Читать книгу Falling For The Enemy - Dawn Stewardson - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

HAYLEY HADN’T SLEPT WELL. Monsters wearing Sloan Reeves’s handsomely chiseled face had chased her through a series of nightmares, making it a relief when morning stole into her bedroom.

The first thing she did when she got up was phone Poquette and arrange to have Billy brought to the psych area at nine o’clock sharp. She might not know why Armstrong wanted to make a quick decision, but her job was to cooperate with him.

Naturally, Max picked this morning to dawdle. He usually ignored Satchmo’s game of always being on the wrong side of the door, but today he let the cat out and in three times before reluctantly sitting down at the table. Then he played a seemingly endless round of eenie-meenie before he decided which cereal he’d have.

Finally, she managed to get him to finish his breakfast and collect what he wanted for his day at the sitter’s.

After walking him and his pint-size two-wheeler the few houses down the street to Anne Kelly’s, she headed back to her car.

Despite Max’s delaying tactics she made it to the highway by 8:00 a.m. Once she started down the peninsula toward Poquette she was able to drive on automatic pilot.

The surrounding terrain was flat and wet—not completely barren but close to it—so the area wasn’t highly populated. That made for little traffic on the road, which gave her a chance to think through how she felt about this situation Sloan Reeves had dragged her into.

Peggy had been right in saying that prisons dealt with most requests from inmates at a snail’s pace. Armstrong’s asking for an immediate evaluation was highly unusual, and Hayley couldn’t help but wonder what leverage Reeves had used.

Regardless of how he’d done it, she was annoyed that he had Armstrong jumping through hoops. She didn’t like the idea of any prisoner, or his lawyer, having the power to force a warden into giving preferential treatment.

Force.

As the word repeated itself in her mind, she realized she shouldn’t assume Armstrong was jumping through hoops at all. She’d had enough contact with him to know that, like most wardens, he was hardly the type of man who’d let himself be intimidated.

Of course, bribery was always a possibility, although she seriously doubted Armstrong could be bought. In fact, she could readily imagine him throwing Reeves out on his ear if he tried either intimidation or bribery. So why this big rush?

Quite possibly, she’d never know. Armstrong wasn’t obliged to give her any explanations. When it came to things at Poquette, he was in complete charge. Which, in this case, was definitely a good thing.

As Peggy had said, if Reeves or Fitzgerald wanted to find out what Hayley recommended, they could. So it was just as well they were aware that the ultimate decision on a transfer wasn’t hers. Because, at least based on what she knew to this point, there was no way she could recommend one. Not with a clear conscience.

When she turned her attention back to her driving she was nearing the tall bridge that lay partway between Port Sulphur and Buras. The structure always struck her as spooky, although she wasn’t quite sure why.

Possibly it was the weirdness of there being freshwater on one side and saltwater on the other. Or maybe there was just too little land and too much ocean along this stretch.

Whatever, she was always glad to leave the bridge behind and drive the remaining few miles to the gravel road leading from the highway to the prison.

A couple of minutes later she could see it in the distance, a tired-looking big brick quadrangle in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by a heavy link fence topped with razor ribbon, it always struck her as utterly depressing—the sight of it frequently reminding her she could have specialized in other areas of psychology.

But with a mother who taught criminology at Penn State and a father who was a district attorney, her interest in the correctional treatment of psychopathology was hardly surprising.

And even though the vast majority of prisoners were damaged beyond repair, there were enough she could help to make her work rewarding. In fact, one of her most treasured possessions was a little box containing cards and letters from ex-cons who’d made it on the outside.

Reaching her destination, she stopped at the concrete post in front of the gate and pressed the button.

“Yes?” a guard asked through the speaker.

“Dr. Hayley Morgan.”

The gate slowly swung open. She drove through, parked and headed for the staff entrance—where she stepped reluctantly from the cheery daylight into the dim interior of the prison.

After signing in, she passed through the metal detector and started down the hall. At the end of it, a correctional officer unlocked the heavy door and let her into another world. One in which an eerie sense of pent-up danger hung in the air like static before an electrical storm.

In contrast to the Orleans Parish state government building, with Muzak whispering in the elevators and sunlight streaming through the windows on every floor, Poquette was stark and harsh—the epitome of uninviting.

