by Mallory Kane
“Paul?” Travis laughed. “They yelled Paul’s name? For what? Because I’ll personally testify that Paul couldn’t beat up a teddy bear.”
“Your brother Harte caught the case. Oh—” She gasped, suddenly remembering Harte’s injury. “Travis,” she said, laying a hand on his forearm. “Harte was shot. In the chest!” At Travis’s look of horror, she quickly amended, “I’m sorry. Of course he’s fine. Almost as good as new.”
“Harte—shot?”
She nodded. “He was shot by Yeoman’s men, after he and Dani had been running and hiding from them all night during the storm.”
Travis shook his head tiredly. “What? I’m totally lost. What’s been going on and what does it all have to do with you—and your son?”
“I’m not sure I understand it all yet myself, but here’s all I know. Your brother was holding Danielle Canto in protective custody until time came to testify in the trial of a local businessman named Ernest Yeoman. She had heard the men who killed her grandfather say Yeoman’s name, as well as Stamps and Paul Guillame.”
“Why were the men talking about Stamps and Paul?” Travis asked, still looking bewildered.
“The theory is that Stamps and a couple other local politicians were accepting bribes to keep the tariffs on imports low, to help smugglers. Apparently Yeoman has been suspected of smuggling in illegal imports for years.”
“That doesn’t explain Paul.”
Kate shrugged. “I can’t explain that. But the Friday before Yeoman’s trial was to start, there was a huge storm—wind, lightning, flooding. Someone threw a Molotov cocktail and a smoke bomb through the window of the bed-and-breakfast where Danielle was staying, so they had to run. They ended up—”
“Wait. Who had to run?”
“Harte and Danielle. After hiding and running all night, they ended up at Paul Guillame’s house. Apparently Harte was shot before they got to Paul’s house. Once they were in the house, a shoot-out ensued and Stamps shot Paul. Yeoman was convicted of conspiracy to commit murder in Freeman Canto’s death. I suppose Danielle’s testimony about hearing Stamps’s name wasn’t enough to link him to the murder. But he’s coming to trial for shooting Paul Guillame.” She spread her hands. “Personally, I’m not completely clear on why the D.A. is pushing this so hard. I mean, Guillame even says it was an accident. But the D.A. is determined to prosecute Stamps. He wants me to tear down the defense’s claim of temporary insanity. Now whoever is pushing for him to get off on a temporary-insanity plea has stolen my baby.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t know how much longer she could live without knowing whether Max was okay.
Travis shook his head as if shaking it would help all the information settle into his brain. “You’re sure Harte’s all right?”
She nodded. “He brought some papers over to my office yesterday morning. He said he was sore and tired but was feeling good otherwise.” Then she smiled. “By the way, I’m pretty sure he and Danielle Canto are quite the item, after spending that entire night together hiding from the bad guys.”
“Looks like I’ve missed a lot these past five years.”
Kate’s breath stuck in her throat. He had no idea how true his words were.
Travis finished his coffee and set the mug down. She noticed that he clasped his hands in front of him, probably to hide their trembling. She was a good doctor, but she didn’t need a medical degree to see that something terrible had happened to him. The signs were obvious—weight loss, trembling, the weakness and the sunken eyes. He was suffering from PTSD, maybe brought on by the rigors of some dangerous mission or supersecret operation.
Back in college, when he’d walked out on her to join the army, she’d figured it was an empty threat. She had thought he’d come back, apologizing for blowing up at her, as he had so many times. But he hadn’t. He’d not only joined the army, he’d qualified for the Special Forces division.
And now, looking at him, she knew he’d been captured or injured, and not long ago. He had not even recovered. She also knew he’d walked out again—this time from the hospital, against medical advice. She realized she was staring at him when he raised his gaze to meet hers. She blinked and looked down at her mug.
“So what are you going to do this morning?” he asked.
Suddenly the beautiful caramel color of the café au lait was about as appealing as mud. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth, hoping to quell the sobs building in her throat. Max was gone. Nothing else mattered. “I don’t know,” she said in a small voice.
Travis sent her an assessing look. “You need to go in to work,” he said.
She immediately shook her head. “No. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t talk to anyone without breaking down—” Her throat closed on the last word. She swallowed and blinked against the sudden haze in her eyes. She gestured toward her face. “See? Everybody would know that there is something very wrong with me.”
“You’ve got a full schedule?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No. I cleared my schedule so I could prep for the trial. It starts in ten days and I haven’t even finished reading the witness statements, much less interviewing the senator and whoever else I feel I need to talk to.”
“Then that’s what you should do. You go in and work on the trial. Isn’t that what the kidnappers want you to do? You can’t get your son back until the trial is done and it goes the way they want it to go. It would be good for you, make you feel like you’re actually doing something to get him back. If you sit around here, you’re just going to make yourself crazy.”
Kate thought about it. What Travis said made a lot of sense. It was exactly something she’d have told a patient if the situations were reversed. But they weren’t. She couldn’t think like a shrink right now. She was thinking like a mother whose child was in deadly danger. “But—what if something happens? What if they call me?”
