He put a hand on Tate's body. He was still warm. Kellan couldn't see any blood visible, but there was something sticking out of his chest. A dart of some sort.
Tate's chest moved slightly in a shallow attempt to breathe.
He was alive, but he'd been hit with some sort of tranquilizer. Who the hell was here? What the fuck did they want? Where was Belle?
"Is he alive?" Eric whispered, his voice shaking. He was pale as he stared down at his best friend.
Kellan nodded. "Yes. Cops?"
"On their way," Eric breathed.
"Go around the back of the house and see if you can figure out where Belle is." Kellan reached into the antique umbrella stand by the door. He pulled out a sturdy-looking umbrella and wished he knew exactly what to do in this situation. His friend Dominic Anthony would. He'd bet Dominic never got caught without a weapon. He would never have to defend his woman with a freaking umbrella.
"Will do. If you can, search the third floor. Something tripped that camera," Eric suggested, then slipped out the door again.
The master bedroom. Of course. The alarm had gone off on Eric's phone. He had explained the whole nanny cam plan to catch whoever was stealing into the room and leaving Belle frightening messages during their walk home.
Someone had taken Belle upstairs.
A million horrifying thoughts ran through his head. Why? What were they doing to her? Was she silently crying out for him? Was she hurting, and he wasn't there to save her? Had she watched Tate go down and known she would be next?
He hugged the dark wall, keeping his step light, but the person in the next room had no such qualms. He heard a squeaking from the living room as the woman he'd seen from the shadows exited the formal space, turning her back to him to call up the stairs.
"If it's down here, it's hidden, Gates. Damn it. We're running out of time," she hollered up the stairs. "We have to get out of here."
Malcolm Gates, the lawyer. What the hell?
"Keep looking, damn it." The lawyer's voice floated back down. "If we don't get our hands on that fucking client list, my career is over. If I could kill that whore again I would."
The woman mere feet away from him gave a frustrated huff. "Why the hell did you kill Ehlers before you had her notes?"
Fuck. Gates had killed the madam because she'd planned to go public. And they thought Belle had the woman's client list? Kell wasn't sure why they'd believe that, but no way he could leave Belle alone.
Or had the lawyer already killed her?
"Well, when I had my hands wrapped around her throat, she swore she'd brought it here," Gates growled. "Shut up and keep looking."
"The bitch granddaughter hasn't even found it," the woman argued. "So maybe it's not here. We need to kill her and her boyfriend, then get the hell out of here. You can set this place on fire in a few days after the cops declare the whole incident to be a murder-suicide. Call it faulty wiring or something. We can make that happen. Then if the list is here, it won't ever be found."
There was a long sigh. "My client won't accept that. The judge wants the list in his hands."
"Then we make one up, and we're all off the hook. You don't think very creatively for a lawyer. All I know is if we get caught in here, we're all going to prison. We need to cut our losses. She doesn't know where it is."
"One more chance," Gates said. "I'll give it one more shot-literally. Maybe if I put a gun to your boyfriend's head, it will spark some memory, Miss Wright? Turn that idiot over, Helena. I want her to see his face when I blow it off. We'll be down in a bit."
Kellan's blood froze. He heard Gates moving upstairs. Belle must be with him and searching for the client list in her grandmother's old bedroom. At least she was conscious.
Kellan stuck to the darkest part of the gloomy foyer. The cover of shadow would buy him some time.
Helena's shoes clacked along the hardwoods, and Kellan made himself go very still. Silent. He had to be so quiet, not alert them that they were no longer alone. He had to save Belle and Tate. They were his family.
God, what would have happened if he hadn't come to New Orleans with them? If he'd listened to his fear and gone back to Chicago? Eric would have been here. Would he have been on the ground with Tate, leaving Belle alone to fend for herself. They would all likely die.
He'd spent all his time wondering how a relationship between the four of them could work, but now he saw plainly that it would work however they worked it. The universe didn't give everyone the same life. Love wasn't some cookie cutter that he had to mold himself into. He'd spent his whole time on earth plotting and planning his life, ruthlessly controlling it to reach some grand destination, all the while not understanding that the ending he'd chosen wouldn't make him happy. Belle was the destination he'd been unconsciously seeking. Her love and the family he'd share with his buddies were the end-all, be-all of his existence.