It felt...hollow was a good word. The clicking of her heels on the stone floor echoed far too loudly. And even though sounds from the cell blocks didn’t actually reach the admin wing, she couldn’t keep from imagining steel doors clanging and voices calling out from behind bars.

At Records she picked up Billy Fitzgerald’s file, then proceeded to the psych area. She barely reached her little Tuesdays office before nine o’clock. Minutes later, as prearranged, a C.O. delivered Billy Fitzgerald.

He was a few inches taller than she was, five foot nine or ten, and somewhat overweight, although not sloppily so. His eyes were blue, his thinning hair mostly gray, with just enough traces of red to tell her that was its original color.

In media shots she’d seen of him he’d been a dapper and confident-looking man. Not surprisingly, he was far less imposing in drab, prison-issue cotton. His bearing, however, said he was a man used to issuing orders and having them followed.

The C.O. caught Hayley’s glance and said, “I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

After nodding to him, she looked at Fitzgerald again. “I’m Dr. Morgan, Mr. Fitzgerald.”

“Billy,” he said, giving her a smile. “Call me Billy.”

She returned his smile and gestured for him to sit, thinking that even though he’d lived in the Garden District before he landed in Poquette it wasn’t where his roots lay.

He spoke with a slight accent that was almost Brooklynese, almost movie gangster—typical of the Irish Channel part of New Orleans, where, generations earlier, a rough, tough collection of Irish immigrants had settled.

As he sat down across the desk from her, she opened his folder. The top document was a photocopy of his request for a transfer.

“Wishes to enter a rehabilitation program” was all that was typed as the Reason for Request.

She flipped through the routine incarceration documents until she located the original of the intake evaluation she’d studied yesterday.

“I have your initial psychological assessment records here,” she told him. “You’ve been at Poquette so briefly I don’t think we need to spend time going over the same things again. Why don’t we just talk about why you want a transfer.”

“Sloan Reeves spoke to you about that, didn’t he?” Fitzgerald’s tone was carefully nonconfrontational. He sounded like a man simply seeking information, nothing more.

“Yes, he came by my office yesterday. There was one question I didn’t think to ask him though. Is there any particular prison you’d prefer to be transferred to?”

“Not really. Any one with a rehab program would be fine.”

“I see.” It had occurred to her that there might be some way he could arrange for special treatment at a specific prison, but his answer shot down that theory.

“Why don’t you tell me, in your own words,” she suggested, “the reasons you’d like to be in one of the programs.”

He nodded, the picture of cooperation, then proceeded to recite from the same script Reeves had used. He had a problem with the isolation; he wanted more human interaction; he needed something to occupy his mind.

Fitzgerald’s explanation was pat and polished. Hayley didn’t buy it from him any more than she’d bought it from Reeves.

She’d spent years in classrooms studying human nature, followed by more years in the real world doing the same. And she was absolutely certain Fitzgerald had no more desire to get into a rehab program than she did.

He obviously figured he had something to gain from a transfer, but the longer they talked, the more apparent it became that he wasn’t going to tell her what it was. Finally, she concluded the interview and opened the door to tell the correctional officer. they were finished.

“Thank you,” Fitzgerald said when he rose to leave.

He gave her another of his charming smiles and extended his hand with an uncertainty she doubted was real.

“I’m not up on prison etiquette yet, Dr. Morgan, but on the outside...”

She reached over and shook hands with him, guessing that his was damp because he was far more anxious than he’d let on.

After the C.O. escorted him out and their footsteps had faded into silence, she sat staring at the blank evaluation form in front of her for a few minutes. Then she picked up her pen and began to write.

Once she was done, she tucked the form into her briefcase. Then, after gathering up the file on Fitzgerald, she returned it to Records and headed for Armstrong’s office.

The instant she arrived, his assistant buzzed the warden and ushered her in.

“Dr. Morgan.” Armstrong half rose behind his desk and gestured for her to sit. He was a large, beefy man with a ruddy complexion that made her assume he liked his bourbon.

“I understand you arranged to see Fitzgerald first thing.”

“Yes. I’ve just come from the interview.”

“And what are you recommending?”

She handed him the form. He skimmed what she’d written, then jotted down something on a different form, scrawled his signature and looked at her once more.

“That’s it,” he said. “Mr. Fitzgerald stays where he is.”

“May I ask a question?” Hayley said before he had a chance to dismiss her.

“Sure.”

“Why did you want to get this done so quickly?”

