Bodyguard For Christmas. Carol J. Post

had a variety of preferences. Colton measured every woman against one. The comparisons weren’t intentional. They just happened, like a deeply ingrained habit. The thoughts were pointless, because he wasn’t even considering dating, regardless of his meddling brother’s efforts.

      The woman extended her hand. “Jasmine McNeal. I’m hoping to have this place move-in ready in another two weeks.” After a firm handshake, she turned back to the truck and reached for the paint bucket.

      Colton stepped forward. “Let us get those for you.”

      “I can handle them.”

      Yeah, she probably could. She was short, didn’t even reach his shoulders. Jeans and a sweatshirt hid her build, but judging from the way she was handling the paint bucket, she was probably well acquainted with the gym.

      But he wasn’t the type to watch a woman haul construction supplies, no matter how strong she seemed. While she lowered one bucket to the concrete driveway, he reached into the bed and pulled out the second one.

      Cade closed the tailgate. “Sorry to greet and run, but I’ve got an appointment.” He started down the driveway at a half jog, throwing the next words over his shoulder. “I’m borrowing your gate control. I’ll put it back in your car before I leave.”

      Colton followed his new neighbor into the house and placed the second bucket on the concrete floor next to hers. Everywhere he could see, carpet had been removed. The walls had numerous patches varying from fist-size to more than a foot in diameter.

      She followed his gaze. “Pretty bad, huh? The old owners were carrying the mortgage, and when they had to foreclose, the new people got ticked and totally trashed the place. I’m making progress, though. Someone’s bringing in a hopper tomorrow and texturing the walls. Then I’ll be ready to paint.”

      She leaned against the doorjamb between the living and dining rooms. “So, are you visiting Cade?”

      “The other way around. Cade was house-sitting for me while I’ve been gone. He’s pretty well moved out now.”

      Over the past week, while Cade had worked on gathering his possessions, Colton had done some clearing out of his own, a task that had hung over him for the past half a year. The first four weeks, he hadn’t been able to even think about it. He still wasn’t ready, but it was time.

      So three boxes occupied his back seat, with several more packed into the rear. He’d planned to drop the clothing by a thrift store and put the jewelry in the safety deposit box at his own bank. He hadn’t made it to either place before having to get Cade back home. He’d have to run back out this afternoon.

      She walked with him to the door. “Thanks for toting the paint.”

      “No problem.” When he stepped outside, a single beam of late November sunshine had found its way through the clouds blanketing the sky. Across the street, Cade was backing his Corvette through the wrought iron gate at the end of Colton’s driveway. What stood a short distance beyond wasn’t the most extravagant residence in the neighborhood, but the yard was neatly manicured and the three-bedroom, two-bath home exuded warmth and elegance. Not bad for a former foster kid.

      The gate rolled closed, and Cade stopped next to Colton’s Highlander to return the control. Although the community was gated, the wrought iron fence that circled his property added an extra layer of protection. So did the rottweiler who regularly circled the half-acre grounds surrounding his home.

      Except Brutus wasn’t waiting at the fence. A vague sense of unease wove through him as he scanned the yard. In his job as an assistant district attorney, he’d made some enemies and received several threats. Most he hadn’t taken seriously. A few he had.

      He wished his new neighbor farewell and hurried to his vehicle. At a push of a button, the gate rolled open. Still no dog. The uneasiness intensified.

      Colton slid from the Highlander and hurried toward the house. Nothing looked amiss in front.

      But where was his dog?

      He climbed the porch steps, heart pounding. His three-year-old son and babysitter were inside. He fumbled as he tried to insert the key into the lock. When he finally swung open the door, fear morphed to panic. At the opposite end of the foyer, every drawer in the Bombay chest was open, the contents strewn across the top and overflowing onto the tile floor. On either side, the living room and den were in the same condition.

      “Liam!” He ran into the family room. “Meagan!” Where were they?

       Dear God, let them be okay.

      He headed toward the hall. At half past one, Meagan would have already put Liam down for his nap.

      Movement snapped his gaze toward the dining room. As Colton ran into the room, a figure disappeared through the back door, little legs bouncing on either side of his waist. Colton’s knees went weak, almost buckling under him.

      Someone was taking his son.

      He tore into the room, shattered glass on the floor barely registering before he burst through the back door. Two figures ran toward the rear fence, knit ski masks covering their heads. At his shout, the man carrying Liam turned, then dropped his burden.

      Liam hit the ground and landed in a heap, legs curled under him, face turned to the side. A vise clamped down on Colton’s chest. Liam wasn’t moving. Oh, God, please...

      No, if the men had harmed him, they wouldn’t be trying to kidnap him.

      When he dropped to his knees next to his son, his breath whooshed out. Liam was breathing. His eyes were squeezed shut, and soft whimpers slipped through his parted lips. Colton scooped him up, and little arms went around his neck with a strength that surprised him.

      Rapid footsteps approached, and Colton swiveled his head. “Meag—”

      But it wasn’t Meagan who’d stopped a short distance away, face etched with concern. It was his new neighbor. What was she doing there?

      He rose, clutching Liam to his chest. “I have to find my babysitter.”

      Jasmine shifted her attention to the back of his property, and he followed her gaze. A man dropped from one of the lower limbs of his oak tree to disappear behind the wall. A second shimmied out to follow his accomplice.

      Colton squeezed his son more tightly. He’d get a tree trimmer out pronto. That same branch had probably given them a way into the property.

      As he turned, a dark shape snagged his gaze. It lay several yards from the oak’s trunk, partially obscured by the shrubbery lining the back wall. Brutus. He pressed his lips together. As soon as he found Meagan, he’d check on his dog.

      When he looked at Jasmine again, she was already punching numbers into her phone. “I’m calling 911.”

      “Thanks.” He’d let her handle it. He ran back to the house. Next to the door, jagged glass surrounded a large hole in the dining room window. He’d check out the security footage later. Or the cops would. He had a camera in back and one in front.

      Once inside, he ran room to room, still holding his son while he shouted Meagan’s name. An image rose in his mind—features twisted, hatred shining from eyes so dark they were almost black. One defendant whose threats had sent a chill all the way to his core.

      Colton had gotten the man a life sentence. Death would have been better. Drug dealer, gang leader and ruthless killer—men like that didn’t rehabilitate. Before being led from the courtroom in shackles, he’d turned to Colton and made his threat, cold fury flowing beneath the surface. You didn’t get a death sentence for me, but you just secured your own.

      Maybe Perez had sent someone for him, and taking Liam was his way of drawing Colton out. Or maybe it was someone else, determined to exact the worst kind of vengeance.

      When he started down the hall, a cell phone lay on the floor. Meagan’s phone. His chest clenched. Eighteen years old, her whole life ahead of her.