“You’ve got your cell phone—” He stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. “Your office number is published, right?” he asked.
She nodded. “Of course.”
“What about your home number?”
“No. I don’t like to publicize it or my cell.”
“But the kidnapper called your cell, right?”
Kate thought about dropping the phone and having to scramble around to find the battery and the back. “How did they get my number?”
“Good question. Although I guess a lot of people have it.”
Kate pressed her lips together. “Yes. Too many. I’ve probably been too lax with giving it out. It’s just so much easier than trying to juggle the office and the home phones.”
“So, are you going to go into work?”
“I don’t—” She pushed her fingers through her hair. “I can’t decide. All I can think about is Max.”
Travis watched Kate. She’d always been the most levelheaded, together person he’d ever known. He’d loved that about her. His childhood had bordered on chaos, until his dad had suffered his first stroke. If his dad and mom weren’t yelling at each other, one of them was yelling at the kids. And occasionally his older brother Lucas and Dad would get into it. Those fights were legendary—and terrifying to Harte and Cara Lynn, the two youngest. Travis had long ago appointed himself as their guardian, but he knew he hadn’t been a good one. He’d always had too much of his dad inside him.
During the time they’d dated in college, Kate had taught him that life wasn’t about bouncing from one argument to the next. She’d always represented quiet and security to him, until that night he’d finally pushed her too far.
Could he reverse the roles? Could he be her security for once? He had no idea. But at least he could try.
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Think about Max. That’s good. Think about him and what you can do that will get him back to you the soonest.”
“Work on the case,” she muttered, and he could tell by her expression that she was considering the idea. “I should be working on proof that Stamps was temporarily insane
when he shot Paul Guillame.”
Travis smiled wryly. “That’ll be a whole lot easier than you might think. Anyone who knows Paul knows that within about a half hour, he can make you feel one—” he held up a finger “—like you want to shoot him and two, like you’re going insane.”
“That could make it easy,” she replied, a small smile lightening her face.
He squeezed her upper arm, his fingers savoring the delicate bones and the warm, firm skin. It was all he could do not to lean over and kiss that tiny, pretty bump right above the curve of her shoulder.
* * *
“BUT WHAT ABOUT my secretary?” Kate asked, her brow creasing with worry. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”
Travis took her hand. “Think about it, Kate. You trust her, right? With all the confidential information about your patients?”
She nodded. “Of course. She’s the most discreet person I know.”
“Maybe you should talk to her. She might be the perfect person to confide in. She’d never betray your secret, right?”
“That’s right. Never.”
“There you go. Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll clean up these dishes.”
“It’s still early. What about you?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “What are you doing today? Are you going to see your parents?” she asked.
“No. I don’t want to see them right now. I came to see you.”
Kate’s heart thudded. She knew that. What she didn’t know was why. So she asked him. “Why right now?”
He shrugged, his lean broad shoulders looking bony beneath the pullover shirt he wore. “I had some leave and I wanted—” He paused and took a breath. “For the past few months I’ve been thinking about you.” He waved a hand impatiently. “It doesn’t matter. We’ve got bigger things to worry about, like why it’s so important to these people to get a temporary-insanity defense on this Stamps guy.”
She wanted to make him talk about himself, about what had happened that had taken such a toll on him, physically and emotionally. But her fear for Max overrode her curiosity about Travis. If telling him everything she knew could get Max back, then she was happy to let him change the subject.
“Why didn’t they just claim it was an accident?” he continued. “You said Paul was shot in some kind of a shoot-out? There must have been bullets flying everywhere.”
“True, but from what Harte told me, Stamps threatened Paul right before all the shooting began, and despite what Paul claimed about being hit by a stray bullet, Stamps’s gun was missing only one round.” She turned to look at the clock on the stove. “It’s seven-thirty. Do you think I should wait here until they call?”
“Until who call?” But as soon as the question left his lips, she could see that he knew the answer.
“The people who have my son,” she said, letting impatience tinge her voice.
Kate felt panic rising in her chest. “Why don’t they call? I have no way of reaching them. I’ve got nothing but that awful voice on the phone, telling me if I talk, he’ll be gone forever. Oh, Travis, I am so scared,” she said.
Travis stood and came around the counter. He pulled her into his arms. She laid her head against his shoulder for a brief moment. It was strange. She’d never liked being held when she was upset. It made her feel claustrophobic. But right now she thought that she could stay here forever, sheltered by Travis’s strong arms. But of course she couldn’t. Her child was missing, and being held in Travis’s arms would not bring her one step closer to getting him back. She pulled away.
He shook his head as she stepped away from him.
“What?”
“You would never let me hold you when you were upset,” he said, echoing her thoughts.
She almost smiled. “Maybe because I was always upset with you.”
“Not always. Not now. You just don’t like feeling out of control, and letting someone give you comfort or support was always an alien concept to you.” He turned and walked over to the couch and sat down, then stood again and dug into the couch cushions. He came up with a red toy car made out of wood.
