by Marci Bolden
Now the Bantams were sprawled across the living room of their new home as blood dried on the walls, the ceiling fan, and soaked into the gray shag carpet.
Not all the Bantams were accounted for, however.
“Where’s Logan?” Quinn asked. The six-year-old boy who cried every night because he missed his old room and his toys and his friends was not among the fatalities—his parents—in the living room.
“We haven’t found him,” Frank Strickland said. “They probably took him.”
Quinn didn’t blink, didn’t jolt, but he did hold his breath for a second. His coworker came to that conclusion with as much emotion as he’d order a cup of coffee. Quinn knew being hardened against violence was part of the job, but Frank’s lack of compassion was a red flag that Quinn tucked away in the back of his mind with the rest of the flags he’d been collecting over the last few weeks.
Keith Wilson, another member of Quinn’s team, exhaled loudly. “We’ll get a team looking for the boy. If he isn’t dead, he’ll be for sale soon.”
Just like his gut had told him the Bantams were in danger, Quinn’s gut told him Logan wasn’t about to be put on the Black Market. He always listened to his gut.
His old team leader had pounded into their heads that they listen to their instincts. She said they didn’t have to believe in karma or God or anything else, but they damned well better believe what their guts told them. Quinn did. He’d known something bad was going to happen. He’d tried to warn his supervisors. Nobody had listened.
Quinn hoped Logan had listened. He hoped the kid heard every word Quinn had told him when he’d pulled him aside and showed him where to hide if something went down.
Slipping away from the team he’d grown suspicious of, Quinn moved down the hallway of the contemporary ranch house to Logan’s bedroom. The room was decked out in a race car theme that the little boy had confided in Quinn that he hated. Looking around the room, Quinn’s heart started beating faster. The red racecar-shaped bed had been flipped over and the clothes from the closet had been tossed on the floor. Whoever had broken in had looked for the boy. They’d intended to kill him, too.
Quinn looked down the hallway, verifying he hadn’t been followed, before easing the bedroom door shut. Moving to the window, he slid the glass pane open and popped the screen. Poking his head out, he checked that the small grassy area was clear. A week ago, when his suspicions grew into real concern, he’d crept around the back of the house and loosened three boards in the wooden privacy fence. Removing those boards would leave a big enough hole that a grown man and a little boy could escape in a hurry.
Crossing the room in three long strides, Quinn aimed his flashlight toward the ceiling of the closet. He whispered the code phrase Logan had chosen: “Race cars suck.”
A moment later, Logan peered out from the top of the shelves. His eyes were wide and his lip trembled. Quinn pressed his finger to his lips to signal Logan to be quiet, and then he gestured for the boy to come out of hiding.
Logan climbed down the shelves and took Quinn’s hand, without a word. Quinn glanced through the window and confirmed the backyard was still empty. Thankfully, the agents were still focused on the bloody scene in the living room. He slid the glass open, popped the screen, and lifted Logan through the window. After Quinn set the boy outside, he climbed from the window too. Once safely on the grass outside in the yard, he pulled the window closed behind them and replaced the screen so they didn’t tip anyone off.
Quinn guided the boy through the loose boards and then followed him. In the alley, Quinn hefted Logan onto his back and hooked his arms around the kid’s thin legs. Logan clung to him, hugging tight, as Quinn ran off into the night.
Also by Marci Bolden
Stonehill Series:
The Road Leads Back
Friends Without Benefits
The Forgotten Path
Jessica’s Wish
This Old Cafe
Forever Yours
The Women of HEARTS Series:
Hidden Hearts
Burning Hearts
Stolen Hearts
Secret Hearts
Other Titles:
California Can Wait
Seducing Kate
A Life Without Water
About the Author
As a teen, Marci Bolden skipped over young adult books and jumped right into reading romance novels. She never left.
* * *
Marci lives in the Midwest with her husband, kiddos, and numerous rescue pets. If she had an ounce of willpower, Marci would embrace healthy living, but until cupcakes and wine are no longer available at the local market, she will appease her guilt by reading self-help books and promising to join a gym “soon.”
* * *
Visit her here:
www.marcibolden.com
