Her Mistletoe Protector

Her gaze went to the two black sedans parked at the curb. The men were trying to...force her brother into one?

She yanked her gaze from the scene to her clock. David. Where was the eight-year-old? His bus hadn’t come yet. It couldn’t have. Ashley was on her way to meet him, but had arrived a good ten minutes early.

Still, panic raced through her.

She wanted to throw the car into Park, rush from her seat and intercede. But there was no way she could overtake all of those men.

Her gaze zoomed in on the black metal at one of the men’s waistband. A gun. These men were armed.

Her heart stopped when she saw a tiny head bobbing in the crowd.

David. Her precious nephew, David. Her reason for waking up in the morning. Her reason for working at home as a web designer with flexible hours. Her heartbeat.

They had David. She covered her mouth as a guttural cry escaped.

How had they gotten David? He was supposed to be in school. Had Josh pulled him out early today?

Some of her logic returned, hitting her with the force of a lightning bolt. The police. She had to call the police. That was all there was to it.

She reached into her purse and fumbled with the cell phone, her hands trembling so badly she wasn’t sure she could dial.

She glanced up just in time to see one of the men point her way and yell something.

Two of the men pulled their guns and began running toward her car.

Toward her.

She threw the car in Reverse. She had to get away. If they caught her then there’d be no way she could help. She slammed her foot onto the accelerator. Her neck snapped back with the force, but she didn’t care. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.

That’s when she heard the first pop. Her heart sped. They were shooting at her. She ducked just as the windshield shattered.

She screamed but kept going. Reaching the street behind her, she pulled hard on the steering wheel, threw the car into Drive and squealed off. Another pop sounded behind her but didn’t reach her car.

She glanced in her rearview mirror. The men had stopped running. She’d lost them. For now.

She craned her neck, trying to see beyond the eerie, spiderweb-like lines etched into her windshield. She could hardly see the road. Finally, she reached the street leading away from the neighborhood.

Her mind raced a million miles a minute. What had just happened? What should she do now?

The police, she remembered. She needed to call the police.

Grief crushed her heart. David. Poor David. She needed to help him, to soothe him and wipe his tears. Since Josh’s wife had died, Ashley had filled in as a mother figure. Now her heart squeezed with a maternal grief.

No, the best thing she could do was to let the authorities know. There was no way her 120 pounds could take down all three of those men. Probably not even one of them.

Keeping one eye on the road, she grabbed the phone, which had fallen to the floor in her haste to escape. Her fingers trembled on the keypad. Before she could dial, the phone beeped with an incoming call.

She saw the number, and her heart raced—first with hope, then dread. Her brother?

She looked back at the road, swerving away from an oncoming car. Quickly, she answered. “Josh? What’s going on?”

“You can’t call the police, Ashley.” His words tumbled into each other, and panic laced his voice, making its pitch rise.

“Josh, I’m scared.”

“Ashley—”

Before he could finish, another voice came on the line. “We’ll find you and kill you, Ashley Wilson. You weren’t supposed to see that.”

The words sent cold fear through her. “Who is this? What do you want with my brother?”

“Stay out of it,” the man growled.

Even the sound of his voice conjured up images of evil, of a heartless man. “What about David? Can I just get David? Leave him out of this. Please. He’s just a child.”

Suddenly, the black sedan appeared in her rearview mirror—coming fast and closing the space between them too quickly. Memories of her accident began to crush her last shred of sanity. No, she couldn’t let her mind go there. Not now.

She swerved onto a side road, the phone slipping from her hand as she gripped the wheel. She didn’t have time to worry about it now. She accelerated. A glance behind her confirmed that the car turned down the same street. A man hung out the side window, a gun in hand.

She had to think, and quickly. She didn’t have much time.

Just then, the back glass shattered. She screamed, trying to maintain her control of the car. Wind—cold and sharp—whipped around her. Pellets of glass rained down from her hair. She couldn’t drive like this much longer. It wasn’t safe—for her or anyone around her.