Читать книгу Christmas Kidnapping - Cindi Myers - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Jack spent most of his evening stretched out in the recliner in his apartment, his laptop propped on his stomach, scanning the database Cameron had loaded onto a flash drive. A football game on the TV played in the background, and he was debating getting out of the chair and hunting in the refrigerator for a beer when his cell phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number on the screen, though it was a local exchange, and he almost let the call go to voice mail but decided to take a chance. “Hello?”

“Jack, they’ve taken Ian. You’ve got to help me. Please. They’ve taken my baby.”

He didn’t recognize the voice of the hysterical woman on the other end of the line, but the name Ian meant it had to be Andrea. “Andrea? Is that you?”

“Yes. Oh, God—Jack. Ian will be terrified. You have to help me find him.”

“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He was already moving toward the door. “Can you sit tight until then?”

“Yes. But hurry, please.”

He broke several traffic laws on the way to Andrea’s house, but traffic was light off the highway this time of evening, and in less than five minutes he roared into her driveway. Every light in the house was illuminated. He raced onto the porch and knocked. “Andrea! It’s me, Jack.”

“Come in. We’re in the kitchen.”

He found her at the back of the house, applying a cold washcloth to a nasty-looking bruise near the babysitter’s temple. Chelsea held her baby close, tears pouring from her eyes as she rocked and cooed at the infant. Andrea had been crying, too, her eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. “What’s going on?” Jack asked.

“Ian and I were watching a movie and eating pizza and these two men dressed in black and carrying big guns burst in and grabbed him,” Chelsea said. “I tried to stop them, but one of them hit me in the head with the butt of the gun. When I woke up, I was tied up and gagged in a back bedroom and Ian was gone.” She gulped and swallowed hard. “I was so afraid they’d taken Charlotte, too, but they left her sleeping in her crib.”

“Have you called the police?” Jack asked.

“They said not to,” Andrea said. “They said they would kill Ian if I contacted any law enforcement.” Her voice wobbled at the word kill and she looked ready to collapse.

Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Who told you not to?” he asked.

“I don’t know who. They left a note.”

She handed him a piece of paper, the message on it typed in block letters.

YOUR BOY WILL BE SAFE AS LONG AS YOU COOPERATE. YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND BRING TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS TO THE ADDRESS WE’LL GIVE YOU TOMORROW AND WE WILL TALK THEN. DO NOT GO TO THE POLICE OR TELL ANYONE ELSE. WE HAVE PEOPLE WATCHING YOU AND WE WILL KNOW. MAKE ONE WRONG MOVE AND YOUR BOY WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH.

Andrea sank into a chair, her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. Chelsea leaned over and squeezed her hand.

Jack read the note again. “Who is this boyfriend they’re talking about?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t since before my marriage.”

“I think they mean you,” Chelsea said.

“Me?”

“Jack isn’t my boyfriend,” Andrea protested.

“If the kidnappers saw the two of you together this afternoon, they might think so,” Chelsea said. “I mean, I did.”

Andrea moaned and covered her mouth again.

Jack sat across from her. His leg throbbed, but he ignored it. “The only person watching us this afternoon was that guy in the restaurant,” he said.

“Did you find out who he is?” Andrea asked.

He shook his head. “I’m still looking into it.” He glanced around the room. “He probably got your address from your license in your purse. And he has your keys, too.” Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He should have made Andrea change her locks. Or he should have insisted on staying here at her house tonight. He turned to Chelsea. She looked as wrecked as Andrea, clutching the child in her arms so tightly it was a wonder the infant didn’t wail. “What did these two look like?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They were wearing masks, dressed all in black. They carried big guns. Everything happened so fast...”

“How tall were they? How much did they weigh? Did they have accents? Could you see their hands, get an idea of race?” He knew he sounded like a bully, firing questions at the upset woman, but he couldn’t help himself. In situations like this, gathering as much evidence as possible as quickly as possible could make the difference between life and death.

Fresh tears spilled from Chelsea’s eyes and she shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I was so focused on Ian and the guns. And then they hit me.” She began to sob, and Andrea pulled her close.

“Why would someone do something like this?” Andrea asked. “How did they know I had a child? Have they been following me for a while now?”

Jack considered the questions. “This doesn’t make sense as a kidnapping.” He tapped the note. “For one thing, the ransom is too low. Kidnappers ask for millions of dollars, not a few thousand.”

