Harlequin Love Inspired Suspense March 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Dana Mentink (e books free to read TXT) 📖

The boy cried beside her.

She gathered him into her arms. With the unexpected news from her doctor only an hour ago indicating she would probably never bear a child of her own, she had the sudden urge to protect this boy. “You’re safe with us. Are you hurt?”

He shivered in her embrace and shook his head. How long had he been out in the cold?

“What’s your name?” Doyle knelt beside them.

The curly-haired boy hiccuped through his tears. “Gabe.”

His chocolate-brown eyes reminded Hannah of a puppy dog. Her heart melted. “How old are you?”

He raised eight white-tipped fingers.

Hannah smiled before wrapping her hands around his tiny ones. She needed to warm him up. “What’s your last name, Gabe?”

“Stewart.”

Shouts alerted her to the continued danger outside.

“Did you call 911?” Hannah asked her boss.

Doyle nodded. “They should arrive any moment now.”

The station’s phone trilled and he hit the speaker button. “Beaver Creek Station.”

“Give up the boy and we might let you live,” the deep voice growled.

Gabe whimpered.

Hannah held him tighter. Lord, bring reinforcements now! The normally peaceful small station housed only a couple of officers. They were outnumbered.

Flashing lights lit up the area as sirens pierced the night.

Her prayer was answered.

More shots rang out.

She eased up and peeked out the window. Lights bounced from tree to tree as gunfire pierced through the inky sky. Gabe’s sobs reminded her of the need to keep the boy from harm. She had to get him safely out of the station. How, with the assailants so close?

A police constable crouched behind his cruiser with his weapon raised.

He fired and glanced toward the station, the sole remaining streetlight revealing his features.

Where had she seen him before? She searched her memory and couldn’t come up with the answer.

Machine gun fire peppered the window.

She screamed and fell back down on the floor.

Gabe raced to her and latched his arms around her neck, holding her in a vise grip. “Don’t let them get me.”

His whispered words tore at her heart.

A tear leaked down her cheek as determination surfaced.

She would not let this boy down.

* * *

Canadian police constable Layke Jackson cowered behind the cruiser, raising his Maglite and Smith & Wesson in the direction of the shots fired. The dark five-o’clock hour hid the number of assailants lurking in the distance, making it impossible to get a clear line of sight. The wind snaked down his neck, adding to the trepidation creeping into his body. He hated winter. He’d take the beach over mountains any day. He zipped up his jacket tighter to his neck and focused on the task at hand.

Local Beaver Creek constables pulled up beside him. They jumped from their cruiser and flanked him with their weapons raised, protecting the occupants of the station. Layke identified himself over the howling wind.

He had been on his way from Whitehorse hours ago to investigate strange child abductions in the Beaver Creek area when he heard the desperate 911 call from the patrol station. On loan to the Yukon authorities from Alberta, he’d requested to lead the joint task force of a child labor smuggling ring happening along the Yukon-Alaskan borders. He’d jumped at the chance after he received a frantic call from his newly discovered half brother, Murray. His son had mysteriously disappeared and with the high rise of child labor in the area, Layke knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Once his boss and the local corporal approved it, he’d hopped on a plane and headed to Whitehorse.

He promised Murray he’d find his son, Noel. Before it was too late.

Was the boy barricaded in the CBSA station connected to the other abducted children or a coincidence? Could the boy lead them to Noel?

Bullets whizzed over Layke’s head, snapping him from his thoughts.

Multiple muzzle flashes revealed the shooters’ location.

Layke and the other constables fired in that direction.

When no other flashes erupted, he lowered his weapon. “Hold your fire!”

Silence hushed the night, stilling the wind.

Layke eased himself up, being careful not to make himself a target. “They’re gone. Can you secure the perimeter? I’ll check on the occupants in the station.”

The local constables glanced at each other, then back to him. One stepped forward. “Where are you from, Constable? Clearly not from around here.” His lips flattened.

Oops. Had Layke overstepped his bounds?

He stuck out his gloved hand. “Sorry, I should start over. I’m Constable Layke Jackson on loan from Alberta. You are?”

The fortysomething black-haired constable shook his hand. “I’m Constable Antoine and this is Constable Yellowhead. Why are you in our area?”

“There’s reason to believe the boy inside could be one of the recently abducted children. I’m leading a joint task force to capture the child smugglers.”

The other constable crossed his arms. “But why from Alberta? Local constables could lead this task force. After all, we know the area better.”

Layke had to tread lightly. He couldn’t get on their bad side. He needed their help and he also had to get inside to check on the occupants. “Understood. I’ve had lots of experience in the uptick of child labor smuggling rings across the country. I volunteered to come here.” No need to go into all his reasons.

Constable Antoine reached for his radio. “We’ll call it in. Then we’ll scour the area for the shooters.”

Layke pinched his lips together. They were wasting time and the assailants were getting away. However, they were correct. They had to go by protocol. Everything must be done right. Airtight investigations led to solid convictions. It was the way he operated.

He pointed to the station. “I’ll check on the CBSA officers and boy inside. Nice meeting you.”

They nodded and stepped toward their cruiser.

Layke rushed to the entrance and tried the door. Locked. He banged on it. “Constable Jackson here. Can you open up?”

“Is it safe?” a female’s voice yelled from inside.

“Yes. They’re gone.” At least that appeared to be the case.

He heard scraping sounds, as if the station’s occupants were moving furniture. Perhaps they had shoved something in front