Chapter 3 - Shadows Closing In
Inside Paige Miller’s warm, brightly lit kitchen, the atmosphere felt less like a sanctuary and more like a besieged fortress.
Paige slammed her mobile down onto the butcher-block island, her eyes wide with shock. "Lauren, it’s him. He’s outside."
Lauren froze, her spoon clattering against the bowl of formula she was preparing for Ren. "How? How did he find us so fast?"
"He has half of Georgia in his pocket, Lauren! You know what he does!" Paige paced the length of the kitchen, wringing her hands. "Do you realize what kind of man we’re dealing with? If Colton Beckett wants to find someone, he can track a credit card swipe, a license plate, a cell tower ping—anything!"
"I didn't use my credit cards," Lauren said defensively, her voice trembling as she scooped formula into the bottle. "I paid cash for the gas. I left my cards in the glove box."
"He doesn't need your cards, honey. He has traffic grid surveillance," Paige said grimly, walking over to peek through the louvered blinds of the front window. "There's an unmarked black Escalade parked two houses down. It’s idling. I can see the silhouette of a man in the passenger seat."
Ren began to stir in her bassinet, letting out a soft, plaintive squeak of hunger. Lauren scooped her up instinctively, pressing the baby’s warm cheek against her collarbone. Ren rooted blindly against Lauren’s chest, her tiny fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater.
"I'm not going back to him, Paige," Lauren whispered fiercely, tears finally spilling over her lashes and hot against her cheeks. "Did you see those tickets? Lisbon. One way. With Jade Foresight. He was going to pack us away like inconvenient baggage while he ran off with her."
"Maybe..." Paige hesitated, biting her lower lip. "Could there be an explanation? I mean, everyone in Atlanta knows Colton is obsessed with you. When you were pregnant, the man looked at you like you hung the moon and stars."
"Men like Colton Beckett don't change," Lauren cut her off, her voice laced with bitter agony. "My father was a syndicate man in Chicago. I know how they operate, Paige. They lie with a smile on their faces while they drive a knife into your back. I thought Colton was different. I let my guard down because he built a crib with his own hands. But a custom crib doesn't erase a mistress and a one-way ticket to Europe."
A sharp, distinct knock echoed against the front door.
Both women jumped as if struck by lightning.
The knock came again—firm, measured, and agonizingly polite. Three slow raps.
"Don't answer it," Paige whispered, grabbing a heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove.
"I'm not," Lauren breathed, clutching Ren so tightly against her chest that the baby let out a sleepy grunt of protest.
Then, a deep, resonant voice drifted through the solid oak door, quiet enough not to wake the neighbors, yet carrying an unmistakable authority that commanded compliance.
"Lauren. I know you're in there. Please... just open the door. Let me see my daughter."
It was Colton.
He didn't sound like the ruthless mafia boss who ruled the ports of Savannah. He sounded broken. His voice was thick with exhaustion, edged with a raw, vibrating panic that sent a shiver straight down Lauren’s spine.
"Go away, Colton!" Paige shouted toward the door, her courage flaring up. "She's not talking to you! Leave us alone or I'm calling the police!"
"Paige, put down the skillet," Colton’s voice came back instantly, calm, steady, and terrifyingly omniscient. "You know as well as I do that calling the police in Atlanta won't do a damn thing against me. I didn't come here to start a war. I came here for my wife and my child."
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Lauren closed her eyes, rocking back and forth as Ren began to cry in earnest, picking up on the suffocating tension in the room. The baby’s high-pitched wails pierced the heavy silence.
"Open the door, Lauren," Colton pleaded softly from the porch, his hand resting flat against the wood on the other side. "Please. Before my men decide to clear the street, and before I lose my mind completely."
