Читать книгу Hill Country Holdup - Angi Morgan - Страница 9

Steve Woods focused on the woman pushing a million dollars through the Fourth of July spectators in Williams Square. They hadn’t identified her yet. She’d taken possession of the stroller—and the hidden money—only four minutes ago.

Musical notes from the orchestra’s “Baby Elephant Walk” faded into the background along with the chatter of the Texas crowd. His target swerved to the right so Steve ducked behind a double-wide plaid shirt, keeping out of her line of sight.

With the ease of a longtime mother, the suspect fussed over an imaginary baby. The Mustangs of Las Colinas sculpture loomed in the background as she stuffed the large bills into a pack she flung onto her shoulder.

The gut instinct that kept him alive through ten years of FBI fieldwork pumped adrenaline through his veins. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong. But he would. Heart pounding, he searched for any sign of a weapon while wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Everyone count off.” No one around him took notice that he spoke into a hidden microphone built into his earpiece. The bystanders appeared intent on following their noses, drawn by the aromas of funnel cakes, hamburgers and roasted corn. Or in grabbing the free samples of Starbucks coffee before the portable store packed up shop and went home. No one here knew that a little boy had been kidnapped.

“Greenback Two in position with a lock.” George Lanning began the count. Only four out of the five followed.

“Where’s Stubblefield? Does anyone have eyes on her position?”

“She was by the corn dog stand two minutes ago.” Even without the help of his powerful scope, George had the best vantage point of the entire field from atop the north parking garage. “I can’t find her ponytail.”

“Greenbacks scramble. Switch to Bravo Tango Alpha,” Steve said. The team changed frequencies to exclude Stubblefield in case her radio was compromised. “Granger, search her last position. I’m staying with the target.”

The sun sank fast behind the surrounding buildings. Darkness was just as much their enemy as the kidnappers. Once the fireworks began, it would be hard keeping the woman in sight. They had to stay alert and not lose the target in the crowd, even while restrained to the meandering pace set by the woman pushing the stroller.

Wouldn’t she be in a hurry to leave?

The money headed toward the middle of the activities, the center of a field of picnic blankets, lawn chairs and kids with glow-in-the-dark necklaces. Steve had his agents in place, but the large perimeter stretched their coverage. Their target was cut off completely by a man-made lake on the southeast side of the field. The kidnappers had chosen an ideal time and place to run their game.

“Where the heck is she going?”

“I’ve got nothing,” George answered. “The monorail blocks my view of the other side of the lake. Who builds a lake in the middle of a business district anyway?”

“Apparently the city of Las Colinas,” Winstrop mumbled.

“Cut the chatter,” Steve commanded. “Keep your eyes open. Our area is overextended, and you guys know the Irving cops and highway patrol already have their hands full monitoring the crowd. Anyone see Stubblefield?” Blast it. Her first assignment after moving back to his team, and she wasn’t following protocol. Terrific.

He needed to sort the facts and disconnect from the team’s challenges. Thomas Brant Jr., son of the computer mogul, age twenty-nine months, had been snatched July 3 from his mother’s arms just outside their Dallas home. One computer-generated note—free of fingerprints or any other identifying marks—left next to her unconscious body and broken arm. Intentionally broken by the monster abducting her son.

One million. Large bills. Unmarked.

Packed in small bag in kid’s stroller.

Cover with blue blanket.

Williams Square, Irving Fireworks, 8:00 p.m.

No payment and he gets the same as the mother.

Their only lead was to follow the money.

Three adults and two children blocked Steve’s view of the target. She stood five feet from the lake. He stood fifteen feet behind her, within his reach, but the sky was completely dark.

Time was up.

“Any word on Stubblefield?” Everyone rose or stopped walking as the national anthem began. Some placed their hands over their hearts, and some sang their pride off-key, especially the guy in front of him. Pushing his respect aside, he concentrated on the target. He could see the white of her knuckles from her tight grip on the guide bar of the stroller.

