by Lisa Jackson
“Safe,” Neils replied, enjoying verbally sparring with her. “You know I can’t tell you where he is until we strike a deal. But I’m bringing him your way. Robert wants to see him.”
“Bad idea. I don’t want him here. And I thought we agreed that I’d pay you twice what Robert offered.”
“I know, I know,” Neils admitted, raking his hair back with one hand. Over the phone he could hear soft music—a symphony or something—playing behind her. Classy lady. “But it depends on what you want me to do.”
“A deal is a deal.”
“Is it? I don’t think so. Otherwise I wouldn’t be double-crossing your uncle now.”
Although she was thousands of miles away, he could feel her contempt over the phone line. How he’d love to play with her, whip her into an angry frenzy, then wrestle her to the floor, pinning her beneath him.
“If you don’t go through with your end of the bargain,” she said in measured beats, “I’ll go to Robert and tell him you tried to up the ante by dealing with me.”
He imagined her in schoolmarm glasses, threatening to whip him with a yard-long pointer. Yeah, baby. Whip me hard.
“I don’t think so,” he said, enjoying the fantasies, loving the fact that he had the upper hand.
“I told you I’d pay double for finding the boy,” she growled. “But I’ll add a bonus, Neils. I’ll pay you twice that if you get rid of him for me.”
Neils froze. He didn’t like the turn in the conversation. Sure, the kid gave him the creeps, but he didn’t want anything really bad to happen to the boy. Hell, that’d be murder. Not his thing. Christ, wasn’t kidnapping bad enough?
She sighed. “Ah, Neils, so naive.” He couldn’t tell if she was amused or mocking him until she went on. “Don’t be an idiot. Do you really expect me to pay top dollar for you to let that bastard free? Just do yourself and me a favor and kill him.” Her voice oozed with impatience, malice, and blood lust. “Kill him now.”
Chapter 22
Kate stared at the clock. Three-thirty and still no word from Jon. She’d called the sheriff, but Swanson wasn’t interested. Not until Jon had been missing for twenty-four hours. The police in town were no more anxious to help her. The school hadn’t seen him. Daegan had gone out searching for Jon but hadn’t found hide nor hair of the boy.
She drummed her fingers on the counter and thought she’d go mad with worry. Outside the snow continued to fall, and as night was approaching, she could only wonder where he was, with whom, doing what? She’d called all his friends once they were home from school, but no one had seen him all day. Daegan had even driven over to the Neider place, but no one was home.
“He’ll be all right,” Daegan said, standing at the window and staring toward the end of the lane.
Kate had wanted to throw him out, to tell the liar to just leave and let her worry about her boy. But the lines of strain on his face, the way he’d called his travel agent and changed his flight, convinced her that he cared, if only a little. And she liked having him around, damn it, even if she did feel a little like a weak woman who was finding her strength from his.
He’d made coffee for her, built a fire, taken Roscoe and Houndog and searched the places where he’d expected a boy to hole up. And now they waited.
The phone rang and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Dashing to the kitchen, she picked up the receiver before the second ring.
“Hello?” she said and met Daegan’s dark gaze. Though he was still in the living room, she could see the worry in his eyes.
“Kate?” Laura’s voice sang over the wires. “Are you all right? You sound breathless.”
“It’s Jon. He’s missing.” She shook her head at Daegan, silently communicating that there was no news about her boy. “I—I can’t tie up the phone too long in case he calls.” Quickly she told her sister what had been going on, only holding back on her involvement with Daegan. To think that while Jon was missing, she was making love in the snow to Daegan…
When she was finished, there was a weighty pause on the other end of the line. “Maybe this isn’t a good time for me to give you my news,” she said.
“What news?”
“About Daegan O’Rourke.”
Kate’s gaze flew to the living room, where Daegan was standing glaring out at the dark sky. Her heart pounded with dread. Not now, oh, please not now! “Tell me,” she said, her insides already beginning to shred.
