“Come with us back to our home. Jason will likely fall asleep on the ride. I can put him to bed, you can have that hot shower, something to eat, and I’ll see that you get home.”
Jenkins shook her head. “Sorry, Mr. Wentworth, but I’m a rookie. My lieutenant isn’t happy, and missing a shift won’t look good on my record.”
“Of course I’ll compensate you for your time. What about a thousand dollars?”
Her startlingly blue eyes widened again. “A thousand dollars?”
“Two? I’m not sure what’s appropriate for your daily wages.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I assure you I’m not. In fact, since we still have the ransom money, I can give you cash right now.”
She stared at him for a long moment. So long he was tempted to look away.
“You don’t have to pay me,” she said finally, a disgusted note in her voice.
He’d insulted her. He hadn’t given the offer much thought, but the woman had saved his son’s life. Of course he’d have to reward her somehow.
“Please,” Trey said. “My son has been through a great deal of turmoil in the last year. All I’m asking is you help me get him home where he’ll feel safe without traumatizing him more.”
She nodded, her jaw set, as if she was about to be tortured. “Okay. Anything to get out of this meat locker.”
“Thank you,” Trey said. He turned to Ballard. “I assume we’re free to go.”
Ballard hesitated, but shrugged. “Yeah, okay. We’ll be in touch.”
“Oh, I just bet you will,” Trey said.
Trey caught a flash of annoyance in Ballard’s eyes, but the agent said, “We’ll find Jason’s kidnappers, Mr. Wentworth. You can count on it.”
“I’m not counting on anything,” Trey replied. “And I’m hiring my own security team to protect my son.”
“That’s your right,” Ballard said, and turned toward the female cop. “Officer Jenkins, I understand why Mr. Wentworth wants to get Jason settled first, but we need you to work with a sketch artist to get a likeness of the kidnappers. And you’ll need to look at a photo lineup to see if either of them has been arrested.”
“I’ll come back after my shift,” she said.
“Not good enough.” Ballard shook his head. “The sooner the better. You know that.”
“Shit,” she muttered.
“Please watch your language around Jason,” Trey said. The woman had a sewer mouth.
She rolled her eyes, but glanced at Jason whose arms remained locked around her neck. “Sorry.”
“What about if we send the artist to Wentworth Villa?” Ballard asked. “The quicker we get the sketch out to the public, the sooner we’ll apprehend Jason’s kidnappers. It’s possible they could leave the area.”
“Sure, whatever,” Trey said. “But right now we’re leaving.” He jerked open the door. “After you, Officer Jenkins.”
* * *
SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. Pissed—and thanks to the kid, she couldn’t even curse out loud—Kelly stomped through the open door, refusing to look at Wentworth. The jerk wasn’t the least appreciative of law enforcement’s efforts to help his son. He insulted her and the FBI at every opportunity. Typical.
She was glad to escape the arctic room, but the last thing she wanted to do was accompany this kid, who weighed a ton, and his arrogant father anywhere. How had this happened to her? She had an interesting assignment today paired with Sergeant Rudy McFadden, who could teach her a lot. She’d been looking forward to backing him up during patrol.
Instead she was on her way to a rich man’s home to do his bidding. She’d managed to remember a few details associated with the Wentworth name. Billionaires, snooty old money. Trey Wentworth, the playboy heir who spent all his time partying, had tried to throw some of that money at her. He thought he could buy her.
Yeah, sure, she agreed this course of action was the best thing for a kid who was beyond screwed up at this point. The abduction had obviously terrified him into fantasyland. And his mom was dead. Kelly patted his back. Poor little thing. How long had his mother been gone? Kelly knew only too well that it didn’t matter how long it’d been; the kid would hurt from that loss forever.
As they walked, Kelly listened to Wentworth’s authoritative voice behind her instructing someone to meet him in front of the police station. Who? She’d assumed the FBI would give them a ride to wherever Wentworth lived. Probably in the penthouse of a waterfront condo on Brickell Avenue, which fortunately wasn’t too far away. She really looked forward to a hot shower and something to eat. And she had to admit it’d be interesting to work with a sketch artist. She’d help however she could to get Adam and Caleb off the streets. That’s why she became a cop.
Dirtbags belonged behind bars.
A blast of hot air enveloped her like an old flannel robe as she exited the police station. Thank goodness. She narrowed her eyes against the bright light. Realizing how tense she’d held herself because of the cold, Kelly consciously relaxed her shoulders. As soon as she thawed out, she’d give Wentworth back his jacket.
A sleek black limousine pulled to a smooth stop in front of the station. A uniformed chauffeur exited, hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door.
“Thanks you, Hans,” Wentworth said.
Kelly stared at the limo. She’d never been inside one before.
“What’s wrong?” Wentworth asked.
“Nothing.” Kelly wrapped both arms around Jason, ducked her head and climbed into the vehicle. No graceful way to do it in running shorts. Facing the front, she planted her almost bare butt in the seat, and ran her palm across supple, luxurious black leather, breathing in its distinctive scent. She noted a bar to her left with two crystal decanters and matching glasses. Certain the amber liquid inside the decanters was some sort of liquor, she wished she could take a long swallow for quick warmth.