He shrugged. “Fitzgerald’s like a lot of executive-suite prisoners. They’re used to wielding power on the outside, and they come in here expecting to do the same. I like to give them a dose of reality as fast as I can.”

“Ah.”

“Anything else?”

When she shook her head, he picked up the two forms and escorted her out of the office.

His assistant looked up expectantly as the door opened.

Armstrong handed him the papers, saying, “Make sure Fitzgerald’s advised of my decision.”

SLOAN REEVES ANSWERED his phone on the first ring. It was the call he’d been waiting for.

“She recommended against a transfer,” Armstrong’s assistant said quietly. “And the warden’s turned down the application.”

Sloan swore under his breath. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem.”

Right. Few people had a problem dispensing information if enough money changed hands.

Hanging up, he slowly shook his head. Why the hell couldn’t she have just gone along with them? Done what he’d asked and said a change of scenery would benefit Billy’s mental health?

It wouldn’t have made Armstrong approve the application. They’d known he wouldn’t do that. But if Hayley Morgan had simply said what they’d wanted her to, she’d have given them the perfect ammunition to go straight to the governor’s office and make a case there about getting Billy out of Poquette on the cruel-and-unusual-punishment angle. Since this was an election year and the governor counted on the support, or at least the noninterference, of the Irish Mafia, Billy would have been on his way to another prison in no time.

Now, though... Sloan knew only too well what Billy would say now.

It would take a while to arrange everything, probably till the start of next week, but he’d want the wheels set in motion as soon as possible.

Sloan glanced at his watch, aware that he had to talk to Billy just as soon as he could. Maybe he could convince him to try another tack. But if he couldn’t...

If the man was determined to proceed with plan B, with or without Sloan’s help, then Sloan’s only option would be to stay closely involved. Give Billy suggestions and hope to hell he took them. Otherwise, things could get awfully bad. For Morgan and for her son.

“DON’T FORGET THE RULES,” Mrs. Kelly reminded Max from behind the screen door.

“I won’t,” he told her.

She was nice, ’cept that every Monday she always talked about the rules. He’d told his mom he didn’t like that, but she said Mrs. Kelly was just afraid he’d forgotten them over the weekend.

He never did, though. So she didn’t have to keep tellin’ him over and over. And she always had the same look his mom did, the look that warned if he broke them he’d be in big, big trouble.

“Only ride on the sidewalk,” she said. “And don’t go off the block.”

“I know. I’m just goin’ to see if any kids are out playin’.”

Pushing off, wobbling a little until he got going, he headed toward the end of the street, watching real good while he passed the house where King lived. Sometimes he was out on the porch, and Jimmy’s mom said that dog was born to chase bikes.

He was born to chase cats, too.

His own mom said that Satchmo probably only had about three of his nine lives left ’cuz of King.

“Yes!” he whispered as he reached the far side of the yard. Now he was into what he and Jimmy called “the safe zone.” There were no more big dogs for the rest of the block.

But there were no kids out playing, either. Disappointed, Max stopped in front of the last house, wishing that Jimmy and his family hadn’t gone on their car trip. The summer wasn’t half as much fun when your best friend was away.

But Mom had circled on the calendar when he’d be back, and Max was marking off the days, so he knew Jimmy would be home soon. Then—

“Max? Max Morgan?”

Startled, he looked toward the curb. The man who’d called his name was in a car with another man. He didn’t think he’d ever seen either of them before.

Never talk to strangers. That was one of the serious rules.

“You are Max, aren’t you?”

He nodded. That wasn’t talking.

“Good, because your mother asked us to pick you up for her. But when we went to Mrs. Kelly’s and she told us you were out riding your bike, we didn’t know if we’d be able to find you.”

Max looked back the way he’d come, surprised they’d had enough time to talk to Mrs. Kelly.

The man who wasn’t driving got out and opened the back door. “Hop in. I’ll put your bike in the trunk.”

“I can’t,” Max said, feeling kinda scared.

The men hadn’t said the secret word, and if Mom wanted him to go with them she’d have told them it. She always said he should never go anywhere with anyone he didn’t know unless they told him the secret word.

“Max, it’s okay. Your mom’s getting off work early and she wants to take you someplace straight from her office. We’re not supposed to tell you where ’cuz it’s a surprise, but it’s a place you really like.”

He scratched his arm, thinking it might be the zoo. That was his favorite place, and the white alligators were his favorite things to see.