“I’m here,” Stubblefield said, out of breath. “I’m trailing a suspicious teenager and lost radio contact.”

“I no longer have a lock on the target,” George interrupted. “Too many civilians in the way.”

Steve inventoried his target—small frame, hair stuffed under a floppy hat, a drawstring bag looped over both shoulders, flip-flops, and a red, white and blue oversize shirt that hung to the edge of her tight, blue jean shorts.

Flip-flops?

Why would someone prepared to grab the money and run wear flip-flops?

The first rocket exploded. The hushed awe now shattered by the pops, sizzles and crackles of fireworks. Steve didn’t let the noise distract him. He stared at the woman’s slender ankles and bright red toenails. They moved.

Closer to the lake.

“She’s going in the water!” he shouted to his team.

Shoving through two cowboys, he snatched the stroller. Frightened blue eyes turned to him. Familiar eyes.

It couldn’t be…

A prick burned his forearm. He heard “I’m sorry” from a voice he remembered only too well. Her hands grabbed at his belt before he realized his knees had buckled and he crashed into her body. The ground meeting his shoulder didn’t cause him pain, which was odd. There should have been a jolt.

Had he been shot?

A blurry image waved off the concerned men. The world swirled around him, lit by the white and silver rockets exploding over his head. Her hands shifted from his chest to the bag of money, where she unrolled…a hose? No, a breathing tube. She replaced the bag on her back as quickly as the shoes came off her feet.

“George.” He struggled with words, unable to force his mouth or hands to move.

“He just collapsed,” she told the men around her. Then she forced something into his hand. “I’m really sorry, Steve. Here’s the antidote. The paralysis is only temporary.”

Damn, it was his Jane. What was she doing here?

“I’ll guide the paramedics here,” she said, but he knew she wouldn’t.

Dr. Jane Palmer, chemist, genius, ex-lover. Not exactly who he thought he’d be tracking tonight.

Barely able to turn his head, he caught sight of her sliding into the lake. No one paid any attention. The men were still shaking him, attempting to get a response. He couldn’t move his pinkie, let alone follow. Jane disappeared in the water as the two guys trying to help him drew a crowd.

He struggled to keep his eyelids open. The guys shook him harder, as his team screamed “man down” and called for an ambulance. George shouted that the target was underwater and someone needed to follow her.

“Get out of the way!” Windstrom reached him first. The grass swished near Steve’s ear before a friendly hand landed on his chest. “Woods? Can you hear me? Lanning, where are the EMTs? He’s barely breathing.”

“Where’s he shot?”

“I can’t find a wound.” He pried Steve’s fingers away from whatever Jane had placed in his fist. “Wait a minute. It’s a note addressed to Zaphod? God, it’s instructions to administer an antidote. There’s a hypo here. Should I do it? George?”

Zaphod?

Steve heard the voices. Everything in his brain seemed to work, but he couldn’t focus past the blur in his eyes or force his mouth to move.

He wasn’t about to die until he figured out why and how Jane was involved in this kidnapping.

THANK GOD SHE COULD FIGURE out the breathing apparatus. If she had more than four minutes to make the underwater swim, Jane would question the motives of the universe. Question why the one man she prayed would rescue her, lay paralyzed from her drug 9RW6.

Special Agent Steve Woods. It had been almost four years.

She capped the flood of emotions that would block her from thinking clearly. She couldn’t breathe from the pony tank and cry at the same time anyway. She kicked harder. Suppressed anger and frustration made her stronger with every stroke.

Rory needed her. Those bastards wouldn’t hurt her son because she’d made a mistake. Following the kidnapper’s instructions, she continued through the dark water.

The kidnappers had kept her and Rory for the past two days, keeping her awake and drilling their plan into her mind. The only chance Rory had was for her to follow their instructions. They’d taken her formula and forced her to use it against whoever chased her from the plaza. And great, it had to be Steve and the FBI. Did they know about Rory’s kidnapping? Was that why Steve was there?