“Okay, but it’s not pretty. It turns out that the Daegan O’Rourke from Montana did grow up in Boston, the son of Mary Ellen O’Rourke and Frank Sullivan. Mary Ellen was Frank’s mistress and he, being already married, didn’t divorce his wife. Instead he kept Mary Ellen as his mistress in a small apartment over some dive of a tavern.”
Kate’s heart twisted for the little boy Daegan had been, but fear curled in her heart. Who was this man? What did he want? Was he the criminal—Jon’s natural father?
“Anyway, Frank Sullivan’s a real bad egg, the worst. Treated Daegan like he didn’t exist.”
“You found all this out through records?” Oh, God, now what? She loved Daegan, trusted him, believed in him. A part of her began to wither as quickly as a flower in the desert.
“Nah, I dug around a little bit on my free time. I have a friend who’s a PI who used to work for the police department as a detective. She did some snooping and this is what we came up with.”
Kate swallowed back her dread and listened.
“Anyway this kid—Daegan O’Rourke—was really messed up and tried to shoot his old man once, but the shot went wild and the Sullivans managed to sweep it all under the rug—nothing in the papers, no charges filed.”
“None?”
“That’s right. A while later the legitimate Sullivan offspring got together with their bastard cousin and the fireworks really started.”
Kate leaned against the cupboard for support. Her palms were sweating, her mind racing with images of Daegan teaching Jon to ride a horse, showing him how to box, lying above her ready to make love in the middle of a snowstorm.
As if sensing something was wrong, Daegan gave up his post and walked to the kitchen. He was reaching for the coffeepot when his hand stopped in midair, and as if by silent communication, he divined the tenor of her conversation.
Laura continued blithely on, unaware that Kate held Daegan’s stare and noiseless messages were being passed. “O’Rourke and his cousin Stuart got into a huge fight, though no one apparently knows or remembers why. Knives and a crowbar were involved, and Stuart, the heir apparent to the Sullivan fortune, ended up dying on the docks before the police, whom O’Rourke had called, showed up.”
Kate’s blood turned to ice water and she hardly was able to look at the man she’d so recently given her body.
“Who is it?” Daegan demanded.
Laura wasn’t finished. “Once again O’Rourke got off for lack of evidence or something. Again, no charges filed. Then he disappeared. Left Boston for good.”
“How’d you find this out?” Kate asked. “If there was nothing in the papers…?”
“My friend talked to one of the employees in Frank Sullivan’s household. Then he looked up O’Rourke’s mother, Mary Ellen. She wasn’t too happy about it, but admitted that the last time she’d heard from Daegan, he was in some small town in Montana.”
“Oh, God.”
“The guy’s bad news, Kate. I was wrong about him.”
“And why is he interested in Jon?” Kate asked, her blood rushing in her ears, her world tipping precariously.
“I don’t know. I think you’d better ask him.”
“Thanks, Laura, I will,” Kate said.
“So call me when you find Jon,” Laura said, her voice edged in worry. “And let me know what kind of game O’Rourke’s playing.”
“As soon as I find out.” Kate hung up and tried to contain the rage that gnawed at her gut. Daegan had lied to her, lied to Jon, and used them both. Over and over again. As if their feelings were meaningless.
> “What do you want from me?” she asked as she advanced on him and looked into eyes as dark as obsidian. “And what have you done to my son?”
“Nothing.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, then let the dam break. Pointing to the phone, she said, “That was my sister, Laura. She told me all about you, how you’re related to some Sullivan family, how you ended up here. I just don’t know why!”
Daegan’s eyes squeezed closed for an instant, and he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.
“You lied to me. To Jon!” she accused him, barely able to voice the words.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why, Daegan?”
“Because I’m Jon’s father.”
The room seemed to shrink, his admission bouncing off the ever-closer walls. Kate had trouble catching her breath. She loved this man? This liar? This man who had tried to kill his own father and probably did murder his cousin? The stranger who had stalked her and her boy. Jon’s father!
“You’re not, you couldn’t be…” she whispered but she felt the truth as surely as if he’d driven a stake in her heart.
