Kelly shook her head. “But what if we’re just putting off the inevitable? What if he gets hysterical when I leave in the morning?”
“We’ll deal with that possibility then,” Donna said.
“Will you be here to do that?” Kelly demanded.
“Yes. Trey has asked me to return to evaluate his condition.”
Trey nodded when Donna shot him a smile. Thank God for Donna. Anything to convince the cop to stay. He understood she had a life, but how could she refuse to help a frightened child? Was she heartless?
“If Jason doesn’t settle down, my recommendation will be to treat him in-patient,” Dr. Carico said. “I’ve consulted several colleagues, and they all recommend institutionalization. Trey wants to avoid that at all costs.”
Kelly released a sigh. “Yeah, I get that.”
“When she was alive, Jason’s mother left him with nannies all the time,” Trey said, relieved Kelly appeared to be softening. He couldn’t force her to stay, and he’d already insulted her once by offering payment. “I think he’ll understand your need to go to work.”
“Did his mom work?” Kelly asked.
“Not after we married, but she attended a lot of luncheons.”
Kelly’s mouth tightened. “This is nuts.”
“He’s a scared, confused little boy,” Trey said. “And I’m only asking for one night.”
She shook her head and stared at the cheese tray. “I’d have to swing by my apartment in the morning to get my uniform.”
“That’s not a problem,” Trey said. “Like I said, whatever it takes.”
“All right,” Kelly said, throwing up her arms in surrender. “I’m not convinced it’s the right thing to do, but I’ll stay.”
“Thank you,” Trey said, putting as much meaning into the words as he could muster. “Please feel free to make yourself at home while you’re here.”
The cop looked interested in that idea, but before she could ask a question, Maria appeared at the door to the dining room, uncharacteristically twisting her apron in both hands. Jason’s condition was hard on everyone in the house.
“The police are here with a sketch artist,” she said. “They want to work with Officer Jenkins.”
“Of course,” Trey said. “Show them to the solarium.”
“Damn,” Kelly murmured, coming to her feet. “I forgot about that.”
“So I guess it’s good you didn’t leave,” Trey said.
* * *
TWO HOURS LATER, Kelly nodded her approval at the completed sketches of Adam and Caleb. Rafael, the artist, had captured their likenesses quite well. Not exact, of course, but close enough to give patrol officers a good tool to work with.
“I wish everyone had a memory as good as yours,” Rafael said as he packed his drawing materials into a huge canvas satchel. “You made my job easy.”
“It would be hard to forget those scumbags,” Kelly said.
“Did you hear someone on scene filmed your encounter with the kidnappers on their phone and gave the video to Channel Eight?”
“Seriously?” While she’d been banished to fantasyland, the case—her case—had developed leads and moved forward in the real world without her. She was totally out of the loop because she’d been busy babysitting a screwed-up kid.
“Yeah, but the video is of you holding the Wentworth kid,” Rafael said. “They didn’t manage to get a good head shot of either perp.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Good thing, or I’d be out of a job. Channel Eight showed the recording on the six o’clock news. Congratulations on your thirty seconds of fame.”
“Gee, thanks.” But she was curious about what had been captured. Maybe she could catch the footage at eleven o’clock. She hadn’t seen a TV anywhere in this mansion, but there had to be one somewhere.
Laughing, Rafael turned to look out on the pool deck through the huge plate glass windows of the solarium, a room full of casual wicker furniture, colorful prints and green plants, including more blooming orchids. Kelly followed his gaze and found the two officers who had driven him over sitting at a table with a glass pitcher of what looked like iced tea and another cheese-and-fruit tray. Both men had their feet up. A glorious sunset was in full view behind them, creating a scene fit for a slick travel magazine—if it weren’t for the two cops in black uniforms with loaded guns on their hips.
“Now, there’s a duty I could get used to,” Rafael said.
“You think so? I’d be bored sick sitting around and doing nothing.”
“That’s a sickness I could take,” Rafael said. “I guess a stay on Collins Island is your reward for saving Wentworth’s kid.” He nodded at the remains of a buffet the blonde cook had laid out for them. “Damn, but that food was amazing.”