“They must have known I don’t have millions,” Andrea said.

“Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Chelsea said. “Maybe they got their houses mixed up. You see that on TV sometimes. What do they call them—home invasions.”

“Maybe.” Jack reread the note. “But I don’t think so. How long would you say they were in the house?”

Chelsea frowned, concentrating. “I don’t know. They burst in and knocked me out right away. They were here long enough to tie me up and put me in the bathroom. After I woke up, I spent a half hour or more crawling down the hall, trying to get to the phone.”

“It sounds to me as if this was planned,” Jack said. “They came in fast and hard, took out Chelsea, grabbed the boy and left. They didn’t kill Chelsea, though they easily could have, and they left her baby alone. They wanted Ian.” His eyes met Andrea’s. “And they wanted you to cooperate. They knew taking your son would make you do whatever they wanted.”

“But why me?” she asked. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”

“Your husband was a cop,” Jack said. “Maybe he made enemies. It could be someone he put in prison. They’re out now and seeking revenge.”

“Preston has been dead three years. Anything they do to me or Ian now doesn’t touch him. These people would be taking a lot of risk for nothing.”

He nodded. While he’d learned not to discount some people’s drive for revenge or the irrational ways evil people could act, this didn’t feel like that kind of situation. The note hadn’t mentioned Andrea’s husband at all.

But it had mentioned her “boyfriend.” “Maybe whoever did this was trying to get to me,” he said.

“To you?” Confusion clouded her eyes. “But, Jack, I hardly know you. We just met.”

“I can’t prove it yet, but I think the man I saw in the restaurant this afternoon is connected to a case I’ve been working on. He may have seen the two of us together and assumed a relationship. He stole your purse in order to learn where you live. He may even have meant to kidnap you and send the ransom note to me, but when they found Ian instead, they decided to use him.”

“That’s crazy,” Chelsea said.

“It is. But this group has done this kind of thing before.” Months before, Duane Braeswood and his men had kidnapped the sister of a woman who worked for the head of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security. They had threatened to kill the sister if the woman, Leah Carlisle, didn’t cooperate with them. Once Leah was in their power, they had killed her sister and held Leah hostage for six months. Search Team Seven had rescued her in the same raid in which Gus had been killed. “They know that most people will do almost anything to save their loved ones, more than they would do, even, to save themselves.”

“But I’m not your loved one,” Andrea said. “I’m just an acquaintance you had lunch with.”

“No. But I’m not going to turn my back on you when you need my help.” And he cared about her. And Ian, too. In the short time he had known them, they had worked their way into a corner of his heart.

She looked away. “I don’t have anyone else I can call,” she said. “Not anyone who would be safe. If you can pretend to be my boyfriend until we get through this...” She let her voice trail away, as if she thought she were asking too much.

“I’m not going to leave your side until we’re through this.” He gripped her shoulder again. “You’ve got to be strong now. For Ian.”

She sat up straighter and took a ragged breath. “What do we do now?” she asked.

“Can you get ten thousand dollars together?”

“I can take it out of my savings as soon as the bank opens in the morning.”

“Let’s wait until the kidnappers call with instructions. Right now, you can’t stay here tonight.”

“No.” She hugged her arms across her chest and shivered.

He turned to Chelsea. “What about you?”

“I want to go home to my husband. I haven’t told him about any of this yet. I’d rather do it face-to-face.”

“He’ll want to call the police.” Andrea clutched Chelsea’s hand. “You have to convince him to keep quiet.”

“I will,” Chelsea said. “He won’t like it, but he won’t want anything to happen to Ian, either.”

Jack stood and walked to the phone on the wall. “What are you doing?” Andrea asked. “Who are you calling?”

“I’m forwarding this number to my cell phone. That way you can come with me and we won’t miss a call from the kidnappers.”

“The note says they have someone watching me,” Andrea said. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave the house.”

“They think I’m your boyfriend. They won’t be alarmed if you come with me.” At least, he hoped that was the case.

Andrea packed an overnight bag and Chelsea retrieved the baby’s car seat from her vehicle. “My husband can bring me by to get my car later,” she said. “I’m too scared to drive home alone right now.”

“I don’t mind taking you home. And I’ll talk to your husband, too. I’ll persuade him to keep quiet.”