Maybe he’d be taken off the case, and she wouldn’t have to deal with him. Anyone but him. She couldn’t handle his explanations or accusations. Not now. She hadn’t expected Steve to be there tonight but maybe they’d understand the note faster if he was involved. He would know what her cryptic message meant.

Wouldn’t he?

They were the FBI, for pity’s sake. God help me. She prayed with each stroke that carried her closer to one of her son’s abductors.

Fear nipped at her system and caused her breath to hitch. Not good while trying to breathe underwater. Better to concentrate on the rhythm of her strokes, on her strength. On how she would methodically tear the kidnappers limb from limb if they harmed her little boy. They would wish they had killed her if anything happened to Rory.

Any time now. Bringing the illuminated diving compass closer to her goggles, she cautiously surfaced at the instructed coordinates. Exploding fireworks cast enough flickering light to see a black-clad figure steering a small rowboat about fifteen feet away.

A man wearing a pull-on President Clinton mask hauled her over the side. She wasn’t seated properly before he threw a towel in her direction and wrenched the heavy bag from her back. His deranged laughter made her spine shudder.

“I don’t care what the money is for, it doesn’t matter. Just don’t hurt Rory. I’ll do anything to get my son back.” Anything.

“Clinton” ignored her plea and threw a lumpy grocery sack at her feet. Huddling under the dark towel, she pulled yet another tight stretchy shirt over her head. For the second phase in this nightmare to work, she needed to appear dry while driving away.

Separate yourself from the emotion, Jane. Her mother’s voice rang clear. Panic never resolved anything. The one time she’d thrown caution to the wind, her sense of freedom had left her pregnant and raising a child alone.

She ignored the putrid pond stench and the rubbery feeling in her legs from swimming the race of her life. Once they reached shore, her captor held a Glock in his gloved hand. There weren’t too many people on this side of the lake by the parking garage. None close enough to notice her or the man in the Clinton mask.

Now that they had what they wanted, she assumed the gunman wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. So she obeyed her instructions by not calling out for help or drawing attention to herself.

They climbed over a half wall that formed the ground floor of a dimly lit parking garage. A car sat three spaces from the exit.

Judging from the vivid colors bursting in the sky and the John Philip Sousa melody echoing across the lake, the program had reached its finale. She needed to be in traffic when the fireworks ended.

“Clinton” tossed her the keys. Without a grunt in her direction, the guy took off. She had no idea what he looked like. She couldn’t identify anything about him except his average height and slender build.

Helpless.

That summed everything up. She couldn’t prove anything, give the police anything to go on, or assist in any way. The creep hadn’t even spoken to her. The abductors’ instructions were burned into her memory.

She popped the trunk and settled a long blond wig complete with dark roots onto her head. The walk alongside the car took a minute with new bright orange flip-flops on her feet. She pulled the seat forward as others began loading their cars with lounge chairs and coolers.

Adjusting the mirrors, she tried to achieve a bored look, and desperately tried to slow the beat of her heart. No use. She pulled out of the Omni Hotel’s garage. Despite her best efforts, her protective bubble of self-control lay close to shattering. Willpower alone kept her alert, despite appearing relaxed behind the steering wheel. Her insides churned as if she were the contents of a giant milkshake.

The stream of automobiles thickened. She passed policeman after policeman directing traffic. The urge to scream for help grew until she had to cover her mouth with a shaking hand.

The cars came to a complete stop in all directions, and an ambulance siren screamed through the intersection. Guilt rattled her, creating another crack in her discipline. Steve. They must be moving him to a hospital, but he’d be okay. He had to be okay.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Hold on to the steering wheel. Follow directions. She steadily moved her hands to a ten-and-two position on the hard cool plastic.

Everything will work out. Follow the plan.

