Читать книгу The Billionaire's Son - Sharon Hartley - Страница 10
ОглавлениеHER STRIDES LONG and sure, Kelly Jenkins picked up her speed as she turned into Peacock Park, confident she was on pace to beat her old time. Jazzed because she hadn’t scored a personal best on her favorite morning run in months—not since she’d entered the police academy—Kelly pushed harder. That was the key to success.
The shade of the public pavilion with its promise of cool water came into view, but she refused to risk a glance down to her wrist chronometer. She might lose a second or two. Patience was another path to success. She’d know within two minutes.
“Mommy!”
As the terrified wail of a small child registered, Kelly turned her head and spotted a young boy running toward her as fast as his little legs could churn. Two men chased him. She slowed her stride just before the child flung his arms around her thighs.
“Mommy,” he sobbed. “Mommy, Mommy.”
Knocked off balance, Kelly windmilled her arms to keep herself from falling and stared down at the boy clutching her as if she were a lifeline, guessing he was about four years old.
Before she could say anything, like “Hey, kid, I’m not your mom,” the two men arrived.
“Sorry, lady,” one of them said, a rough-looking dude who hadn’t shaved in days. Tats covered both forearms, and Kelly recognized the insignia of a local gang, but couldn’t remember which one. Greasy brown hair hung to his shoulders. There was a gun-size bulge in his jeans pocket that worried her.
“I’ll take the kid,” he snarled.
“No,” the boy shrieked, clutching her legs tighter, sharp fingernails digging into her bare thigh. “No! Mommy, no.”
Her cop instincts slamming into gear, Kelly reached down and picked up the child. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“His name is Jason,” the man said, his voice hard, with an underlying edge of threat. “I’m his father. Hand him over.”
His entire little body trembling violently, Jason buried his face in Kelly’s shoulder, turning away from his “father.”
“This child is terrified of you,” Kelly said.
“Yeah, well, that’s none of your concern, lady. Just give me the kid.”
Kelly hesitated, assessing the two men. The second man was thin and shorter than the so-called father, but she noted a resemblance between the two. Same hair and cheekbones. Maybe brothers. The brother looked like he’d spent several years on the streets while this child was well nourished and wore expensive clothing. Something is wrong here.
“My name is Kelly Jenkins,” she said, “I’m a police officer.”
“Damn. She’s a cop, Adam,” the second man said.
“Jason seems very confused,” Kelly continued. “Is there anything that I can do to—”
Adam took a step forward, his arms out to snatch the child. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are. Just give me the damn kid.”
Jason looped the straps of Kelly’s jog bra through his tiny fingers and squeezed tight. “No, Mommy,” he managed, now barely able to get the words out.
When Adam placed his hands on either side of Jason’s waist, Jason wailed loudly and shrilly. Kelly stepped back, noting fellow runners had gathered to observe the unfolding scenario.
Wishing she’d been a cop longer than two months, Kelly debated her next move. Maybe it takes a village, but I have no right to keep a son from his father.
Yet the gangbanger only referred to Jason as “the kid,” never “my son.” And he never once spoke to the child directly, tried to soothe him or comfort him. What kind of a father acts like that?
“Is this your daddy?” Kelly whispered to Jason.
His face bright red, his screams now diminished to great gulping sobs, the child shook his head emphatically no. He locked his feet around her waist.
“Shit,” the smaller man said. “Get the kid, Adam. We gotta get out of here pronto.”
“Adam, right?” Kelly asked, deliberately using the name. Always good to make it personal. “Where is his mother?”
“Yeah, good question,” said a female jogger Kelly didn’t know by name but waved at every day.
“None of your fricking business,” Adam said. “Give me the kid, or else.”
“Or else what?” a male runner asked.
“Or else this.” Adam pulled a Glock 19 from his pocket.
“He has a gun,” someone yelled.
“Run!”
Her fellow joggers scattered.
Kelly tightened her grip on the kid, transferred her weight to her back leg and executed a front snap kick, knocking the gun out of Adam’s hand. She felt more than heard a crack, and knew her contact broke at least one bone.
The man bellowed in pain as the Glock went flying, landing on the grass six feet away.
“Oh, shit,” the brother said, looking as if he wanted to run. Or maybe hurl.