Better not. She needed to stay sharp.
Wentworth sat facing her and Jason. He gazed at his son with such longing that her resentment softened just a bit. When the driver shut the door, it instantly became quiet, making Jason’s harsh, erratic breathing very loud.
Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Is he okay?”
“I think his nose is stuffed up from all the crying.”
Wentworth leaned forward and reached his hand inside his coat pocket, his hand brushing against her flesh. She stiffened, but he withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her.
“See if you can get him to blow his nose.”
She dangled it in front of the kid’s face. “Blow your nose, Jason,” she said.
“Hold it close,” Wentworth instructed.
But Jason turned his face away.
Wentworth placed the cloth next to Jason’s nose. “Come on, buddy. Blow for Daddy.”
The kid made a honking sound.
“Again,” Wentworth said.
After several more blows, the kid turned away again, placing his cheek against Kelly’s shoulder with a deep sigh, refusing to look at his father. But his breathing sounded better.
Kelly couldn’t read the expression on Wentworth’s face as he stared out a window. With a start, she realized they were moving. The vehicle was so solid, so quiet, or maybe the driver so expert, she hadn’t been aware that they’d entered traffic.
“Where do you live?” she asked after a few minutes.
“We spent the winter at the family villa on Collins Island.”
Kelly didn’t know what to react to first—the fact that it was currently spring, not winter, or that he had a villa, no less, on a private island accessible only by boat. No one could get on or off Collins Island without permission from an owner who resided on the Forbes Best or Most Whatever list.
Wentworth brushed lint off his
trousers. “Jason has been receiving therapy from a child psychiatrist associated with Miami Children’s Hospital, so we stayed on this year.”
She nodded. So the kid had already been screwed up before the kidnapping.
“Have you called his doctor?” Kelly asked. “To let him know what’s going on?”
“Her,” Wentworth said. “Dr. Carico has rearranged her schedule and will meet with Jason this afternoon.”
“Good,” Kelly said. “That should help get him straightened out.”
“God, I hope so,” Wentworth muttered, glancing back to his son, then meeting her gaze. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I told Hans not to turn on the AC back here.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said. “I’m comfortable now. Do you want your jacket?”
Wentworth smiled. “I’m fine. And I don’t want to disturb Jason. I think he’s fallen asleep.”
Kelly gazed down at the kid. His breathing was regular, although still too loud, and his body had relaxed into slumber.
“You’re right,” she whispered. “That’s probably the best thing for him.”
“Maybe not,” Wentworth said. “He has bad dreams.”
“Nightmares can’t be worse than the reality of a kidnapping,” Kelly said.
“You’d think not.”
Wentworth lapsed into silence after that cryptic statement, and Kelly leaned her head against the plush seat back. The adrenaline rush of the encounter with Adam and Caleb, plus the misery of the cold room, had drained her usual energy. She closed her eyes, feeling the easy rush of pavement beneath the limo’s eight tires. A far smoother ride than her own compact car. Like floating on air.
She woke when the limo came to a stop at the ferry landing for Collins Island. Jason remained sound asleep. And so was her arm beneath him. She wiggled her fingers. Pain shot up to her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Wentworth asked. “You just made a horrible face.”
Well, excuse me, Mr. Billionaire. We certainly can’t have that. Apparently high-class people didn’t do anything so gauche as have pained facial expressions.
“My arm is numb. I don’t want to wake him, but I have to move him.”
“Just transfer him to your other shoulder. He might rouse for a second, but he’ll fall right back to sleep.”
“Ouch,” Kelly said as icy needles assaulted her arm.
Wentworth leaned forward and efficiently moved the kid to her right shoulder. Jason fussed for a few breaths, then eased into sleep again.
“Thanks,” Kelly said, knowing she made another face as blood rushed into her left arm.
“I should be thanking you, Officer Jenkins. I know this is an imposition for you to remain with my son like this. We’re total strangers to you.”
“It’s my job to protect and serve,” she said, trying to make a joke. And remind him that she was law enforcement no matter how unprofessional she appeared in her skimpy jogging outfit.
Wentworth didn’t crack a smile, only evaluated her with his intense dark stare. “This might be a little above and beyond your normal duty.”
“A little.” Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked out the tinted windows and noted the ferry had pushed away from the dock. Wow. She was on her way to Collins Island. Imagine that. She’d always been curious about the legendary place. Most everyone in Miami was, but few ever got to see a Shangri-La reserved for that special one percent.
“I apologize if I insulted you by offering you money,” Wentworth said in a low voice. “Please forgive me.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. “A hot shower will be more than enough reward.”
“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he said, and smiled a lazy, somehow dangerous smile. This man was accustomed to getting his own way and doing exactly what he wanted. How nice for him.
But she didn’t want anything from him.
Wentworth gazed out at the water, apparently lost in thought.
Kelly followed his gaze and noted they already approached the island’s dock. Short trip, but they only had to cross the narrow channel known as Government Cut.
Before long they motored off the ferry and reached a pair of towering wrought iron gates with the initials “WWV” inscribed at the top in a handsome flowing script. A decorative iron barrier surrounded the estate.