With or without Steve’s help identifying her, the FBI would connect the antidote to Dr. Jane Palmer, research scientist. During the past two days, she hadn’t been given an opportunity to contact the police or Steve. Now she was a fugitive, part of the kidnappers’ plan. If she called anyone for help, she couldn’t save Rory.

Every person she knew would be interrogated. Her home would be invaded, and everything she owned would be searched. They’d find the book. Now that Steve was part of this, there was a good chance they’d understand the clue that much sooner.

Please God. Bring my little boy back to me. She prayed over and over and over.

Heading westbound on Highway 114, she eased her foot off the accelerator as she passed a black-and-white. The lake house would be there no matter how fast she drove.

“You have to pull through this, Steve. We need your help.”

THREE HOURS IN THE HOSPITAL and still no one knew what had happened to him. He’d been informed they’d found another antidote vial locked in a safe at her apartment. Antidote for what? Everyone wanted to know but Jane held all the answers. It was her serum.

Determined to leave, he’d forced his doctor to admit that nothing was seriously wrong with him. He pulled his shirt over his head just as George came through the curtains.

“Has the Brant kid shown?”

“We lost her.” His partner dropped his eyes to the floor and shook his head.

“You’ve got a team finding out where she’s working?” he asked and tucked his shirt into his jeans.

“You ordered that as soon as you could talk.” George frowned and scratched his scalp. “Of course, we followed through. We know she rented a car yesterday.”

Steve slipped his left foot into a boot and bent to pull it on. He nearly lost what little was left in his stomach but wasn’t sharing that bit of info with anyone. He wanted out of the hospital and on the trail of the kidnappers. And Jane.

He pulled on the second boot and sat straight again, forcing a shaky hand to smooth back his hair before he slipped on his Stetson.

“Palmer sure caught us with our pants down,” George said. “It was like she knew we were shorthanded.”

“Maybe. But…” He couldn’t believe it. Jane wasn’t a kidnapper.

“But?”

But with a stick from her needle, she’d paralyzed him and left. What should he believe? “Just find her.”

“I’m driving you home.” George dug his hands into his jeans pockets and shifted from foot to foot. “Come on, Steve. We’ve got this covered.”

“I know Jane Palmer.”

“You didn’t even know she was back in town, man. According to the landlord, she’s been here six weeks.”

No, he hadn’t known she was back. And he didn’t know where she lived, but he did know Jane. He knew every inch of her body, every inch of her soul. She couldn’t be a part of the kidnapping. But she had to be since she’d picked up the ransom. He had very little time to determine why.

The doctor warned him to take it easy for the next several days as he left the hospital. As if he actually would. A kid was still missing. And his ex-lover was climbing the FBI’s most wanted list.

George punched the unlock button for the F150. “I can’t take you anywhere but home, Steve. Orders.”

“Who’s in charge?” He climbed in, still stiff from the drug.

“McCaffrey. He knows about your history with Jane. You’re on official medical leave until they know exactly what that serum did to you. Among other unanswered questions.”

Like how he was involved. “Are they through at her apartment?”

“Don’t do this to yourself, man.”

“What would you do?” He yanked the Stetson to his lap and rested his throbbing head against the seat.

“She left you, Steve. She packed up and moved after two words—good and bye.”

George started the engine. A light rain distorted the on-coming headlights. Steve leaned his aching forehead on the cool side window.

“It was a bit more complicated than that,” he said quietly, his thoughts being thrust back four years to a time he’d rather block from his memory.

“You can come with me,” Jane had said calmly. He could hear the disbelief in her voice. Disbelief that he encouraged her to follow her dream, to take a job offer that didn’t come along twice in a lifetime.

“It’s not that easy, honey. I’d have to wait for an opening to transfer. I’d lose my place on the team. You know what’s coming up. This is the undercover break I wanted. It may be months before you hear from me, and I can’t let you—”

“Don’t say it, Steve. Don’t tell me I’ve got to live up to my potential. Don’t say you won’t stand in my way.”