“She broke my wrist,” Adam howled, protecting his right hand with his left. “You bitch.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she noted one of her fellow runners on a cell phone. She wished she could access hers but she didn’t dare shift her attention.
“Get the gun, Caleb,” Adam ordered, his face contorted with obvious pain.
“Just walk away, Caleb,” Kelly said, knowing he wanted to and was the weaker link. “The cops are on their way.”
Caleb’s eyes grew wide and he looked around.
Yeah, you think about that, you scumbag. Kelly backpedaled, keeping an eye on Adam, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.
Cursing viciously, Adam advanced. She could incapacitate this jerk in two swift maneuvers, but not while she was holding a forty-pound hysterical kid. If she put him down—and that wouldn’t be easy considering his death grip—Caleb could snatch him and haul butt.
So her black belt wasn’t much use. She needed to figure out what was going on here before she released Jason—if that was even his name—to two lowlifes she was now convinced bore no relation to him at all. And if they were family, some type of abuse was obviously taking place.
“Calm down, Adam,” Kelly soothed, continuing to move backward. “Let’s talk about this. More police will be here any second.” Yeah, and where the hell are they?
“Get the gun, Caleb,” Adam shouted.
The harshness of the order apparently decided Caleb, and he moved toward the Glock.
“Think about this, Caleb,” Kelly yelled. “I’m a police officer. You’ll fry if you shoot me.”
“Shut. Up. Bitch,” Adam said.
Kelly wanted to run, but knew turning her back on Adam was a mistake. She scrambled for something to say or do before she stopped a bullet. She could give them the kid to save herself, but damned if she would. This was why she’d become a cop.
Just as Caleb reached for the gun, a siren screeched its warning into the air. Kelly didn’t look, but heard a police vehicle pull up on the street maybe a hundred feet away.
Caleb froze. “Shit. The cops.”
“We need the gun,” Adam said.
“Yeah, well, then you get it.” Caleb sprinted toward the parking lot of the nearby marina.
“Caleb, what the hell,” Adam yelled after him.
Caleb didn’t turn and didn’t answer.
“You’ll regret this, bitch.” With a last threatening glare at Kelly, Adam snatched the Glock with his left hand and ran.
Releasing a breath, she heard the cops approach from behind. But Kelly kept her gaze on Adam until he disappeared behind the marina’s office building.
“What’s going on?”
Still holding Jason, Kelly turned to find two uniformed City of Miami officers, one male and one female. Thank God.
“I’m Kelly Jenkins with Miami-Dade Police Department, badge number 33349. My commanding officer is Lieutenant Thomas Marshall.” She explained what had happened as concisely as possible, aided by interjections from a few of the other joggers who had wandered back to the scene. The officers summoned backup to search the area, but Kelly knew Adam and Caleb would be miles away by the time anyone arrived.
“So you don’t know this child?” the female officer asked. Her badge read L. Rodriguez.
“I never saw him before ten minutes ago,” Kelly told Officer Rodriguez. “I’m not even sure his name is really Jason.”
“What’s your name, kiddo?” Rodriguez asked in that idiotic tone adults use when speaking to a small child. Kelly had used it herself.
Jason burrowed his head deeper into Kelly’s shoulder, tightening his grip on her waist with his legs.
Kelly patted his back. She had no clue how to deal with children. What she really wanted to do was shift his weight to her other arm. The kid was heavy.
“Jason, you need to go with the nice police officer where you’ll be safe from the mean men,” she said.
“No, Mommy, no,” the child begged. “Please, please don’t leave me.”
Rodriguez narrowed her eyes. “Why is he calling you Mommy?”
“No idea,” Kelly replied. “Maybe he was so terrified of Adam and Caleb he got confused.”
“We’ll take him to the station and let DCF sort this out,” Rodriguez said.
“Good plan,” Kelly agreed. Department of Children and Families was the obvious call in a case like this. They’d locate his mom or find a foster home. But for the fact that Jason was so well dressed, Kelly would assume the mom was a druggie on a bender, Caleb or Adam a boyfriend left in charge. Something just didn’t smell right.
Rodriguez reached out to remove Jason, but the child shrieked and refused to let go of Kelly. “No, no, no!” he wailed.
“Shhh, Jason,” Kelly soothed, rubbing his head. “It’s okay.”
