Her Mistletoe Protector

Panic threatened to overwhelm her. What if the person in the front seat really wasn’t Joey? What if this was nothing more than a horrible trick? What if they planned to kill her and take the money, while keeping her son to sell him in the black market of human trafficking?

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she pushed open the car door. She grabbed the duffel bag of money and dragged it over the console so that it was right next to her, as she stepped out of the car.

“I want to see my son!” she said in a loud voice.

The driver, who had to be Morales, reached over and yanked the hood off her son’s head. Joey squinted and ducked his head, shying away from the light. He reminded her of a prisoner who’d been locked in a cell for days, unable to bear normal daylight.

Cold fury swamped her. It was all she could do not to rush over to grab Joey and yank him out of there. She narrowed her gaze and stared, waiting for direction.

Morales slowly and deliberately pushed open his door and stood. Her heart dropped to the soles of her feet when he leveled his gun directly at her son. “One wrong move, lady, and I’ll shoot to kill.”

“I have the money,” she blurted out. “You can have it. All I want is my son.”

“Hold on, now,” he said, sweeping his gaze around the area. She never flinched, trusting the men behind her to stay well hidden. “You’ll get your kid soon enough.”

“I’m not armed and I’m here alone, just like you asked,” she said, drawing his attention back to her. “Here’s the money. If you’ll just let Joey out of the car, we’ll make the swap.”

His expression turned ugly. “Listen here, lady, I’m the one who’s in charge. The kid doesn’t move until I say so.”

Her fingers clenched on the duffel bag as the seconds drew out to a full minute. He approached her with slow, deliberate steps, rounding the front of the Jeep. With every step closer, she grew more nervous. She came out from behind the safety of the driver’s door, lugging the duffel bag.

“Set it down, where I can see it,” he said in a low, guttural voice. So far, his movements had been slow and cautious, but the glint of excitement in his eyes betrayed his greed.

Ironically, that glimpse was enough to make her relax. She was certain he wasn’t going to do anything foolish if that meant risking the money. But she didn’t set the duffel bag down the way he told her to. “I will, but only if you let Joey open his car door.”

He glared at her for a minute before giving a little wave of the gun. “Open your door, kid, nice and easy.”

She tried not to divert her attention from the gunman, but she couldn’t help sneaking a sideways glance at Joey. He was still squinting, as if he couldn’t see very well but managed to open his passenger-side door. She could see his feet dangling outside the car, in the familiar basketball shoes she’d bought for him earlier in the school year. They were bright orange, his favorite color, and her eyes stung with the memory of how excited he’d been when he’d worn them for the first time.

The Jeep was high off the ground, and she wanted to call out a warning to Joey to be careful. But with the gunman so close, she didn’t dare. Instead, she opened the duffel bag, holding it awkwardly against her chest, to show him the cash inside.

The gleam in his eyes got brighter, and she was struck by the fact that this guy obviously wasn’t very smart. Nick was right—there had to be someone else acting as the brains of this operation. Morales was nothing more than a pawn. Right now, though, all she cared about was her son.

“Get out of the car, kid,” Morales shouted. When she glanced over at her son, the thug lunged forward in an attempt to grab the money, but Rachel was faster. She snatched the handles of the bag, whipped it around and threw it at Morales, hitting him directly in the chest. “Run, Joey!”

While Morales was grappling with the bag, trying to make sure he didn’t lose any of the cash, she leaped forward and grabbed her son. With a herculean effort, she hauled him up and ran toward the car, using her body to protect him as best she could. “Get inside,” she urged.

“Stop!” Morales shouted. The sound of gunfire erupted and she ducked behind the open driver’s door and threw herself over Joey, squashing him against the front seat.

“Stay down!” Nick shouted, coming around the corner of the barn, looking like a madman with straw sticking out of his hair and clinging to his clothes.

Morales turned and fired again. Panic-stricken, she glanced sideways and caught a glimpse of Nick hitting the ground. “Nick!” she screamed.