Chapter 492

The phone was suddenly wrenched from Nathaniel's grasp. Eleanor's sharp voice pierced through the line.

"Rosalind, what did you just say? Harrison's pregnant?"

Eleanor had been with Alistair when they overheard Rosalind's panicked call.

Rosalind had sworn to keep Harrison's pregnancy a secret, but with lives at stake, promises no longer mattered. Only Harrison and the baby's safety did.

"Yes, Mrs. Eleanor. Harrison's carrying Nathaniel's child. Your first great-grandchild." Rosalind's voice shook with urgency.

Shock, joy, terror—Eleanor's emotions collided. "How could you hide this from me? Breathe, child. We're coming immediately. Have you reached Nathaniel? He's the father!"

"I can't get through. His phone just rings and rings."

Eleanor's cane cracked against the floor. "That worthless boy! His woman and child are in danger, and he's nowhere to be found? Just wait till I get my hands on him!"

The call ended abruptly. Time was slipping away. Both the Falcon and Whitmore families were mobilizing.

But Rosalind's hands wouldn't stop trembling. Thirty minutes had already passed since Harrison was taken. Then—a spark of hope. She dialed with shaking fingers.

The line connected to a voice like winter steel. "Speak."

"Everett," she choked out, "I need you."

A beat of silence. Then: "Location."

She rattled off the address.

"Close by. Be there in five."

As she hung up, Rosalind summoned an ambulance for Gabrielle.

The door burst open before she could pocket her phone. Cold air rushed in with the man who strode through it.

"Details." Everett's tone was clipped, efficient.

Rosalind looked up.

Black coat draped over one arm, military-short hair emphasizing his razor-sharp jawline—Everett Sinclair looked every inch the lethal protector. His speed stunned her.

"My best friend Harrison—she's been taken. And she's pregnant."

Everett's gaze swept the ransacked apartment.

"If they want the baby, they'll need a hospital. Not one of Willowbrook's reputable ones." He pulled out his phone. "Three underground clinics handle this sort of thing."

His calm analysis cut through Rosalind's panic like a scalpel. She nodded frantically. "You're right. We should've—"

"Save the hindsight." Everett crouched, retrieving a splintered wooden shard with partial engraving. He stood, examining it. "I know where they've taken her. Move now, we might intercept."

Hope flared in Rosalind's chest. "You're certain?"

The wail of approaching sirens cut her off. Paramedics loaded Gabrielle onto a stretcher.

Everett jerked his chin toward the street. A black motorcycle idled at the curb. He tossed her a helmet.

"Ride or die time, Fairchild."