“Come on,” the man who’d gotten out of the car said with a smile.

Maybe they just forgot. “You have to say the secret word first,” he told them. “I can’t go unless you do.”

The man standing outside looked at the one driving. “Uh...Max,” he said. “We didn’t want to frighten you by telling you this, but your mom fell on some stairs and hurt her leg. She’s okay,” he added quickly. “But she had to go to a hospital and get checked over, so I guess in all the excitement she just wasn’t thinking about the secret word.

“She wanted us to drive you to the hospital, though. ’Cuz she’s going to take you out for dinner after she’s done there. And it’s really okay to come with us. We’re cops.”

“Detectives,” the other one said. “That’s why we aren’t wearing uniforms.”

He didn’t want to cry, but his eyes started to sting and tears began rolling down his cheeks. What if his mom was hurt worse than they were telling him?

“Come on, Max. When we get to the hospital you’ll see for yourself that she’s just fine.”

SLOAN STOOD in the lobby of the Orleans Parish state government building, waiting for O’Rourke’s call and assuring himself that nothing could have gone wrong.

Watching the sitter’s house for a few days last week had told them Max Morgan was a child of habit. Every day right after lunch he hit the street on his bike. So it was merely a matter of picking him up without anyone noticing.

But what if something had gone wrong? Despite the air-conditioning, that possibility was enough to start him sweating.

Both O’Rourke and Sammy were family men, though. And he’d suggested that Billy choose them for the job because he’d figured neither would ever harm a six-year-old. Just as he was reminding himself of that, his cell phone rang.

“Sloan Reeves,” he answered.

“Got him,” O’Rourke said. “No problems.”

“And he’s okay?”

“Yeah. Fine. But he ain’t a happy camper.”

Sloan exhaled slowly, not wanting to even think about how frightened the boy must be. “Do your best to reassure him, huh? And tell him his mom’s going to phone him soon.”

“Sure.”

He just hoped that Hayley Morgan was in her office. Otherwise, soon might not be possible. “You’re being careful not to use your real names?”

“Yeah, of course. Sammy’s ‘Tom’ and I’m ‘Dick.’ Like the Smothers Brothers. How’re we gonna forget that?”

He hadn’t figured either O’Rourke or Sammy was old enough to remember the sixties folk-song duo. He barely was himself. But since they did, it should help them keep from slipping up.

Once they’d finished their conversation, Sloan headed for the elevators. He waited until a car arrived, then stepped in and pressed the button for six, wishing to hell this hadn’t played out the way it had.

But there’d simply been no talking to Billy Fitz. He wasn’t a patient man and he wanted out of prison yesterday. So after Morgan had recommended against a transfer...

The elevator slowed, nearing the sixth floor. As the doors opened, Sloan squared his shoulders.

The last thing he wanted to do was tell Hayley Morgan her son had been kidnapped. When you worked for Billy, though, you followed orders. Otherwise, you ended up floating in Lake Pontchar-train.

He strode down the hall, reminding himself his work had its rewards. But this session sure wouldn’t be one of them.

When he reached Hayley’s office she was sitting behind her desk again, every bit as appealing as she’d been the first time he’d seen her. He barely had time to think that a woman in her line of work just shouldn’t look the way she did before she glanced through the doorway and met his gaze—making him wish, once more, that he didn’t have to do this.

Without taking her dark eyes from him, she slowly sat back in her chair. She obviously wasn’t pleased to see him, even without knowing why he’d come.

“I have to talk to you,” he told her.

Hayley glanced at her desk clock, wishing she had a legitimate reason for telling Sloan Reeves she had no time to talk. She didn’t like him. Didn’t like what he stood for.

And she particularly didn’t like the fact that she was so aware of his animal magnetism.

Just looking at him did funny things to her, which made her very uncomfortable. She couldn’t recall her brain and her body ever being completely out of sync before, and the sense that they were when it came to him was most disconcerting.

“It’s urgent,” he said. “And personal,” he added, stepping into the office.

When he closed her door, isolating the two of them from her co-workers, her sense of discomfort grew.

“I prefer that open,” she told him.

“As I said, this is personal.” Leaving the door shut, he sat down in the visitor’s chair.

Her anxiety level began edging higher, even though there was no logical reason it should. Her brain was in charge, not her body. And being alone with him didn’t represent any actual danger.