The male officer, standing a few feet away taking statements from bystanders, frowned and joined Kelly and Rodriguez. “What’s wrong with the kid?”
“He doesn’t want to let go of Ms. Jenkins,” Rodriguez said.
“Officer Jenkins,” Kelly said, to the male officer, whose name was P. Nordan.
“Don’t you want to go find your mommy?” Nordan asked.
Jason raised his head and looked at Kelly. She noted he had bright blue eyes and blond hair, the same coloring as hers. Were the officers beginning to doubt her story? She didn’t have anything on her to prove she was a cop.
Jason raised a hand and lightly stroked her cheek. “I found my mommy.”
“I’m not anyone’s mother,” Kelly told Nordan. “Didn’t the other joggers confirm my story?”
At Kelly’s words, Jason began sobbing again, and turned his face into her shoulder.
Nordan released a long breath. “The kid is traumatized. I think the best thing is for all of us to go to the station and notify DCF.”
“I’m on duty in two hours,” Kelly said.
“Better call in,” Nordan said.
Rodriguez placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, urging her to move toward the police vehicle. “You can do that on the way to the station.”
* * *
AT THE MIAMI-DADE headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Trey Wentworth paced. The depressing utilitarian room they’d stashed him in contained everything they thought he might want—chairs, a recliner, coffee, tea, soft drinks, bagels—even a plate of frosted fruit pastry. As if he could eat. Three so-called special agents continuously observed him, trying to pretend otherwise, definitely waiting for him to lose it. Expecting him to.
He wouldn’t give them the pleasure.
Even though everyone in this room knew something had gone very wrong.
He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. The ransom exchange should have been completed two hours ago. He should have heard something by now. He should have been assured his son was alive. But Agent Ballard had returned without Jason, saying the kidnappers didn’t show at the drop site. Trey shook his head. He knew the agents had gone to the wrong park in Coconut Grove, but the idiots wouldn’t believe him.
His mistake was trusting law enforcement. He shouldn’t have involved the FBI. The kidnappers had instructed him not to, but his attorney had counseled the feds were his best option. He trusted Brian, who’d been a friend longer than he’d been his lawyer, but he sure didn’t trust the yokels sitting in this room watching him slowly disintegrate.
Soon there’d be nothing solid left of him to hug his son when—if he ever saw him again.
The FBI didn’t know what the hell they were doing. He should have insisted on accompanying Ballard on the exchange. He shouldn’t have given in to their vaunted expertise. He shouldn’t have listened to Brian. Of course the kidnappers said not to contact the cops or they’d kill Jason. Wasn’t that what they always said?
Trey shot a glance at Walt Ballard, the thirtyish but already balding agent in charge of Jason’s case. Since returning with the bad news, the man worked his phone in a chair by the door, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, wearing a grim expression. Texting? Checking email? Was he receiving information about Jason from the agents still in the field? Was it bad news?
Trey stopped moving and took a deep breath. Not here. He’d fall apart later, away from the public eye. That was the Wentworth way. Trey heard his father’s clipped voice inside his head and pushed away the sound. The bastard couldn’t be bothered to fly in even though his only grandson had been abducted.
Where was his attorney? Shit. Why hadn’t they heard something?
Trey glanced at his watch. How much longer? Jason had been through so much in the last year. Would he ever see his son again? Would they even find Jason’s body?
Kids disappeared without a trace all the time.
Ballard’s phone rang, the sound startling in the quiet of the room. Everyone turned.
“Ballard,” the agent barked into the phone. A few beats of silence. “What?”
The shock in Ballard’s voice forced Trey into a chair. Oh, God. No. Jason.
“Where?” Ballard demanded. Then, “Got it. We’re on our way.”
Ballard disconnected and looked directly at Trey. “We’ve got him. We’ve got your boy.”
“Alive?” Trey stood on shaky legs, not trusting his hearing. “Is he hurt?”
“He’s fine. He’s in the custody of the City of Miami Police.”
“No mistake this time?” he demanded.
“No mistake,” Ballard said.
Choking back a sob, Trey sagged into the chair again, unable to formulate a response.
“City of Miami arrested the kidnappers?” This question came from another agent, a female. Trey couldn’t remember her name. All he could focus on was the knowledge that Jason was alive and unharmed.
