Page 161 of Protecting You
“Let’s stop pretending thatCalebis your fiancé, his daughter your future stepchild.”
“Irrelevant.” She didn’t temper her anger. “Peri is achild. She deserves protection. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
She’d ended the call, praying as she’d hurried to the library to leave her things. Praying she hadn’t pushed the man too far.
Maybe, deep down, she’d hoped Callan would realize what was happening and stop her.
How foolish. How selfish and cowardly.
But she’d played her part. She’d said what she wanted to say and hopefully, he’d read the words she hadn’t said.
That she loved him. That no matter what happened, she loved him.
And then she’d driven away, beating Ghazi’s deadline by two minutes.
As soon as she hit the main road, she sent the text she’d typed right after she’d hung up with the terrorist.
It’s on. If it doesn’t work, tell Callan I’m sorry.
Grant responded with two words.
Got you.
He was telling her the tracker was working. God willing, Grant and Callan would get her out of this mess. If nothing else, Alyssa would be with Peri. If she could give her life to protect the child’s, then that would suffice.
Or, if all she could do was offer the little girl comfort at the end, be with her until she joined her mother for eternity…
Please, Father. Please…
Alyssa shook off her fears.
Focus.
She drove a mile past the turn she was meant to take, rolled down her window, and tossed her phone into a gully. Then, she did a U-turn and drove back to where she’d been directed to turn.
The two-lane road was narrow and deserted, flanked by thick forest on either side. A few houses sat at the ends of long driveways, but nobody was out this afternoon.
The deeper she drove, the higher her anxiety spiked.
Four minutes later, she spotted a silver SUV parked ahead. A man stood beside it.
Benson.
He pointed to the spot in front of the SUV, and Alyssa parked the Mustang and got out, leaving the keys in the ignition for Callan.
He might not get his daughter back, but his car would be found.
What a ridiculous thought.
Benson approached, a gun pointed at her. “You’re alone?”
“Yes.”
He checked anyway, then nodded toward the SUV.
The passenger door opened, and Ghazi stepped out.
He looked just as he had a few days earlier, but his veneer had been scraped away. To her, he no longer resembled the polished British entrepreneur he’d pretended to be.