“I didn’t believe it either. But it’s true.”
“Why would I believe you? First you’re single, then you’re married and divorced with a son, and now you’re Jon’s father.”
“I’m single, never married, and Jon’s my boy.” The words ricocheted through the house as if they were bullets from a rifle.
“I can’t…I don’t…” She wasn’t making any sense, couldn’t think straight. Finally the one question that was important formed in her mind. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where, damn it?” she demanded, nearly hysterical.
“I want to find him as much as you do.”
“So you can take him away from me!” Raw emotion tore through her, and she wanted to hit and scream, to wound him. She flung herself at him, ready to do physical damage, but his arms circled her, strong and protective, and she couldn’t do anything more than sob wretchedly and strike his shoulder with a weak fist.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he said, kissing the top of her head.
“Like hell!” Horrified that she’d fallen into his trap again, she pushed away from him and her fears gave way to fury.
His jaw tightened and he tried to touch her, to lay a calming hand on her shoulder, but she backed quickly away, standing on one side of the table, he on the other. “Who are you, you son of a bitch, and what do you want?”
He raked his hands through his hair, then poured two cups of coffee. “Okay, Kate, I suppose you deserve the truth.”
“I deserved it from the first time I met you.”
He handed her a cup, which she ignored, then walked into the living room to warm the backs of his legs against the fire. As she sat rigidly on the edge of the couch, he explained everything, from the time Bibi had given him the news to yesterday when he’d decided to go back to Boston and have it out with his uncle to protect Kate and Jon.
She wanted to believe him, to think that there was a small streak of nobility in his heart, but she didn’t. Even all the attention he lavished on Jon was for his own ulterior motives. Nothing he did was anything but selfish.
The fact that Daegan had conceived a son with his cousin didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought that now Jon had two biological parents, one who wanted him desperately, the other who preferred he never show up.
Her ears were still ringing, her head pounding in pain, as she listened to Daegan and wished she could hate him. It would be so much easier to feel nothing but loathing and abhorrence for this man who had taken her love and abused it. Rage was a much safer emotion than despair.
“So I’m afraid I underestimated this investigator Robert hired—VanHorn. He probably snatched Jon and it’s my fault,” Daegan admitted. “I must’ve led him here. I should never have stayed as long as I did, it wasn’t part of the plan, but then I met you and…Oh, hell, I got caught up in something I had no right to.”
Her heart constricted. “So—where is Jon?”
“If Neils has him, and since he hasn’t come home that’s a real possibility, then he’s on his way back to Boston, to Robert.”
Kate was off the couch in a second. “Then what are we waiting for? We should call the FBI and go—”
She saw the sheriff’s car rolling through the powdered snow covering her drive. Her heart leaped. Maybe Daegan had been wrong. Maybe the police had found Jon…But a lone deputy slid from the interior and slogged his way to the front porch.
Kate was already at the door.
“Ms. Summers?”
“Yes.”
He was tall and dark skinned with a black moustache and a grim expression. “Deputy Brown,” he said in a short introduction.
Her hopes plummeted and she was suddenly scared. More scared than she’d ever been in her life. Had Jon been hurt…or worse. “Have you found my son?”
“Not yet, but an anonymous tip came into the office. Someone claims to have seen your son with Daegan O’Rourke. He moved into the—”
“I know who he is,” Kate said, stepping away from the door, allowing the deputy to enter and motioning to Daegan, whose every muscle was tense. His eyes collided with that of the law. “He’s here now.”
“Someone called in and said they’d seen you with the boy early this morning, Mr. O’Rourke. A little before eight, driving west.”
“A lie.”
“You were—?”
“At home, feeding the stock. I got over here just after eight, I think, and been here ever since.”
“That…that’s true,” Kate added.
The deputy rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyone see what time you left your place?”
“No.”
Kate’s heart was hammering. The deputy couldn’t be serious…or could he? Hadn’t she, herself, accused Daegan of knowing where Jon was?
“Maybe you’d like to come down and make a statement,” Deputy Brown suggested. “Just so we can clear this up.”