“No,” Ballard said. “Apparently the kidnappers remain at large.”
“What the hell happened?” asked another agent.
Ballard shook his head. “I don’t have all the details yet, and they can wait.” He nodded at Trey and grinned. “Let’s go get your son.”
* * *
INSIDE A FRIGID interview room at the Coconut Grove police substation, Kelly couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so cold. The AC had to be set at about forty degrees, and she might as well be naked since all she had on was flimsy nylon running shorts and a cotton jog bra. Making things worse, her flesh and her clothing were sweaty.
Officer Rodriguez had wrapped a towel around the shivering Jason, and that helped, but Kelly’s legs were freezing. They’d given her a cup of vile lukewarm coffee, but that had cooled and was of no help.
There was a reason for the chill of course. The police didn’t want their suspects or interviewees comfortable. She had a bad feeling they considered her a suspect—of what she wasn’t sure, but something. She’d heard chatter of a statewide BOLO as they’d snapped photos of the kid, so maybe they knew who he was. For his sake, she hoped so. The misunderstanding would all be straightened out eventually, but she was going to be late for her shift.
She’d called her sergeant on the way in to explain, but he hadn’t sounded happy. Shit. She’d been number one in her rookie class and intended to be the highest-performing rookie that had ever entered the Miami-Dade County PD. Missing roll call this soon wouldn’t help with that goal.
So where was a social worker? DCF was notoriously inefficient, but this delay was ridiculous.
She needed to contact her lieutenant, but the kid remained glued to her, his legs hooked around her waist. If she shifted his weight to her other side, she could access her phone in her jog pouch. At least she was getting his body heat. He still insisted on calling her Mommy, which was beyond weird, but the kid was confused. Definitely traumatized.
Maybe Caleb and Adam had drugged him. The kid hadn’t so much as twitched since she’d sat on this hard chair. His breathing sounded ragged, but he was stuffed up from crying. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.
“Jason,” she whispered.
He snuggled deeper into her shoulder and twisted her halter straps tighter. Not asleep.
“Hey. I’m going to move you to the other side, okay? My arm is really tired.”
He raised his head to look at her. “You won’t let go?”
The fear and longing in his voice made Kelly’s breath catch. She had no experience with children.
“No, I won’t let go,” she told him. As if I could. She rubbed his back reassuringly, the way she’d seen mothers do. “I just need to make a phone call. Okay?”
“Okay,” he said, and went willingly when she transferred his weight to her left shoulder, which of course now made her right side cold. He placed his hot cheek against her neck and stuck his thumb in his mouth.
Thinking the kid was too old for thumb-sucking, Kelly unzipped the pouch around her waist and withdrew her cell phone. A quick glance told her she didn’t have service. Likely the signal had been blocked.
“Damn,” she muttered and stuffed the phone back inside.
She was a rookie. How much trouble would she be in for missing a shift? She glanced at her watch. Roll call was in thirty minutes.
Maybe it was time to make some noise, attract some attention. She and the kid had been slowly turning into ice for close to an hour. She knew the drill, and someone watched her through the one-way glass on the far wall. She’d never been good at waiting, but had been extremely patient this morning. She was tempted to give her observers the finger, but knew that wouldn’t help anything. And her lieutenant would definitely hear about it.
“How old are you, Jason?” she asked to pass the time.
“Four,” he stated, as if she were very stupid. But of course his mother would know his age.
“Who were those guys you were with?” she asked.
He closed his eyes.
“Did they hurt you?”
“They hit Maria,” he whispered.
“Why did they do that?” Kelly asked, encouraged by his response. Who was Maria? Maybe the kid had recovered enough to give her some answers.
Jason shivered and turned his warm face into her neck.
“Did you know those men, Jason?”
He released a giant sigh, but didn’t say another word.
“Okay, okay,” Kelly said, patting his back. “We don’t have to talk about them.”
The door burst open and four men entered the room. None of them were in uniform. Short hair. Jackets and ties. Feds. DEA? FBI?
“Jason,” someone shouted in a relieved tone.
Kelly focused on the speaker as he rushed toward her, and wondered if her mouth fell open. She stared at a man so impossibly good-looking he belonged on a movie screen or in a magazine. Dark hair, intense dark eyes. His jacket, his slacks—everything about him reeked of money and sophistication. The gold watch on his wrist belonged in a museum.
