Читать книгу Hero for Hire - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 9

Her heart leaped to her throat when she heard the ringing sound again just as she reached the bottom of the stairs. It had her grabbing for her cell phone even though the ring was different from her own. Hope made her irrational.

“It’s mine again,” Chad told her, slipping out his phone and opening it. It was too soon for Savannah to be getting back to him, he thought. Even Savannah wasn’t this fast.

The call was from Rusty and had nothing to do with the business at hand. Chad could tell by his brother’s unusually subdued voice that something was not right with the universe. His younger brother was ordinarily one of those people who needed no excuse to be genuinely happy. His exuberance was missing.

“Chad, do you have any free time tonight?”

Chad glanced at Veronica before answering. He intended to wait with her until the call came through from the kidnapper. There was no way of gauging how long that would be. Under normal circumstances, he would finish asking his questions and then return to the office where he’d begin a methodical investigation. But the kidnapper’s aborted call, whether intentional and merely aided and abetted by the power failure, or accidental, had left Veronica hanging. He wasn’t about to walk away from her until she heard the actual demand.

Turning away, he lowered his voice. “I don’t know yet. Why, what’s up?”

“I’m not sure,” Rusty replied. “But I don’t think you want me to talk about it on the phone. Give me a call when you’re available.”

Chad’s curiosity was mildly aroused. There were no real question marks in his personal day-to-day existence. His life was spartan-like. Outside of his cases, he had very little going on. He got together occasionally with his brother and sister, and even less often with the other three men in the firm, Cade Townsend, Sam Walters and Ben Underwood.

It wasn’t that he was antisocial; he was just self-contained. His job was to reunite parents with their children. He had no place in that sphere once his work was done, and now three of his partners, including Megan, had life partners of their own. He didn’t fit in.

“You okay?” he asked. He knew that when it came to himself, Rusty never liked to complain. Which was why when he’d had appendicitis, they had barely gotten him to the hospital in time.

There was a slight hesitation, followed quickly by an overcompensated assurance. “Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”

Chad took it at face value. “Then I’ll call you when I can.” With that, Chad flipped his cell phone closed.

She was looking at him with hungry eyes, hoping for a scrap. “Was that about—?”

He cut her off before she continued to work herself up. “No, that was a personal call.”

The tight-lipped way he said it told Veronica that was as much information as she was going to get on the subject. It wasn’t that she wanted to pry into his affairs. It was just that she was desperate for a distraction, any distraction, until the kidnapper finally got back to her. But the phone in her hand remained silent. She looked at it accusingly.

“About that coffee,” he prodded gently, taking her elbow.

The words made her snap back into her surroundings. “Right. Coffee.”

Veronica looked vaguely toward the rear of the house. She was seriously beginning to doubt she remembered how to make coffee. Or how to find her way to the kitchen.

She managed both.

Moving woodenly, she pulled out two cups, one for him and one for herself. When the coffee was finally ready, she poured them with a hand she was struggling to keep from shaking. Taking a seat opposite Chad at the kitchen table, she held on to her cup with both hands as if she secretly hoped it was a way of channeling the kidnapper, forcing him to make the call.

But nothing rang. She sincerely hoped that the downed phone lines were not making the kidnapper angry. What if he took that anger out on Casey?

What if…?

She forced herself not to go there. Not to think. Instead, she stared into her china cup, watching how the overhead light skimmed along the inky surface of her untouched coffee.

“Have you been at this long?” She tried to make herself sound as if she was interested in the response, but her voice sounded dull to her own ear.

Chad leaned back in his chair. He tried to remember if he’d ever seen anyone with skin paler than hers. She looked as if the slightest thing would set her off. He debated asking if there were any mild tranquilizers in her medicine cabinet she could take. His mother’s medicine cabinet had always been full of them. Different prescriptions from different doctors all with the same mission: to make her forget her pain.

Chad decided, for the time being, not to ask. Still studying her, he set down his cup. “Investigation in general or recovering lost children?”

Lost. The word echoed back at her, mocking her. Lost. As if she’d misplaced Casey somewhere like a sweater that had been absently shed. Casey wasn’t lost—he was stolen.