“What kind of a life would we have here? I’m gone months at a time. You’d spend hours in a lab doing mindless work. You’d choose that kind of life over your dream job? You’ve been dying for this opportunity.”

“You figured all this out on your own. No discussion?”

“I belong here, hon.” He pulled her into his arms.

“And what about us?” Her hands went around his waist, holding on to him like a lifeline.

He held her, never wanting to let go, but knowing it was the best he could do at the moment. “We can’t forget about everything we’ve both worked—”

She cut his stupid words off with a kiss. One that released every emotion bottled up inside him. Their lovemaking was exquisite, unhurried and all night.

And in the end, she’d left.

The opportunity at Johns Hopkins was too important and prestigious to pass up. If she’d stayed in Dallas, she would have regretted it the rest of their lives. He’d gone undercover posing for the next five months as a husband desperate to adopt a child. His team had run the sting trying to stop the illegal sale of abducted children.

Nothing had gone right. His cover had been blown. They’d lost track of the kids. He still wasn’t over that.

But their breakup had been for the best. Jane hadn’t written from Baltimore. He hadn’t heard from her. Not even an e-mail. He couldn’t blame Jane for leaving. He’d pushed her out the door.

Another person gone. But this one had come back and hadn’t called. She’d made her choice.

Enough said.

It took twenty minutes to get to his house, but only ten to get Jane’s address from George. It was close to the University of Texas campus in Arlington. Close to where she’d lived when she’d been in school. Close to where they’d met.

Okay, pal. Build a bridge and get over it. Keep a level head or you’ll give the brass a reason to keep you off the case even longer.

Feeling like warmed-over cow patties, he should have stayed home. But this was Jane.

His gut told him two plus two just didn’t add up to four. Flashing his badge at the officer still at the scene, he ducked under the crime scene tape and entered the totally wrecked apartment. There hadn’t been any reason for his team to be gentle.

Stacks of empty cutesy frames that had filled every nook of her apartment four years ago were dumped from boxes as if she hadn’t unpacked. Jane loved pictures, but she had a habit of buying the frame and forgetting to print the picture to fill it. The knickknacks cluttering the top shelves matched everything he remembered. Nails, but no pictures on the walls. Nothing on the lower shelves.

One bedroom remained completely empty. Odd. The desk was in the living area. Why get a two-bedroom if you’re going to put your desk inconveniently by the patio door? Didn’t make sense. Jane was a scientist and couldn’t live without having access to her files and external hard drive. So where was the computer? She hauled the entire PC with her on a kidnapping?

He still couldn’t believe she was involved.

The same comforter she’d had since she was eleven lay bunched in the middle of her bed. That was more like her—a creature of habit. During their three months together it had been hard to get her to change any routine.

That uncomfortable feeling crept up the back of his neck again. The feeling he got when things were about to go from bad to worse.

Upturned bureau drawers cluttered the floor. Clothes were piled under them. He picked up a picture of a very young Jane with her mother. She still had big sad eyes, as if she carried the fate of the world on her shoulders. Just one lone picture?

It didn’t make sense.

Still slender with dark auburn hair, she hadn’t changed. Well, her bangs were dark. That was all he’d seen under that cap. He ran his finger over her lips. They’d still be soft and luscious.

Opening the drawer in the nightstand, he found the book. Just one. A very used copy of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Jackpot.

It had been a challenge to find a book she’d never read. A book she couldn’t quote by heart. He didn’t need to open the cover to see the words written inside, but he did anyway. “My favorite book is yours. Love, Steve.” He’d struggled with the words long enough, wanting them to be meaningful, yet casual.

He’d come here specifically to find this, just in case the reference to one of its characters in his “antidote note” hadn’t been a fluke. He flipped through the pages, finding a Valentine’s Day card with last year’s date and a “Love, Hayden.”

Who was Hayden?

