Her Stolen Son. Rita Herron

looks. Baby Ryan even stopped playing to look up at Petey, his lip quivering as if he might burst into tears, as well.

      “Colt,” Derrick said. “Instead of sending Petey back to the manor, Bri and I will take him home for the night.”

      Brianna rubbed Petey’s back where he lay against Colt’s chest, exhausted and spent. “That’s a great idea. Petey, you can spend the night with Ryan.”

      Colt gave them a grateful look. Brianna was experienced with kids, and much better equipped to deal with an angry, frightened child than he was. “Thanks. I’m sure his mother would appreciate that.”

      Besides, he couldn’t babysit Serena’s little boy and investigate her case at the same time. Yet holding Petey stirred some kind of primal 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.”