Lord, how many times had she been alone in interview rooms with prisoners? Too many to remember. So being in her own office with Sloan Reeves, attorney at law, shouldn’t faze her in the slightest.

The problem, she decided, was simply that he was Billy Fitzgerald’s lawyer. She could certainly live without some lawyer to the mob walking into her office—on two consecutive Mondays yet—and taking charge.

Leaning forward in his chair, he said, “Billy was disappointed you didn’t support his transfer request.”

She let that pass, although it struck her as strange that he was still working at intimidating her after the fact.

“You see, applying for it was part of an escape plan. He intended to make a break while he was being transported from Poquette.”

For a moment she was so stunned she couldn’t speak. Then she said, “And you were helping him try to get the transfer? Mr. Reeves, does the word disbarred mean anything to you?”

Never mind disbarred, he’d probably go to prison. Sloan Reeves was nothing but a criminal in lawyer’s clothing.

But why in the world had he confided in her? He must realize she’d tell Warden Armstrong. Along with a few other people.

“Just hear me out,” he said. “Unfortunately, when you deep-sixed that transfer—”

“Look, I don’t want to hear you out.” Her opinion of Sloan Reeves, not high to begin with, sank lower each time he opened his mouth. “In fact, I don’t want to listen to anything more at all. I’d like you to leave.” She had better things to do than waste another minute with him.

“Not until I’m finished. Trust me, you need to hear the rest.”

She didn’t trust him any more than she respected him, but something in his expression made her decide against calling Security.

“All right,” she said, slowly sitting back in her chair. “What’s the rest?”

“Billy wants you to help him. As you know, breaking out from inside Poquette is practically impossible. He’d likely end up dead if he tried it.”

“He wants me to help him escape.” She could scarcely believe that was what Reeves was saying, even though it clearly was.

“Yes. We had a solid plan, but you screwed it up. So he wants you to help figure out some other way of getting him on the outside.”

“Are you insane? Why on earth would I?”

When he didn’t reply, she just sat watching him. If he seriously thought she’d—

“Hayley...is it okay if I call you that?”

She nodded. For all she cared he could call her Lady Godiva—just as long as he finished what he was obviously determined to say and left.

“Good. And please call me Sloan, because we’ll be seeing quite a bit of each other for the next little while.”

In your dreams, she said silently. She intended to blow the whistle as soon as he left.

“I’ve got to tell you something that will frighten you. But try not to panic, because it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds.”

He hesitated, eyeing her, then continued. “A couple of Billy’s men have your son. They picked him up just a few minutes ago, while he was out riding his bike.”

The world froze around her and her heart froze inside her chest.

“Max is perfectly safe,” he added quickly. “I swear he is. And I promise he’ll stay that way as long as you cooperate.”

She almost couldn’t hear his words over the thunder in her head. A couple of Billy Fitzgerald’s men had Max! She’d never felt such utter terror before, and when she tried to speak the words caught in her throat.

“Look...I can’t tell you how sorry I am this has happened,” Sloan said. “But—”

“I want my son back,” she whispered fiercely. “Right now.”

“I know.”

“Then get him back for me!”

“I can’t. Not—”

“What kind of man are you!” Her entire body trembling, she pushed herself out of her chair and stood glaring across the desk at him. “You’re trying to help Fitzgerald plan a prison break? You let his men kidnap an innocent child? Are you a monster?”

He shook his head. “I don’t ‘let’ either Billy or the people who work for him do anything. Sometimes he tells me what he’s thinking about and asks my opinion. But even then my advice doesn’t always carry much weight with him.

“Your son’s going to be fine, though. I’ll ensure you get him back safely. I just can’t do it until Billy. gives the okay. And that won’t be until he gets what he wants.”

“Oh, God,” she murmured, choking back a sob.

“Hayley, all you have to do is help him out. And as long as he can count on your silence, no harm will come to either you or Max.”

She ordered herself to calm down. As frantic as she felt, it was essential she think straight.

All she had to do was help Billy out. Enter into a conspiracy to help a convicted felon escape from prison. Betray the trust the State of Louisiana had placed in her. Knowing that if anyone ever learned what she’d done, the career that meant so much to her would be over.

Her career would be over? How about she’d end up in prison herself if she got caught? After all, she’d be breaking a hundred different laws.

But what would happen to her didn’t matter. All that mattered was what would happen to Max. And if by agreeing to go along with this...