“I don’t think, I mean Daegan’s been here with me…” she protested, wondering why she was protecting a man who had no heart, no soul. A man who would use her as well as his own son. For all she knew, he could’ve been sent by Robert Sullivan, and this Neils VanHorn character was just a figment of his imagination.
But she didn’t believe it.
Daegan was too passionate, too caring. He loved Jon. He loved her…or did he?
“I’m just doin’ my job,” the deputy reminded her. “You’re the one who reported that your boy was missing.” He turned his attention back to O’Rourke. “Now, just for the record, you’re saying you haven’t seen the boy today.”
“That’s right,” Daegan said through tight, flat lips.
“And you’ve got a ranch in Montana, but originally hailed from Boston, right?”
Daegan hesitated a heartbeat. “Yep.”
“And a long time ago you were the primary suspect in an unsolved murder case, the victim being your cousin Stuart Sullivan?”
A tic developed at the corner of Daegan’s jaw. “You’d have to ask the Boston police about that.”
For the first time Deputy Brown smiled. “We have,” he said in a voice that was oily as contaminated water. “I think you’d better come with me…”
Jon strained against the metal handcuffs, tears stinging his eyes at the pain caused by the harsh manacles digging into his raw skin. If only he could collapse his fingers a millimeter more, roll his thumb into his palm a bit tighter. Getting out of these cuffs was the first step to surprising the slimy man named VanHorn—Jon had gotten a glimpse of the name on his credit card when he’d pulled it out at a gas pump—and escaping.
“Hey, take it easy,” VanHorn called to the back of the van, his beady eyes flashing in the rearview mirror. “Who do you think you are—Houdini?” He snickered, as if he’d just cracked a hysterically funny joke. Asshole.
Jon st
opped pulling on the cuffs and gritted his teeth. What a fool he’d been, falling into the smarmy guy’s trap. Ever since the man had closed him into the van, Jon had been watching and waiting, poised for escape. But in two days and nights trapped in the van and chained to the bed in a cheap motel room, his chance never came. VanHorn was always careful to lock him up to the metal grating in the back of the van. Even when they stopped to take a piss, the creep stood behind Jon, gun pointed at his back to keep him from bolting. Jon figured the man would slip up soon, as he’d been driving over forty-eight hours without sleep. VanHorn’s once-clean shaven jaw was mottled with blond stubble and his eyes were starting to sag.
The man was ripe for a mistake.
And the moment he slipped, Jon would strike.
Somehow, he would escape. He had to get away, because the alternative…
He didn’t want to think about the man chasing him…the killer of his nightmares.
He took a deep breath against the wave of sickness that made him sag against the dark glass of the van’s windows. Although he was too exhausted to be terrified at this point, every muscle in his body was cramped and the burger he’d been given from the fast-food drive-through now burned in his gut like a ball of flame. He stared out the passenger window and noted the acres of wire fences and frosted, plowed-over fields that stretched across the flat horizon. From the road signs, he figured he was in Ohio somewhere, though he never was very good at geography, and except for the lack of hills, the miles of farmland out here didn’t look much different from the countryside back home.
Home. It was hard to believe he could be so desperate to get back to Oregon, back to the life he hated, but then the instinct to survive was a strong one.
Even when all the odds were against you.
As they seemed to be now with this lowlife private detective “returning” Jon to his legal family. A clan of rich people back East, according to VanHorn. That was about as much information as Jon had gotten out of the man, who’d shut down when Jon had asked him what kind of parents would have their own son kidnapped at gunpoint.
Now, with VanHorn’s energy fading, Jon figured it might be a good time to get the guy talking again. “You know, you could let me go right now and no one would have to know anything,” he said, pressing his face to the grill of the divider behind VanHorn’s head. Jon had seen some true crime shows on TV that showed victims who had actually gotten away by talking firmly with their captors. He figured it was worth a shot. “Drop me at a train station or a bus depot or something, and no one would be the wiser. I’ll keep my mouth shut. I can say you kept me blindfolded.”