Under the card was a picture of Jane and himself at his parents’ lake house. He flipped it over. Austin Lake Country where Steve assured me I wasn’t alone in the galaxy.

She’d kept the book and his picture.

Dr. Jane Palmer closely guarded a secret about herself. He’d given her his favorite book for her birthday present, then found out she had an amazing memory. She could recite chapters of books she’d read in college.

Shoot, he couldn’t go down memory lane right now. But he could go exactly where Jane had pointed him. Lake Buchanan, near Austin.

He pulled out his cell and had his thumb over the speed dial for George. It was more than a hunch now. Jane had deliberately left him a trail. She needed him.

But why not call the FBI? Why not write on the antidote note that she was in trouble? Why “Zaphod”? Because he’d understand immediately, and no one else would.

What if he were wrong? McCaffrey would have his head if he misdirected the team. He didn’t want to be permanently relieved of duty. Right?

He brought up the directory and retrieved the number for Southwest Airlines. If he were lucky, he could catch the first plane to Austin and bring Jane in alone. It was the safest way to get her to turn herself in and sort out why she was working with kidnappers.

What did he have to lose?

NINE TEDIOUS HOURS and Jane was losing her patience. Driving to Lake Buchanan through heavy rains had been a nightmare. Unexpected flooding in south Texas shut down roads and delayed her by four hours.

Her uncanny recall for details had set her apart for as long as she could remember. But an eidetic memory didn’t help in storms that obliterated the road signs or detours due to flooding.

How she’d wished for her ability to go away so she could be like normal little girls. A normal life full of dolls, playtime and friends. Full of stability instead of university studies. That “special” part of her everyone admired had contributed to her exploitation by her parents, losing her dream job and now the kidnapping of her son.

The formula stored in her unique memory had drawn criminal attention to her. Guess she didn’t blend in well enough after all. If she had, Rory would be safe at home instead of in the hands of coldhearted kidnappers.

Thunder echoed across the landscape, jolting her back to the driving rain beating against the windshield. It had started storming south of Stephenville and never let up. Kingsland had received its share, too. Although it was nearly seven in the morning, the sky remained shrouded in darkness as the rain continued to pour.

She drove past two barricades on the last turn and parked the car in a drive leading to an unused field. The ground was normally a mixture of small pebbles and dirt, but was now mainly water and mud. A couple of steps from the car and she slid to the ground, losing the flip-flops in the dark. She walked the last quarter mile to the lake house, falling time and again.

Her luck had to change. If the FBI understood her message, she could wait for their help here, away from the kidnappers’ view.

If they didn’t show, she’d get a message to them. Somehow. But she was too exhausted to think after driving all night. And if Steve decided to come, what then? She’d thought about how to break the news to him. He deserved to know. But how did you tell a man he was a father and that his son had been kidnapped in the same sentence?

I can’t think anymore. She finally sloshed up the muddy walkway thankful the heavy rains had placed the lake country in a flash-flood warning. There weren’t any cars along the road or in the driveway. No lights on in the house. Hopefully, the family was still at the ranch.

Amanda Woods, Steve’s mother, usually hid a key so her kids could use their weekend retreat at a moment’s notice. Jane hoped it would be that way now, or she’d spend a horrible wet day in the boathouse. She hooked the soggy strands from the wig behind her ears, wearing it just in case someone saw her or if she was stopped.

She pulled the key from under Brandon’s Texas-shaped stone near the roses, meaning Steve’s brother had been the last one here. They each had a cement rock with their handprint and initials from when they were five.

Walking along the veranda-style porch, she wondered what it would have been like to have a loving family with traditions and roots. Her parents had done what they thought was best, protecting her from…well, everything. Yet exposing her to one university study after another and keeping her from a normal childhood.

To be normal was all she wanted for Rory. And now? One step at a time. Or one hurdle.

The door swung open without a squeak. Now breaking and entering could be added to her list of fugitive accomplishments.