As the gates swung open, Trey focused his attention on his son again. “We’re home. Let’s try not to wake him.”
Kelly nodded.
The passenger compartment door opened after the driver stopped the limo. Kelly carefully shifted Jason so she could support him with both arms as she climbed out of the vehicle. Trey exited first and held out his hand to assist her, but she was afraid to release the kid who was dead weight in her arms.
Thankfully, she made it out without stumbling, and hoped she didn’t gape at the size of the structure before her. Villa indeed. Architecture was hardly her thing, but she recognized good design when it slammed her in the face. Wentworth’s home reminded her of photos she’d seen of estates in Tuscany. Coral roof tiles, classic columns and graceful arches made her think there might be a vineyard somewhere close by instead of the Atlantic Ocean.
She hefted the still-sleeping kid into a better position, and trudged up white marble steps toward the arched entranceway. Wentworth moved ahead with long easy strides and opened a massive door with the “WWV” monogram carved into the rich, dark wood. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the pleasant sound of a gurgling fountain in the corner.
The second thing she noticed was that the Wentworths’ villa was almost as cold as the police station. She could hardly wait for that hot shower.
“Let me take Jason,” Wentworth whispered. “I’ll put him down and get you settled.”
“Thanks,” Kelly said. Maybe she needed to increase her reps in weight training.
But Jason roused when she transferred the kid to his father. As he realized what was happening to him, he struggled to escape Wentworth’s grasp.
“No, Daddy! No,” the kid screeched. He reached his arms back toward Kelly. “I want Mommy.”
Kelly sighed and accepted him back. Jason wrapped his arms around her neck and linked his feet around her waist.
“Show me his bedroom,” she said, averting her gaze from the tight expression on Wentworth’s face.
A uniformed Hispanic woman whose left eye was swollen and bruised appeared in the marbled foyer, apparently alerted by Jason’s shrieks.
“Jasonito,” she exclaimed. Hurrying forward, she made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Gracias a dios.”
“Hello, Maria,” Wentworth said.
Kelly evaluated Maria. Dark hair and eyes, round face, five two, early thirties. Was this Jason’s nanny? The kid said the kidnappers struck someone named Maria, and this woman sported a nasty black eye.
“Welcome home, Mr. Wentworth,” Maria said. “So the ransom exchange went well?” she said in a hopeful tone.
“No,” Wentworth said. “But Jason is home safe, thanks to Officer Jenkins here. Officer Jenkins, this is Maria, my housekeeper and Jason’s nanny.”
“Please call me Kelly,” she said, tired of the formality.
“What happened?” Maria asked.
“I’ll explain later,” Wentworth said. “Right now we need to get Jason down for a nap.”
“Of course,” Maria said, reaching for the kid.
“No,” Jason whined, tightening his legs. “No!”
“Jasonito?” Maria asked in a hurt voice.
“I’m sorry,” Kelly said to Maria. “I’m his safety blanket right now.”
“Maria, please ready a guest room so Kelly can take a shower.”
“Of course, sir.” She swiped away a tear, bowed and left the foyer.
“Follo
w me,” Wentworth told Kelly.
The room she hurried through was a blur of white marble, dramatic, subtly lit angles and well-made furnishings, again mostly white. No place for a kid to play, that’s for sure.
They ascended a grand, sweeping staircase and entered a bedroom that had to be Jason’s because an artist, and a pretty good one, had decorated the walls with cartoon characters, colorful balloons and pretty flowers, creating a cheerful space for a child.
Kelly spotted an elaborate bed designed to look like an airplane and moved toward it. Wentworth turned back the bedspread, and she gratefully placed Jason onto crisp, pale blue sheets.
He turned on his side, reached out and grasped her hand. “Don’t leave, Mommy,” he begged.
“Okay,” she said, suspecting the kid would be back asleep within minutes.
Wentworth moved a plush chair close to Jason’s bed, and Kelly sat. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll just wait here until he conks out again.”
Staring at his son, Wentworth said, “I’ll instruct my chef to prepare something to eat.” But he didn’t move. After a sigh, shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Jason’s cheek. “Sleep tight, buddy,” Wentworth whispered. He stepped to the windows, closed the shades and then left them alone.
Kelly blew out a breath, relieved to finally lose her burden and enjoy a little solitude.
Jason’s eyes drifted shut. His grip on her loosened. It wouldn’t be long before she could enjoy that promised shower.
She gaped at the number and variety of toys on display in the room. Like photos she’d seen of an avalanche of presents under the tree for some lucky brat on Christmas morning. Not her though. Her Christmases were spent in foster care where she was lucky if she got a hot breakfast.
This poor kid had everything he could possibly want and yet was so totally miserable he’d confused her for his dead mom.
CHAPTER THREE
TREY HURRIED DOWNSTAIRS. Jason was home. His son was safe. That was all he could and should focus on.
When he entered the spacious kitchen, his plump chef, the wife of his chauffeur, sat at the center island reading one of her many cookbooks. She stood immediately, her pleasant face split by a huge grin.
The Billionaire's Son Page 3