This god-come-to-earth squatted before Kelly and held out his arms to the kid. “Jason,” he said in a choked voice.
The kid lifted his head but didn’t release his hold on her. If anything, he tightened his grip and glared at the man.
“Jason?” The man shifted his gaze to Kelly, and she felt as if she’d been assaulted by an unseen force. Raw power flowed off him in waves. And arrogance mixed with anger. He didn’t like being denied anything. And who would want to refuse him?
“Who the hell are you?” the god demanded.
“Kelly Jenkins. Who the hell are you?”
His eyes widened in surprise as if she was supposed to know who he was. Maybe he was some big-deal movie star. Maybe she had seen him before, now that she thought about it, but she never had time for movies or TV. His nails were manicured; his leather shoes buffed. His skin was smooth, unlined, as if he’d never experienced a worry in his life.
“Officer Jenkins, this is Trey Wentworth and you’re holding his son, Jason,” one of the suits said.
“Thank goodness,” Kelly said, thinking, yeah, the name rang some bell, one associated with stacks of cash. She attempted to pass the kid to Wentworth.
“No, Mommy,” Jason wailed, and turned his face from his dad.
Wentworth flinched as if the kid had struck him, and rose in a smooth athletic movement.
The feds all exchanged alarmed glances.
Coming to her feet, Kelly asked softly, “Don’t you want to go to your daddy, Jason?”
“No. I want to stay with you, Mommy.”
“But you know I’m not your mommy,” Kelly said.
Jason began to cry again.
Kelly tried to pry his fingers from her clothing and hand Jason over. This kid had a problem far beyond her limited expertise as a rookie cop. He needed serious help, likely a shrink. She felt for the poor little guy. She’d had plenty of experience with shrink stuff.
“Jason, come on,” she said. “Let go.”
“Stop it,” Wentworth ordered.
The force of Wentworth’s command caused everyone in the room to look at him.
Kelly met his furious gaze, and again that strange sensation of raw power flowed over her.
“You’re upsetting him,” Wentworth said. “Leave him alone.”
“I’m upsetting him?”
“Just give him a minute, okay?” Wentworth ran a hand through his perfectly cut hair. “He’s confused. He’s been through a lot.”
Kelly plopped back down in the chair. “Yeah, well, so have I. What’s going on here?”
One of the suits stepped forward. “Officer Jenkins, I’m Special Agent Walt Ballard.”
“FBI?”
“Yes.”
Kelly nodded. “I knew you were a fed.”
“Why don’t you fill us in,” Ballard said. “How did you meet Jason?”
Beginning with her first sight of Jason, Kelly relayed what had occurred in the park.
“You used martial arts to knock a gun out of the man’s hand?” Wentworth interrupted in a shocked voice.
Kelly nodded. “Instinct. These guys were amateurs. I mean, come on, they let a kid get away from them.”
“An amateur could still shoot my son.” Wentworth glared at her as if she were the criminal.
“You’re upset because I kicked the gun from his hand?” Kelly demanded, glaring right back. “So I should have just handed him over to the bad guys?”
“Go on, Officer Jenkins,” Ballard said.
Kelly squared her shoulders and continued, ending with concise descriptions of Caleb and Adam.
“The last I saw them they were hauling ass toward the marina. The Miami PD sent officers after them. I assume this is a kidnapping?”
“Yes,” Ballard replied. “Apparently there was a miscommunication on the drop site.”
Wentworth muttered something about the Keystone Cops.
Ballard turned to Wentworth. “Jason is safe, Mr. Wentworth. Your continued sarcasm isn’t necessary or helpful.”
“Safe?” Wentworth spit out. “He’s clinging to some strange woman I’ve never seen before who almost got him shot, and he thinks he found his mother.”
“Yeah, well, this strange woman likely saved your son’s life.”
“If you had done your job correctly, the way I—”
“Hey, guys.” Kelly shouted over the rising voices. She placed her hand protectively on Jason’s head as he burrowed into her shoulder. His entire body shook with the force of his sobs.
Wentworth whirled on her.
Kelly met his penetrating gaze. “This is so not what this little boy needs right now,” she told him in a quiet voice.