Trembling from nerves more than the damp, she grabbed a towel from the shelf in the mudroom and buried her face in its softness. A good sleep was far beyond her reach without Rory in her arms. But she’d been up for days and craved to stretch out with a pillow under her head. Just for an hour or so.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Jane screamed, dropped the terry cloth, and looked up to see Steve. A very alive, strong, healthy Steve. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh at the intensity of his stare. She took a deep breath, calming her racing blood.

The T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest. He looked great. Too perfect for words. But she could come up with a few: absolute, excellent, flawless, hunk, masterful. Not to mention archaic, pig-headed and loner.

Steve’s brow wrinkled, and the tiny laugh lines around his eyes were emphasized. She’d been gaping at him, but couldn’t help another look down his long, lean torso and back up again to his lightly whiskered face. Another gaze at the last and only man she wanted to see.

But, dear God in heaven, she’d missed everything about him. The shape of his once-broken nose, his deep brown eyes, how his dark hair curled out from under his hat—even his boots. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but couldn’t. He’d made his choice four years ago. Having him hold her wouldn’t change that.

“You look surprised to see me.” He blocked the door leading into the rest of the house. He was dry and immaculate except for that little bit of stubble that drove her crazy. “Didn’t you leave me a note?”

Technically she’d left two. “I expected someone else.” She wasn’t up to verbally sparring with him. She wanted to warm up and dry off. Curl up and cry. Turn everything over to the FBI and be certain they’d find Rory.

“Yeah, well, that knockout juice left a heckuva hangover.” He rubbed his forehead while continuing. “But I managed to make a plane.”

“Just you? None of your team is here? Why wouldn’t they come? You never work alone.”

“I take orders from the FBI, or at least I think I do.” He rubbed his temples again. “They put me on medical leave after I was stuck with an unknown drug.”

“You were obviously injected with the antidote so you have nothing to worry about.” She needed to sit down. She pushed at his chest, attempting to get around him, but he held his ground, not budging from the mudroom.

“You know, for a genius you’re not making much sense. You left a note for me to follow, but you’re surprised to see me.” He shoved the dripping blond wig off her head, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on, Jane? If something’s wrong, why not just tell the authorities everything?”

“It was the only thing I could come up with. There wasn’t a way to write a note.” She didn’t dare look at him again. She kept her eyes focused on the scuff marks on his boots. She was just too shaky to think straight. “The picture was already in the book, so I decided to come here and hope.”

“Why tell the FBI where you were going at all? Kidnapping has serious consequences. Tell me where the boy is and where you stashed the money.”

“What are you talking about?” She’d kidnapped someone and had the money? “The kidnappers said they’d give him back if I did what they asked.”

His hands stilled and created two pools of warmth through her wet T-shirt.

She opened her mouth to ask about Rory but couldn’t. He let her go and turned away. But not before she’d seen the disappointment on his face. The same disappointment she experienced for not having enough courage to tell him about Rory.

Steve pulled his cell from his belt. “I’ve got to call McCaffrey and let him know I’m bringing you in.”

“I can’t go back to Dallas!”

“Oh, yes, you can. I don’t know how you got involved, but—”

She tried to take the cell from his hand. His grip was too firm so she kept her fingers wrapped around his. “Please, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”

“It’s a kidnapping.” He shook her hand from his, but didn’t dial the phone. “Every minute counts if we’re going to find the kid.”

“The kid? His name is Rory.” So he didn’t know. But why was he there? She couldn’t tell him about his son like this. She needed to think. Plan what and how. She hadn’t really slept in three days. Everything was getting jumbled in her head.

“Rory?” He wrinkled his brow. “You collected the ransom for Thomas Brant. The kid you and a couple of monsters abducted yesterday morning.”

Another kidnapping? A second little boy was missing? She stumbled against the washer and slowly slid to the floor.

Sweet mother of God, would she ever see her son again?