Chelsea’s husband turned out to be a burly mechanic who worked for the local Ford dealer. He listened to the story Chelsea told with growing signs of alarm. When she got to the part about needing to keep quiet, he started shaking his head.

Jack stepped forward. “Mr. Green, I’m with the FBI,” he said. He opened his ID folder to show his badge and credentials. “I’m going to be doing everything I can to get Ian back to his mother safely, and for that, I need your cooperation.”

“FBI!” Chelsea gasped. “Andrea, you didn’t tell me he was a fed.”

Andrea said nothing, her face pale and drawn. She looked as if the slightest breeze might make her collapse. Jack resisted the urge to gather her close and hold her tightly. “Will you promise not to contact police and not to say anything to anyone—coworkers, friends, relatives, anyone—until this is resolved?” he asked.

Mr. Green nodded. “Sure. I’ll keep quiet. I didn’t know the FBI was involved.”

Not officially, Jack thought. Not yet.

They drove in silence to his apartment. Andrea made no protest when he took her arm and guided her up the stairs to the furnished unit he had rented when the team relocated to Durango the month before. The television still broadcast the ball game, the sound turned down low, and the harsh overhead light illuminated the wrappings from the sub sandwich and chips that had been his dinner.

“The bedroom is back this way,” he said, steering her toward the short hallway that led to the unit’s single bedroom and adjoining bathroom. “You can sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

Covers spilled onto the floor, silent testimony to a restless night. The pillow still bore the imprint of his head. He rushed forward to jerk the comforter into place. “I’ll get some clean sheets,” he said, moving past her.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said, her hand on his arm. “I can take the sofa.”

“No, it’s okay.”

He found the sheets, and together they made the bed, an ordinary, intimate activity that broke some of the tension between them. “Do you have a washer and dryer?” she asked, gathering up the old linens. “I can wash these.”

“I’ll get them later.” He took the mound of sheets from her and stuffed them into the closet behind him. “Can I get you anything else? Tea? Bourbon?”

A smile flickered across her lips. “The latter is tempting, but I want to keep a clear head.”

“Try to get some sleep.” He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She leaned her cheek against his hand, her skin silky and warm, and no man with feelings would have been able to resist pulling her to him.

She welcomed the gesture and snuggled against him, her head buried in the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “If they hurt Ian...”

“Shh.” He cradled the back of her head, his fingers threaded through her hair, which was coming loose from the pins that held it atop her head. He removed the pins one by one and combed out her locks with his fingers. She sighed and settled against him more firmly, so that he was aware of the soft weight of her breasts against his chest and the vanilla-and-honey perfume of her hair. He wanted to bury his face in those silky tresses—and bury the rest of himself in her, as well.

She raised her head and tilted her face up to his, her expression questioning. “Why do I feel so safe and comfortable with you?” she asked.

“Because you are safe with me.” He stroked her cheek, silken and warm. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”

“Kiss me.” She whispered the words, but they had the force of a command. One he was all too ready to obey.

Her lips were as soft and supple as he had imagined, and she responded to the gentle pressure of his mouth by rising up on her toes and angling her head to deepen the contact. This was no meek surrender to his will, but the urgent encouragement of a partner who wasn’t afraid to take the lead. She traced her tongue along his bottom lip and he opened to her and shifted to snug her body between his thighs, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

She was the first to break contact, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “That was as amazing as I thought it might be,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

She gently moved out of his embrace. “That was very selfish of me,” she said. “I was feeling so helpless and lost... I thought if I kissed you then, just for a moment, I could forget how terrible everything is.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm, as much to avoid breaking contact with her as to comfort her. “Did it help?”

Her eyes met his, the desire he’d seen there only a moment before edged out by sadness. “It did. But it doesn’t change our situation.” She stepped back, putting space between them. “I’m not trying to lead you on. I think I’m so stressed and upset, and I’ve been on my own so long...” She shook her head. “It’s like my emotions have gone all haywire.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He understood her more than she would probably believe. The combination of stress and many months of living alone had no doubt intensified his desire for her, but that didn’t explain the tenderness beneath the lust, and the fierce desire to make things right for her. He wanted to return her son safely to her, and he wanted to see her smiling and happy again.

