Page 152 of Protecting You

“What are you doing? We have to?—”

“Callan.” She used her left hand to shift into Park. “Look at me.”

He did, and the torture in his expression had her own heart ripping in two.

She closed her eyes. “Father, we need You now. Be a shadow over Peri. Wherever she is, let her rest beneath Your divine wings. Direct Your angels to guard her. Be a hedge surrounding her, not just her body, but her heart, her mind, her spirit. Let no harm come to her. You are Peri’s refuge and fortress, even now. Even in this.” Emotion cracked her words. “Lord, You are our only hope. Use our gifts and talents, the information we’ve gathered, the expertise You’ve given us, to guide us to her. Let nothing, nothing prevent us from finding Peri. Shine a spotlight on her, and take us right there. You are able, Father. We trust…” She swallowed a rise of emotion. “We will trust in You. In Jesus’s name, amen.”

When she opened her eyes, Callan was bent beside her, still gripping her hand. “Amen.” He looked up, blinking back moisture.

“You need to focus. I know it’s unthinkable, but you need?—”

“I know. You’re right.” He took a breath, blew it out. And his face transformed from tortured father to something else. Something powerful and beautiful and terrifying. “Let’s go.”

She pulled around the circle drive. There were no waiting valets now, just cops, everywhere.

Dad jogged down the front steps toward them.

Callan opened the door, and she slammed the brakes to keep him from jumping out of the still-moving car.

He charged her father. “You promised me you’d protect her.”

Dad lifted his hands. “I sent them with Jock?—”

“Youwere supposed to protect her!” Callan’s shout was loud enough that golfers on the seventh hole probably heard.

Alyssa pocketed the keys and hurried around the car. “Callan, Dad’s not your enemy.”

By the pressed-together lips, he wasn’t convinced, but he stormed past her father and into the building.

She flashed Dad a look, expecting to see anger. But Dad surprised her.

He looked nearly as tortured as Callan.

She couldn’t process that as she followed Callan into the foyer.

Her mother was there, and her sisters. Grant and Summer.

Callan marched straight past them to…Robert?

The club manager’s eyes widened, and he stepped back.

Callan gripped him by the neck, shoved him across the floor and against the wall. “Where is she?”

“I don’t… I didn’t…” The man’s words were choked—literally. Callan lifted him so that his feet barely touched the floor. His face turned a deep shade of red.

“Son.” Dad’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “I trust Robert. Let him go.”

If Callan heard, he made no indication.

Alyssa started to move to Callan’s other side, to try to coax him down, but Grant gripped her arm and shook his head.

What was happening?

Had Callan lost his mind?

Had everyone?

“I won’t kill you,” Callan said. “But you’ll wish you were dead. You have three seconds to decide.”

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