Page 60 of Capturing You
Forbes stayed hidden, even then. Too terrorized to emerge from his hiding place.
It wasn’t until Grandmother came to the house the following day that he dared leave the little cubby hole in the family room. She’d coaxed him out, and then she’d taken him away.
Grandmother had protected him. The old woman was far braver than Forbes had ever been.
What had the killers been searching for? And where had Dad hidden it?
A flash of light had him turning toward the window.
Thunder cracked.
Though it was only eight o’clock, it looked dark enough to be midnight.
Another crack of lightning, and the power went out.
What in the world?
He stood in the center of the office and waited, sure it would come right back on. But it didn’t, and thanks to the thick cloud cover, it was even darker inside than out.
Had everyone in town lost power, or just him?
Had someone cut his electrical line?
He didn’t move. Just listened to the wind howl, the thunder rumble. No sounds of breaking glass or doors opening. No voices. No intruders.
His state-of-the-art alarm system was engaged. If anyone tried to get in, thanks to a backup battery, it would sound despite the lack of power. They should be safe.
Where was Brooklynn?
They’d eaten dinner—she’d broiled steaks, which had been delicious. He thought she’d gone back upstairs to resume cleaning.
Forbes pulled his handgun from a drawer in Dad’s desk, ensured the safety was engaged, and shoved it into his waistband, just in case. He owned a holster for it, but he didn’t think he was actually walking into a gunfight. Besides, the holster made him feel like some Old West train robber.
He moved into the long hallway, using his phone’s flashlight to keep from crashing into walls, and went up the hidden spiral staircase to the second floor.
He peeked into the family room. “Brooklynn?”
No answer. It was warmer in there, but that wouldn’t last without electricity. He closed the door to keep the heat in.
He headed away from his family’s bedrooms toward the north wing, where he’d told her she could clean. Nobody in his family had used those rooms. He raised his voice. “Brooklynn?”
“In here!” Her voice was faint over the storm.
He moved faster, but there were a dozen rooms on this end of the hall. “Where exactly?”
“Polo!” she called.
Like they were playing a game.
Silly woman.
He was thankful she couldn’t see the smile creeping across his face. He schooled it, just in case, but decided to play along. “Marco!”
“Polo.” She sounded closer.
He continued more slowly. “Marco?”
“Polo?” She replied with the same questioning tone, the sound coming from an unused sitting room. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, scanning with his phone’s flashlight. She’d turned on the heat, making it warmer than the chilly hallway.