“We’re going to find Ian,” he said. “Hold on to that thought.” He turned away. “Try to get some sleep.” All he wanted was to crawl into that bed with her and hold her all night long, but she’d probably misinterpret his actions, think he was taking advantage of her vulnerability. If he was going to help her, she had to trust him, and that meant letting her dictate the pace of their relationship. So, while he wanted to stay, he made himself leave the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

* * *

ANDREA DIDN’T KNOW how long she stood where Jack left her, clinging to the memory of his warmth and strength. How long had it been since a man had touched her with such tenderness? She had savored the feeling, even as shame lurked in the background, mocking her for enjoying even a minute while her son was in danger. But she’d needed those few moments in Jack’s arms to pull herself together and to gather her own strength to keep from breaking down. Though the urge to collapse onto the bed and give in to the sobs that pressed at the back of her throat almost overwhelmed her, doing so wouldn’t bring Ian back to her.

She went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth, then returned to the bedroom and contemplated the freshly made bed. No way would she sleep tonight, not with thoughts of her boy, frightened and with strangers, haunting her.

She went into the living room and found Jack seated on the sofa, a laptop opened on the table in front of him. He had turned off the TV and a cup of coffee steamed at his right hand. He looked up when she moved into the light. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, and sat beside him.

“I figure we’re both in for a long night,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I just made it.”

“Maybe in a minute.” She nodded to the laptop. “Are you looking for the purse snatcher?”

“Yes.” He shrank the screen and picked up the coffee cup. “No luck so far, but I’m just getting started.”

“I don’t mean to keep you from your work.” She sat back and grabbed a small throw pillow to hug across her stomach. “I promise not to look.”

“I’ll take a break for a few minutes.” He sipped the coffee and neither of them said anything for a long moment. The refrigerator hummed in the small kitchen behind her, and somewhere below, a car door slammed.

“Why did you call me tonight?” he asked.

A reasonable question, but one she wasn’t sure she could answer. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking. I guess...you’re an FBI agent. And you knew Ian. Or at least, you met him and talked to him.” She looked at him, the truth of her next words making her a little shaky. “I believed you could save him.” But why would she believe such a thing about a man she scarcely knew? Still, she couldn’t shake the conviction that if anyone could help her, it was Jack. The stubbornness and commitment and need for control that had struck her as negative traits in her office now stood out as exactly the characteristics needed to fight the evil responsible for her son’s disappearance.

“I’ll do everything I can to get him back to you,” he said.

She forced herself to stand on shaky legs. “I think I’ll have some of that coffee now.”

When she returned from the kitchen, he was focused on the computer once more. She moved around the room, then studied the few books on a shelf by the door—an acclaimed biography of Theodore Roosevelt, a guide to Colorado’s Weminuche Wilderness, a few thriller novels and a thick treatise on the history of terrorism. A single photograph graced the shelf by the books: two men, dressed in hiking gear and standing side by side atop a mountain, beaming at the camera. If she had to guess, she would say the man next to Jack in the photo was his friend Gus, the one whose death tormented him.

“I think I’ve got something,” Jack said.

She hurried to the sofa, scooting close to him to study the picture on the computer screen. A man looked back at her from a grainy black-and-white photo. “It’s from a surveillance camera,” Jack said. “Not the best quality, but good enough I can recognize him. This is the guy in the restaurant—the one who stole your purse.”

She leaned forward and squinted at the image. It was of a white man, fairly young, with light brown hair and a sharp nose. But nothing about him looked familiar. She shook her head. “I don’t recognize him. But I wasn’t really paying attention in the restaurant and his back was to me.”

“That’s all right,” Jack said. “I got a good look at him and this is the guy.” He clicked to the next screen and she read the name there. Anderson.

“Is that a first or a last name?” she asked.

“We don’t know.” Jack scanned the few lines of information under the name. “We don’t know a lot, but we suspect he’s connected to a terrorist cell we’ve been tracking here in Colorado.”

“Terrorists? You think Ian has been kidnapped by terrorists?” The knowledge refused to sink in. What would terrorists want with her little boy? Tears stung her eyes. Where was Ian now? What were they doing to him? If they hurt him...

Jack gripped her hand, pulling her back from the nightmare of horror she was capable of imagining. “We’re going to find them, and we’re going to get Ian back,” he said.

She nodded, struggling for control. “Yes.” That belief was the only life preserver she had. “We’re going to get him back.”

Jack turned to stare at the picture on the computer screen once more, and when he spoke, his voice was colder and harder than she had imagined it could be. “Tomorrow Anderson and his friends will be sorry they ever messed with me.”