Something niggles at my brain. Something that happened overnight. Half asleep, half awake, I struggle to remember what it was. And then it hits me. Andrew!
The dream. The scent of gardenia. A voice in the dark. “I have him. He’s safe.”
I jump out of bed, yank off the pillows, frantically search the space on and around the bed. But he’s not here. My son is gone.
I pound the distance between my bedroom and his nursery, hoping against hope he’s there, that I woke up in the middle of the night and delivered him to his crib. But when I arrive only Nanny welcomes me.
She looks at me with an expectant air. “Milord?”
“Where is he? Where’s my son?”
“Why, her ladyship took him.”
“And you let her?” I scream at her.
A fearful expression rolls over her face. “Shouldn’t I have?”
She kidnapped him. Last night, while I slept. Dread claws at my gut, sickening me. Where could she have taken him? I bang a closed fist against the wall.
Think, you bloody fool. Think.
It’s after eight. And she took him in the middle of the night. They could be halfway across the Atlantic by now. I brush tremulous fingers across my brow.
We have round the clock protection. The guards should have stopped her. But would they?Return to Storm Redemption