His Son. Her Secret.

Santiago Burns couldn’t explain what it was about the particular sound that arrested his attention or why his breath suddenly caught in his throat as he stilled and waited. Waited for what? He had no idea. For a long moment, nothing happened, and he began to wonder if he was finally losing his mind. It was a possibility, especially given the pain that thrummed behind his right eye like a nail striking his skull, which he ignored. Yeah, hard to believe, but if anyone could ignore his body’s alarm bells, Santiago could. Actually, he was doing such a good job of ignoring things that he hardly registered the hungry growls of his stomach or the bags under his eyes. That’s what happened when a man had barely slept for more than an hour for a week. All the lines blurred, and priorities shifted. Hell, even the devil began to look like an angel. But who could blame him for abusing his body and mind with bone-aching fatigue? The question was, who slept when their only child, a tiny, defenseless, two-year-old boy, had been kidn*pped right from under their nose? Talk about a nightmare. One Santiago desperately wished he could wake from and realize he’d just fallen asleep in his office chair again with Kaleth tucked against his chest. Sadly, it wasn’t the case. He continued to hold his breath, his lungs nearly screaming in demand for oxygen. Around him, the enormous house hummed, the constant sounds slipping through its bones, keeping it alive even though it felt as though the very heart of the place had been stolen. It was a bitter reminder that the world hadn’t stopped moving just because his life had been shattered. Then he heard it again. The faint rustle of fabric was followed by what he could only describe as soft snores. If Santiago didn’t know better, he would have said they sounded like his son’s, but that wasn’t possible. Maybe he was losing his mind. He’d finally snapped under all the stress. Still, he didn’t move for a long second, every instinct sharpening. He was supposed to be the only one in the house. The police had left. The house was locked down, and the perimeter was secure the last time his outside security team had checked in with him. Doors and windows were locked, even though he felt it was pointless at this point. Still, it looked like even with all the measures in place, they had an intruder. Santiago frowned as his mind tried to puzzle it out even as anger rose in him. His hand slid under his jacket, fingers curling around the cold grip of the gun he never left behind anymore. Then he moved, his steps silent as he descended the stairs. The living room was empty. Shadows pooled around expensive furniture, light spilling in from the hallway behind him. Santiago paused, listening. There it was again. A faint shuffle. Fabric brushing against something. Someone was definitely moving through his house. Rage bubbled up in him like a volcano about to erupt. Had the kidnappers finally returned to leave a message or had they just decided to come and demand the money from him at gunpoint? His skin practically vibrating with anger, he followed the sound toward the back of the house. Fortunately for his dwindling patience and self-control, he didn’t have to look hard. The figure stepped into view near the study, oblivious to his presence. Average height and lean, the intruder was dressed head-to-toe in black. A hood was pulled low to obscure the face, even though Santiago could see they had a ski mask on, as black as the gloves that hid their hands. Only a pair of eyes and full lips were visible. Something ugly twisted in Santiago’s chest. His grip tightened on the gun as he took a step forward. “Don’t move,” he said, voice low and lethal, echoing softly along the walls lined with paintings and family portraits. The intruder froze. Probably the wisest decision they’d made all day. Then the person turned and faced him. Without hesitation, Santiago moved closer, his gun trained on the center of the figure’s chest. He didn’t make a habit of maiming people, but he was past the point of morals. “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?” The intruder didn’t respond. With the only source of light behind Santiago and the figure half-turned away from him, Santiago couldn’t see the eyes, but he didn’t miss the way the figure twitched like a racehorse waiting for the starting gate to open. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, his teeth clenched. “I will shoot you before you can take a step.” Nothing happened for a handful of seconds, just long enough for the intruder to calculate and weigh their options. Apparently, they decided to gamble with his bullet, because in the next heartbeat, they ran straight back into the study they’d exited. Stunned by the audacity, Santiago hesitated before he let out a curse and took off after them. Boots pounded against the hardwood floor. The room was dark save for the light coming in from the open doorway, which was thankfully enough for him to see the intruder dart left and right around the furniture so smoothly it left little doubt in his mind that this wasn’t a clumsy thief. He followed, adrenaline burning hot in his veins. Santiago raised his gun when the intruder reached the other end of the room and skidded to a halt in front of the French doors that led into the garden. They spun, eyes he couldn’t tell the color flashing behind the mask. Santiago raised his gun higher. “Hands where I can see them.” Silence, followed by another body twitch. Santiago’s jaw clenched. “Do it,” he snarled, stepping closer. “Or I swear to god…” His threat cut off when the intruder suddenly lunged for him. The gun went off a heartbeat before the impact knocked it from his hands and sent it clattering across the floor. Santiago had no idea if he’d hit his target or missed; whatever the case, his attacker didn’t slow down. The intruder moved like a shadow, quick, precise, all elbows and knees. Santiago grabbed a wrist, twisted, but the figure slipped free and drove a boot into his thigh. He grunted and shoved back, fury clouding his already dim vision. Where the hell was his security? Swearing under his breath, he swung a fist at the intruder’s face, but the figure dodged. Unlike his brother, Santiago wasn’t trained in hand-to-hand combat, so it wasn’t hard for the other person to overpower him despite his larger size, except that the intruder seemed more inclined to defend themselves and escape than harm him. A few more missed blows and then Santiago grabbed for the intruder again, fingers catching fabric, muscle, heat. Of course, the intruder attempted to twist out of his grasp, driving a knee into his side. Santiago grunted again, pain flaring, but he didn’t let go. He tightened his hold, spinning them around and pinning the intruder hard against the wall of glass. “Stop,” he growled, forearm pressing into the intruder’s throat. “Where is my son?” But his attacker didn’t stop; they struggled, sharp and desperate now, hands pushing against his chest. Santiago leaned in, crowding them, ready to end it. Footsteps thundered in the distance. Shouts. Guards finally rushed toward the noise. That seemed to draw the intruder’s attention because they stiffened. Then the person did the last thing Santiago expected. They surged forward. Not away. Into him. Santiago braced for another strike, muscles coiling, ready to counter, but no blow came. Except this time, instead of fighting him, a free hand grabbed his jacket, yanking him down. Hard. “What the…” The words never made it out. Before Santiago could react, before his mind could catch up, full lips crashed against his. For a split second, his brain rejected it. This had to be a trick. A distraction. Another move in the fight, even though it was one he didn’t understand. But it was real. Santiago remained frozen in stunned disbelief. Against his conscious decision, his grip loosened just enough for the moment to stretch, just enough for him to feel it. The heat of the other body pressed against his front. The sharp contrast of rough gloves and unexpectedly soft lips. The faint, hitched breath against his cheek. What kind of person breaks into a man’s house, fights him, and then kisses him? Santiago wasn’t even sure if the intruder was male or female, and that was enough to scramble his brain. Yet for a heartbeat, one single, dangerous heartbeat, everything else dropped away. The incompetent security he’d hired. The broken silence. Even the gun on the floor. There was only the kiss. Then it was gone. The intruder tore away just as suddenly, the absence of contact snapping through him like a whip. Cold rushed in where heat had been. Eyes half-closed, Santiago staggered half a step, too slow, too late. Frantic movement told him the intruder was on the move again. In the next second, another gunshot rang out, and glass shattered. By the time his brain caught up, the figure was already a shadow slipping into the night outside. The guards burst into the room seconds later, weapons drawn, shouting questions. Santiago didn’t answer. He stood in front of the broken glass door, heart racing, mouth still tingling, staring at the place where the intruder had vanished. “Sir?” Someone said behind him. Santiago blinked once and then again. Shaking his head, he turned to tell the guards to go after the figure, but before he could speak, something caught his attention in the corner of his eye. Confused, Santiago ignored the man asking him if he was okay and stumbled over to the oversized couch he kept in the study. Then his heart nearly stopped.