Chapter 6 - The Phantom Gate
The phone felt like a block of ice in my palm, the nanny’s panicked cries echoing in the dim parking garage like glass shattering on stone.
“Missing?” I choked out, the word tearing raw and jagged from my throat. “What do you mean they’re missing? Weren't the gates locked?”
“They breached the perimeter!” she sobbed into the receiver, heavy background noise—shouting, blaring house alarms, and barking dogs—filling the line. “Two men in masks scaled the back wall while I was in the kitchen. They grabbed the kids from the patio, threw them into a black van, and took off toward the north canyon road before I could even hit the security panic button!”
My knees buckled. I would have hit the concrete if Gideon hadn't caught me by the waist, his strong arm anchoring me upright.
“Gwen, breathe. Look at me,” Gideon commanded, his voice sharp as steel, though his eyes flashed with a dangerous, volatile fury. He snatched the phone from my hand, pressing it to his ear. “Listen to me carefully. Did you see the license plate? Which direction on the canyon road?”
“I... I didn't see the plate, it was too dark, but they headed toward the old mining ridge!” she cried before the line went dead with a harsh static click.
Gideon didn't hesitate. He grabbed my shoulders, steering me firmly toward the passenger door of his SUV. “Get inside. Lock the doors.”
“My babies,” I wept, hot tears streaming down my cheeks as my hands clawed uselessly at his jacket. “Douglas took them. He sent those men. He’s going to use them to force me to sign away the company, the accounts, everything—”
“He just crossed a line he can never come back from,” Gideon growled, slamming my door shut and vaulting into the driver's seat.
Within seconds, the SUV roared to life, tires screaming as Gideon threw the gearshift into reverse, executing a violent J-turn that left rubber burns across the parking floor. We tore out of the underground structure, ignoring the automated security arm as it splintered against our hood, and rocketed onto the dark Denver street.
The digital clock on the dashboard glared back at me: 8:42 PM.
Gideon’s knuckles were bone-white as he gripped the steering wheel, his eyes scanning the road ahead while his other hand punched a speed-dial number into the car’s console display.
“Put me through to precinct dispatch. High-priority kidnapping in Cherry Hills Village, suspect vehicle headed north toward the canyon ridge,” Gideon barked into the hands-free microphone. He paused, listening to the operator, before cursing under his breath. “No, I don't care about jurisdiction, patch me directly to Captain Vance! Tell him Gideon Sterling is calling and a multi-million-dollar corporate fraud is now a federal kidnapping case!”
He slammed the console button to end the call, shifting lanes with terrifying speed as we wove through evening traffic.
“Hold on, Gwen,” Gideon said, glancing sideways at me with an expression of grim determination. “We’re going to catch them before they reach the ridge.”
Before I could answer, my cell phone—still clutched tightly in my shaking hand—buzzed violently with an incoming text message from an unknown, unlisted number.
May you like
I looked down at the glowing screen. A single video file was attached, accompanied by a typed message: Want to see your precious children again? Meet me alone at the old Summit warehouse in twenty minutes. Bring the signed corporate surrender documents, or don't bother coming at all.
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