Page 173 of Quarter to Midnight

She shook her head without lifting it. “No. He... Oh my God.”

He chanced a touch, gently stroking her hair, the same golden color as Molly’s. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she choked. Then shuddered out a breath and lifted her chin. And stared. “You’re... Are you... Are you the chef?”

He had to smile. “I am. Gabe Hebert. I’m... well, I’m working with Molly.”

She braved a smile back, but it was faint. “Nice to meet you, Gabe. I’m Chelsea.”

He stroked her hair once more. “Where’s Harper?”

She swallowed hard. “Behind the door.” She tried to stand but was apparently suffering the same rubbery legs that he had. He extended a hand and helped her to her feet, waiting as she opened the bedroom door and rushed inside. “Harper? Baby?”

There wasn’t a sound. Then Gabe heard it.

“Mommy?”

It was coming from the closet. Chelsea ran and flung the door open and once again, Gabe thought his heart would break. Harper had hidden herself under a pile of clothes. The clothes were shaking. Chelsea began pulling them off her until she revealed a small girl with golden curls, her eyes clenched shut, her little tearstained face scrunched up in fear.

She held a steak knife in her trembling hands.

“Honey,” Chelsea murmured. “It’s Mommy. Give me the knife.” She slowly reached for the utensil, and the child gave it up willingly.

She’d had the knife in her room, Gabe realized, and his breaking heart cracked wide open. She’d been assaulted before and was prepared to defend herself.

She was only eight years old.

Suddenly the rage geysered out of him and he stalked from the room, ready to kick the sick sonofabitch Tobin in the head. Bad enough that the child had been hurt by her own father, but to be terrorized by this asshole...

Molly wasn’t in the living room. But Tobin lay on his side, hands still restrained. His ankles had been bound as well and Molly had trussed him up with what looked like a phone charging cord.

“Molly?” Gabe called.

“With Lucien,” she called back.

Good. No one was around to see him kick Tobin’s brain in.

But then Molly rushed back into the room and his cell phone began to buzz. It was a number he didn’t recognize, so he let it go to voice mail.

“We need to go,” Molly said grimly. “Burke called 911 and the cops still aren’t here. Something’s wrong, and I don’t want to wait around for more of these goons to come for Chelsea and Harper.”

“What about Lucien?”

“He says he’ll be okay, and André is on his way.”

“But Lucien’s bleeding.”

Molly stopped in front of him, meeting his gaze squarely. “Lucien will last until André gets here and the medics come. He’s sitting up, he’s lucid, and he’s telling us to go. With all of these gunshots, someone else will have called 911 by now. The cops are coming, and I don’t know if they’ll be good guys or not. We need to go. Now. Once we get Chelsea and Harper to safety, I’ll come back for Lucien.”

Gabe pointed at Tobin. “What about him?”

“André will take care of him. Come on. There’s a fire escape in the back. I might need help getting Chelsea and Harper down it.” She rushed to the bedroom, ignoring Tobin like he didn’t exist, Shoe at her heels. “Chels, pack your meds. We’re getting out of here. Now.”

Gabe stopped, though, kneeling to whisper, “I would have killed you and not lost a wink of sleep.” Although he wasn’t so certain that was true. It was one thing to want to and quite another to have to live with having done so, as Molly could attest. He might have actually killed the guy downstairs, but adrenaline had the thought muted for the moment. He’d have to deal with that later. “Who are you working for?”

The man just grinned. “Enjoy the hours you have left, Hebert. There won’t be many.”

Gabe didn’t answer, but knew they had to do something in case Tobin escaped again. He dug Tobin’s cell phone from his pants pocket and held it up to the man’s face before he could close his eyes.

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