There was even a cabinet started by his father and mother out there.

White-hot anger surged through Jake as he pictured the would-be thief smashing that case into kindling. The fear that had held him in place burned away. He edged toward the kitchen. There was a telephone on the wall beside the pantry.

As he reached the kitchen door, he heard Aunt Matilda cry out from the front of the house. “We don’t know what you’re talking about! Leave Edward alone. Please!”

A slap of flesh sounded from the same direction, followed by a deep groan: masculine and heavy, yet still angry. Uncle Edward. Someone had just hit him. That meant there was at least one other intruder over by his aunt and uncle.

Barefooted, Jake slipped silently into the kitchen. He hurried to the phone, lifted the receiver from the wall, and dialed 911. He put the phone to his ear but heard nothing. No dial tone. Jake’s heart climbed into his throat. They must have cut the phone line.

Now what?

Before he could decide, a large hand clamped over his mouth and nose. Massive arms yanked him to a stone-hard chest. Jake fought, but it was like wrestling a Greek statue come to life.

Hot breath hissed at him. “Quit squirming, lad.”

The voice was a low whisper, meant for his ears only, but it still held a familiar British lilt.

Jake twisted enough to catch a glimpse of his captor. Craggy features, granite gray eyes, black hair clipped to his skull. The man’s lipless mouth twisted into a stern grimace. Jake flinched with recognition. So he hadn’t been mistaken back at town.

Morgan Drummond.

“I’m trying to help you, boy. So calm down.”

From the furtiveness of his words, the man was plainly trying not to be heard by the intruders. Jake didn’t trust Morgan—not fully—but at the moment, he didn’t have any other choice.

When Jake nodded, Morgan let go of him and waved him into a crouch. “You stay here. Out of sight.”

The head of security for Bledsworth Sundries and Industries had shed his suit jacket and wore only a tight pullover shirt. He pulled a black pistol from a shoulder holster and rushed toward the dining room that connected to the main hall near the back of the house.

Once Morgan was gone, Jake didn’t wait. He wasn’t going to hide while his aunt and uncle were in danger. Moving silently, he slipped out the same door he’d entered and returned to the side hall. As he stepped out, Morgan Drummond’s voice boomed like a cannon blast from the rear of the house.

“DROP YOUR WEAPON! ON THE GROUND!”

A sharp curse answered him, followed by the crack of a pistol.

The tall, skinny thief dove into the side hall from the main passageway. A bullet ricocheted off the limestone floor at the man’s heels. The skeleton with the bat was trying to escape.

Jake couldn’t get out of the way in time.