“Andrew!” he bellowed. “Open up! Now!”
Silence answered him.
He lifted his boot and drove his heel just to the side of the deadbolt with all the force of his body behind it. The frame splintered with a crack. On the second kick, the latch gave, and the door flew inward, banging hard against the wall.
He stepped over the threshold, head swinging left and right. “Felicity!” His voice echoed.
No answer.
He strode through the rooms. The living room was empty. So was the dining room, chairs pushed in. He moved quick, clearing each space, flipping into full op mode, checking corners and keeping his back angled so no one could sneak up on him.
He hit the hallway to the back of the house. A faint sound reached him. Not a voice.
A scrape, followed by a muffled thump.
He followed it, hand on the sidearm he’d pulled from the console of the truck and tucked along his spine. The study door was closed.
“Felicity?”
“Gabe!” Her strained cry sliced through him.
He grabbed the handle and found it locked. One shoulder slam cracked the frame and sent the door blasting inward. Felicity was there.
Tied to a chair, zip ties cutting into her wrists and ankles, hair mussed and her eyes wide and shining with terror and relief. The sight of her stopped his heart and jumpstarted it all at once.
“Gabe!” It came out as a broken sob.
He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees beside her. “Got you.” His voice was rough as he cupped her face, needing to assure himself her skin was warm under his palm even though he knew she was alive. “I’ve got you.”
He was already reaching for his knife, flicking it open with a snap. “Hold still, bookshop.”
He slid the blade between plastic and skin, so careful even though his hands shook with rage that the fucking nephew had done this to her. One hard twist of the knife and the ties snapped. Her arms flew forward, a choked whimper escaping her.
She grabbed at him.
“Ankles next.” He ducked down, slicing through the restraints at her feet. The second they fell away, she surged out of the chair and into him, arms flung around his neck.
“You’re okay!”
“I’m here. Nobody is taking you away from me.”
The click of a safety on a gun cut through the air.
“Touching,” Andrew drawled from the doorway.
Gabe pivoted, keeping Felicity partially behind him, body shifting to that protective stance that had been branded into his muscles years ago.
Andrew stood in the splintered doorway, eyes cold, a handgun aimed directly at them.
Felicity’s fingers dug into Gabe’s back. “Gabe, I think he killed Henry!”
“I figured you’d come looking for her,” Andrew said.
“Your fake text was good—but I’m better,” he growled.
Andrew’s jaw clenched. “She stole from me. Those bonds—”
“Were never yours,” Felicity snapped, her voice shaking with what sounded like fury. “Henry wanted me to have them.”