“So this is what was digging into my back all night,” he said, looking down at it. He spun the wheels with a finger and watched until they slowed to a stop. There was an expression on his face that Kate had never seen before. The chiseled planes of his jaw and cheeks and chin were soft, as were his dark eyes. “I’m surprised I didn’t dream I was back—” He stopped.
Kate stepped over and took the toy from him as casually as she could. She didn’t want to act too interested in what he’d almost said. “Back where?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
She turned the car over and over in her hands. “This is Max’s favorite toy. He likes to drive it up my arm and across my shoulders and down the other arm and down my leg and onto the floor—” Her throat closed.
“I had a car almost exactly like that when I was little,” Travis said.
She didn’t quite catch what he’d said. “What?”
“Come here and sit down,” he said, sitting on the couch and patting the space beside him.
“I can’t.” She held the toy car to her chest and paced. “He’s out there alone. He doesn’t have any pull-up pants or juice or allergy medicine. What if they’re not taking care of him? What if they haven’t given him any food or taken him to the bathroom? Oh, dear God, I can’t—”
“Come on, Kate. You’ve got to calm down. You’re already exhausted and it’s only been one day. Didn’t you say the trial is what—ten days away? You have got to take care of yourself. It’s not doing you or Max any good for you to worry yourself sick. Sit down here and tell me how it happened. Where was he? Where were you?”
She ignored his hand patting the couch cushion. “He was at day care. It was around four o’clock and I was getting ready to leave to pick him up. Right after I got the call telling me they’d taken him, the day care called. Their fire alarm had gone off and they’d smelled smoke. So they took all the children outside. But when they started back to the classrooms, nobody could find Max.” She spread her hands. “How could they let those people take him?” She turned and flung the wooden car against the wall.
“Hey, hey.” Travis stood and pulled her to the couch. He urged her to sit, then sat beside her. “So the people who took him set off a fire alarm and grabbed him while the day-care workers were trying to keep up with a bunch of kids outside? What did the lady say when she called you?”
“She asked me if I’d picked Max up early.”
“And what was your answer?”
Kate shrugged. “What could I say? I tried to act normal. I said I had picked him up. Travis, they told me they’d kill him.” Why did Travis keep asking her what she’d done? She’d done just exactly what they’d told her to do. She didn’t dare do anything else. “The girl didn’t even ask any questions. She was so relieved that he was all right.” She laughed harshly.
“She believed you?”
“She’d have believed me if I’d told her he was picked up by aliens who were taking him to Disney World. That’s how desperate she was.”
Travis patted her hand. For some reason the inane gesture was comforting. She relaxed a little.
“Tell me about Max. How old is he? Don’t you have some pictures?”
Kate stiffened, any semblance of relaxation swept away by his words. “He’s four. And, sure, I suppose there are pictures around here somewhere.”
He looked at her oddly. “You suppose?”
She shrugged, trying to think of something to say to take that odd, suspicious look off his face. Even Travis knew that a mother would have photos of her children everywhere. A part of her wanted to distract him, to stop this train of thought, but she had no idea how. So she sat there, her feet riveted to the floor. Would it make a difference if he knew? Would he be more—or less—inclined to help her?
She had no idea what the man—or boy—she’d known back in college, the enraged, scary boy who’d storme
d out of her apartment and her life at the mere mention of marriage, would do. He’d been furious when she’d brought it up. He hadn’t given her even a moment to explain. She knew how badly she’d handled that conversation.
She should have started by telling him she thought she was pregnant, instead of leading with the idea of getting married. She’d known how he felt about marriage. He’d talked enough about how miserable his parents were. But she’d been so nervous and she’d blurted the first thing she could think of to say, and he’d yelled and stormed out.
It wasn’t until a week later that she’d discovered she wasn’t pregnant after all. If she’d only waited. If only she hadn’t mentioned marriage.
She waited now, wondering how he’d handle what he was destined to find out and berating herself for being a coward for not just telling him outright.
Travis stood and glanced around the living room. Kate cringed internally. The newest portrait she’d just had made was at the framers, but there was a scrapbook in the bookcase filled with photos of Max, and her bedroom was filled with framed snapshots of him.
Travis stood still, his gaze sweeping the area, then he stepped over to the shelf beside the television. Kate squeezed her eyes shut. Travis picked up the packet, shot her a glance, then lifted the flap and pulled out one.
For a long moment, he stood staring at it. Kate saw in her mind’s eye what he was seeing. She’d worn a red dress and she’d dressed Max in a red plaid shirt with a little red bow tie. The portrait was beautiful. But the most interesting thing about it was how much Max looked like his dad. He had the same dark eyes, the same slightly wavy hair, the same long dark lashes.
Travis raised his head and pinned her with his gaze. He held up the photo. It trembled in his hand. His face was drained of color except for two pink spots that stood out in his cheeks. His eyes were penetrating. If they’d been laser beams, she’d be cut in half.
“Kate?” he said, walking over and standing over her where she sat on the couch. He held up one of the photos. “When were you going to tell me that Max is my son?”