She lifted one shoulder, then let it drop. The smile was minimal, but genuine as her eyes met his. “Take your pick. I probably won’t remember what you say, anyway,” she added in a flash of bare honesty.

He liked the lack of pretense. There was nothing he valued more than honesty. And nothing, he knew, that was rarer. Chad took a long sip before answering. The coffee could have been better. He doubted anyone ever complimented Veronica Lancaster on her coffee-making skills.

“I was on the police force for five years.” He paused, taking another sip. “Being with ChildFinders suits me better. It’s a focus.”

The word hit her wrong, snapping her tenuous hold on overly frayed nerves. “That’s all it is to you? A focus?”

She had a right to rail. He took no offense. She was going through hell. If shouting at him helped her, it was all part of the job. “A very good, rewarding focus. We have an amazing success record. It’s an unbroken streak.”

“Yes, I know.” Her mouth was so dry she could hardly get the words out. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she remain in control for more than a few minutes at a time? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”

He waved away the apology. There was no need to compound her frustration with embarrassment. “That’s okay.”

She nodded her thanks, then sighed as she set down the untouched cup. “You know what they say about streaks.”

Yes, he knew what they said. That streaks ended. It was inevitable. Everything ended eventually. But she needed hope, not reality, with its pessimistic bent.

Chad placed his hand on her wrist, drawing her eyes to his. “This one won’t end here.” He needed to get her mind occupied. “Can you give me a list of people who were at the party?”

She blew out a breath, struggling to lift the fog from her brain. “A partial one.”

He turned his pad to a clean page. “Go ahead.” She gave him six names, then hit a wall. “No problem,” he assured her. “I can get the rest from Mrs. Sullivan.”

Terror leaped into her eyes. He couldn’t say anything to arouse suspicion. Common sense warred with fear. “He said not to tell anyone.”

“He meant anyone official. Police, FBI. That’s all kidnappers ever worry about.” He saw she was unconvinced. “We can start out by telling your friend that you want to hire the same caterers and entertainers for a party for Casey.” That had a drawback. “But if she knows your son dislikes clowns…”

Veronica nodded, understanding. “Do whatever you think is best. Just get me my son back.”

He made a couple of more notes to himself, ideas that had just occurred to him. “That goes without saying.”

“But I want you to keep saying it. Keep saying it until he’s here.” Maybe if she kept repeating it, if he kept repeating it, then it would happen.

She realized that she’d reverted back to one of her old childish beliefs. If you believed hard enough in something, it would happen.

“I’m sorry. You probably feel like you’re baby-sitting an overgrown child.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’re going through hell and you need to believe that heaven’s waiting for you.”

That was one way to put it, she thought.

The doorbell rang, cutting off her breath. On her feet so quickly that she upset both her coffee cup and her chair, Veronica left both where they fell. She ran to the front door with Chad only half a step behind her.

He knew what she was thinking. That somehow Casey had eluded his kidnapper and found his way back home. Hadn’t that been what had actually happened with him? The only difference was that he hadn’t known it at the time. He hadn’t realized that he was leaving his kidnapper behind. All he’d known was that he’d walked out on his father when the man had been too drunk to realize what was happening.

But cases like his were not common. This kidnapping was entirely different from his own. There was no mentally unbalanced ex-husband in the wings waiting for his chance.

The motive was ransom, he reminded himself, pure and simple.

Except that there was never anything pure or simple about kidnapping.

Chad reached the door ahead of her, his legs being longer. She looked at him in surprise when he placed his hand over the doorknob. “I’ll take it from here,” he told her. Just in case.

Hand near the weapon he always carried on his person, Chad opened the door. He saw a casually dressed, dark-haired man of medium build slouching more than standing on the doorstep. Beside the man was a woman who looked far too flashy for him. She was half a head taller than he was, wearing jeans and a tight aqua sweater, and his hand around her waist.

The man’s expression turned from openly genial to confused as he looked up at Chad, who was a good five inches taller.

A very faint whiff of alcohol floated in. The man peered through the doorway. “Veronica?”