“No one will ever know you played any part,” Sloan said. “I guarantee that. However it gets set up, Billy will arrange things so it doesn’t look like an insider was involved.”

She took a slow, deep breath. Helping with a prison break wasn’t something she’d ever in a million years have thought she’d consider. But right this minute that was exactly what she was doing. Because if she didn’t agree...

“Just help him out and you’ll get Max back safe and sound,” Sloan was saying. “That’s the deal he’s offering you, and even his enemies admit he’s a man of his word.”

Was that true? Was it something she could believe, something to give herself a ray of hope? If she did conspire with the devil, would it really save her son? Or would they simply kill both Max and her in the end anyway?

Was William Fitzgerald actually a man of his word or not? Think. What was the likelihood?

Most psychopaths were consummate liars, yet that didn’t mean they were compulsive liars. And she’d run across a few who’d actually taken pride in keeping their word. They’d just been careful not to give it very often.

Staring down at her desk, telling herself she wasn’t going to cry, she tried to stop her fears from tumbling all over one another. She simply couldn’t fall apart.

“Hayley,” Sloan said, “I tried my damedest to convince Billy that taking Max was a bad idea. But when I couldn’t, I volunteered to act as go-between. You’ll be better off dealing with me than with some of the others he might have chosen.”

“I see.” She took a deep breath, still not looking up. Before she met Sloan’s gaze again, she had to recover enough control to keep from telling him that she’d like to see him hung by his thumbs and flayed. If he was the go-between, angering him would be a very bad move.

What would be a good move, though? Calling the police the minute he left? Or the FBI?

No. How could she do that when Max’s life was at stake? How could she do anything other than what Fitzgerald wanted?

For the moment, at least until she pulled herself back from the edge of hysteria, the only smart thing to. do was say she’d try to help. Then, when she was thinking more rationally, she could figure out if there was any other realistic course of action. One that wouldn’t end up with her and Max dead. In the meantime, she had to see if she could make what was happening less traumatic for him.

Desperately wishing she had more bargaining power than she did, she focused on her visitor once more.

When Hayley finally looked at Sloan again, her eyes were filled with foreboding. And pure, unadulterated hatred.

Even though it was exactly what he’d been expecting, it made him feel hollow inside. There were aspects of his job he downright loathed.

“All right,” she murmured. “I’ll do what I can.”

“Good.” He breathed a sigh of relief, even though he’d been certain she’d agree. “The men who have Max, who’ll be looking after him, have kids of their own,” he offered. “He’ll be just fine with them. But would you like to talk to him? Assure yourself that he really is all right?”

“Of course I would!”

“Then we’ll call him. I want you to phone your sitter first, though. So she doesn’t start worrying. And before you do, we’ve got to agree on a story. One that’ll explains why Max will be gone from home for a while.”

“A while,” she repeated. “How long is a while? How long is this going to take?”

“That’ll depend. The sooner Billy’s out, the sooner—”

“But there’s no guarantee he will get out, no guarantee I’ll be able to help him.”

Her voice was shaky, as if she were hanging on to her self-control by nothing more than her fingernails. Sloan tried to ignore the pang of sympathy he felt.

“Even if it turns out I can help, it won’t happen overnight. And I can’t go indefinitely without seeing Max. At the very least, I want to spend a couple of hours with him every evening.”

“Billy’d never agree to that.”

“Dammit, the man’s sitting in a prison cell and he wants me to help get him out of it. He wants me to risk my job. Maybe risk my life, depending on what happens. And I might do that. But I don’t want Max suffering any more trauma than he has to. And being separated from his mother for any length of time... Sloan, you just have to make Fitzgerald understand I won’t try to help him unless I get to see my son. That simply isn’t negotiable.”

He knew she was bluffing. Now that she’d said she’d go along with them, she’d do whatever she had to. And if that included not seeing Max for the duration, she’d accept it.

She was right about nothing happening overnight, though. It could be weeks, possibly months, before they managed to spring Billy. And hell, it wasn’t hard to imagine how tough having no contact would be on both her and the boy.

He tried telling himself that was just the way kidnappings worked, but it didn’t do any good. He might have to help Billy but he didn’t have to like what the man was doing. And if he could make this nightmare easier for Hayley and her son to get through, why shouldn’t he?

If he couldn’t, at least he’d feel better knowing that he’d tried. “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll speak to Billy and see what I can do.”