Her Stolen Son. Rita Herron

instincts that he didn’t even know he possessed.

      “Petey,” he murmured. “You’re not going back to the manor right now. Mr. Derrick and Ms. Brianna want you to spend the night with them and baby Ryan.”

      Petey hiccupped on another sob but didn’t respond.

      Colt carried him out to Derrick’s car, and Petey slumped into the seat, eyes red and swollen. He glared up at Colt as if he hated him.

      “I know you’re mad at me.” Guilt stabbed Colt at Petey’s accusatory look. “But you asked me to get your mommy out of jail, and I’m going to do that, Petey. I promise.” He leaned forward. “But I need your help. Your job is to be nice to Ms. Brianna and Ryan. Then Ryan’s daddy can help me clear your mom.”

      Petey’s lower lip trembled. “If my daddy was here, he wouldn’t have let them take mommy or me away.”

      Colt gritted his teeth. That might be true. But his dad was gone.

      And right now, he was all Petey and Serena had.

      Colt reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small shiny whistle. He’d never forgotten the day his father had given it to him. It was the day a police officer had come to school to talk to the children about strangers.

      He handed it to Petey. “My father gave this to me when I was about your age. He told me to blow it if I ever needed help. I want you to take it. But remember, only use it if you need it.”

      Petey’s hand trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the whistle.

      Then Colt watched Derrick drive away, Petey’s face haunting him.

      COLT SPENT THE EVENING canvassing the homes near Rice’s, but no one seemed to know anything. According to an elderly woman two units down, the man had moved in a month before and kept to himself. Others claimed they’d only seen him coming and going. None had really talked to him.

      And no one had heard anything the night before. No cars. No arguments. No screams.

      On a positive note, not one of them had seen Serena Stover or her minivan anywhere near the man’s house.

      So what the hell had happened to Rice?

      And who was framing Serena?

      A dozen more questions bombarded him as he wolfed down a pizza. He spent a couple of hours online himself researching Rice, but found very little about the man in cyberspace.

      Which raised more questions. An entrepreneur involved in several small businesses should have more of a presence on the internet.

      He typed in the link to Serena’s business and accessed her records, then phoned two of her clients. Both gave her raving character descriptions, claiming she was nice, professional and adored her son. All seemed shocked at her arrest.

      He tried a different tactic for Rice, searching for more on his background, and was still digging around for information at 2:00 a.m. when the phone trilled.

      Colt frowned and grabbed the handset.

      “Colt, it’s Derrick.” His voice sounded choppy, strained, upset.

      “What’s wrong?”

      “It’s Petey. He finally fell asleep around midnight, and then we went to bed, too. But I heard a noise a few minutes ago and got up, and…dammit, Colt.”

      Colt’s heart raced. “What?”

      “Petey’s gone.”

       Chapter Four

      “Petey’s gone?” Colt’s heart hammered.

      “Yes,” Derrick said, his voice strained. “We’ve searched the house and outside, but we can’t find him anywhere.”

      “Dammit, he could have run away again.”

      “That’s what I thought. I’m going to take the car and comb the neighborhood.” Derrick released an explosive breath. “Bri has already called Rosalie at the manor, but I don’t think Petey would go back there.”

      “Me neither.” So where would the kid go? “He was furious at me,” Colt said. “Maybe he was coming here.”

      “How would he know where you live, man?”

      Colt scrubbed his hand over his face. “Right. That doesn’t make sense.”

      “Maybe he’s running toward the jail,” Derrick suggested.

      Colt contemplated that possibility. “Maybe, but we told him that they won’t allow children there.” He tried to put himself in the head of a six-year-old. “He’d probably go someplace safe.”

      “Someplace he felt close to his mother,” Derrick murmured.

      “His home.” Colt grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. “I’ll go to Serena’s. You check outside and the neighborhood, and I’ll call the sheriff and tell him Petey is missing in case he does turn up at the jail.”

      “Are you going to have him tell Serena?” Derrick asked.

      Colt jumped in his Range Rover and started the engine. “No, not yet. She’ll be terrified. Let’s see if we can find him first before we have to put her through that worry.”

      Colt disconnected the call, then punched in the sheriff’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Sheriff Gray, this is Colt Mason. We have a problem.”

      “Do you know what time it is?” the sheriff barked.

      “Petey Stover is missing.”

      A tense heartbeat passed. “What the hell happened?”

      “He was upset when I didn’t bring his mother back. So Derrick McKinney and his wife took him to their house.”

      “I thought he was in foster care.”

      “Brianna works for Magnolia Manor. She—we—thought he’d be better off tonight with them. But Derrick just phoned and said the boy is gone. He’s searching the neighborhood, but I thought you should check the jail in case he goes there to be with his mother.”

      Sheriff Gray muttered a sound of frustration. “Deputy Alexander is at the jail now. I’ll call him, issue an amber alert and cruise the town.”

      Colt sighed. “Thanks. I’m going to Serena’s in case he goes home.”

      The men disconnected, and Colt headed toward the Stover house. He just prayed that Petey was there and not out wandering the streets all alone.

      SERENA HAD FINALLY fallen asleep, but nightmares haunted her—she was locked away in a hellhole with hardened criminals, with women who called her names and beat her, and guards who used her for their own pleasures.

      Jerking awake, she shivered in the cold darkness, the putrid scents of urine and sweat lingering from past prisoners wafting around her as a reminder of the scum who landed in jail.

      That she might be one of them if Kay Krantz and Colt Mason didn’t find out who had killed Lyle. That her juvenile record might cost her dearly.

      “I’m so sorry, Parker,” she whispered. She’d promised to take care of their son but she’d failed miserably, all because of her own selfish needs. She’d been lonely and had invited Rice into their lives.

      She would never put her own needs ahead of her son’s again.

      The image of Petey’s terror-stricken, tear-stained face pressed against the window as he was torn away from her taunted her. Who was taking care of her son tonight? Had someone read him a story? Made sure he brushed his teeth?

      Who had tucked him in bed and tickled his belly and kissed him good-night?

      Shaking with renewed anger, she shoved the ratty blanket away, unable to stand the vile smell any longer.

      But