Heath checked the rusty handle, but it wouldn’t budge. “Locked,” he mouthed.

Owen dipped his chin then lifted his pointer finger, adding a second then third, signaling time to move.

Heath raised his boot and kicked the worn wood near the old handle. The barrier shuddered under the pressure. He kicked again, sending it flying open. “Sheriff’s department!”

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