“I’m leaving in the morning.”
Rafael turned back. “Good job, by the way.” He gave her a high five, the slap of their palms sharp in the quiet room. “I’ve already heard talk of a commendation for you.”
“Thanks.” A feeling of pleasure tickled her belly. A commendation? Really? Still gazing at the resort-like view, she added, “But I did what anyone would.”
“Yeah, right. Anybody would karate-kick a gun out of a perp’s hand. How’s the kid by the way?”
Kelly shrugged, ashamed of her resentful thoughts about babysitting Jason. Poor little dude’s head was in a super bad place. What was one day out of her life? “Asleep. Hopefully he’ll be himself again when he wakes up.”
“And if he’s not?” Rafael asked.
Kelly shook her head. “I don’t know.” But she did know, and she didn’t like the idea of Carico stashing the little guy in a loony bin. Even if they found one for kids. Even if the hospital was as luxurious as this villa. Jason needed to be with his father and in familiar surroundings. She wasn’t any shrink, but she knew the only way he’d get better was to be around people who loved him.
And his father might be a jerk, but he loved his son. That was Wentworth’s only saving grace. Well, besides his looks.
Rafael hefted his satchel over his shoulder. “Let me roust my ride and get going. Having to use that ferry takes forever.” At the last minute, he stepped to the buffet, wrapped two sandwiches in a napkin and stuffed them in his bag. He winked at her. “For my wife.”
“You may have a hard time getting those guys out of their chairs,” Kelly yelled after him.
With a backward wave, the artist disappeared. She heard a voice in the hall—probably Maria—directing the way out.
Kelly turned back to the view. Man, but she longed for a swim in that pool, had wanted to dive in since she’d first laid eyes on it. And hadn’t Wentworth told her to make herself at home? Unfortunately, she didn’t have a bathing suit. Or goggles.
A few minutes later, Rafael appeared on the pool deck next to the officers. She smiled as she watched the exchange. She couldn’t hear the conversation but could imagine the jokes about not wanting to leave the good life. When the three men walked off the deck, she felt suddenly alone, as if her posse had abandoned her with the enemy.
Which was ridiculous, of course. Wentworth wasn’t her enemy. But he wasn’t her friend.
She glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. Now what? She wasn’t used to having nothing to do. She rotated her neck as frustration and pent-up energy ate at her. If she were home, she’d be studying or exercising. Yeah, definitely exercising after all the extra calories she’d consumed today.
What she needed was a workout. If she couldn’t swim, why not go for a run? Or at least a walk around billionaire island. Maria had laundered her running gear. Even better, maybe the mansion had a gym. Would it be rude to search?
Yes, it would. Her mother had managed to teach her that much at least. But she could ask.
With a sigh, K
elly left the solarium, hoping she didn’t get lost in this monstrosity of a house. When she entered the hall, she found Maria waiting for her.
“Would you like something more to eat, Miss Kelly?” the housekeeper asked.
“After that buffet? No, thank you, Maria. I’m stuffed.”
Maria nodded, her blackened eye appearing even more swollen now. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Kelly?”
“To tell you the truth, I really need to burn off some energy. I’m wondering if there’s a gym or any sort of exercise equipment around that I could use.”
“Of course.”
Kelly followed Maria to a one-story building off the pool deck. Inside was a large gym with free weights, pneumatic equipment, treadmills and spin machines.
“Sweet,” Kelly murmured. This state-of-the-art gym was equipped better than what the department had available at the West Dade training facility. Being a gazillionaire did have its perks.
“Any chance your boss will want to work out tonight?” she asked.
“No. Mr. Wentworth comes here in the morning.”
“So he won’t mind if I use his gym?”
“He said to let you do whatever you want.”
Kelly glanced down at the clothing provided by Wentworth earlier in the day. Comfortable enough, but designed for a golf game, not a serious workout. “I’m going up to my room to change first.”
“Can you find your way, Ms. Kelly?”
“Second right at the top of the stairs. Thanks, Maria.”
Energized because she had a plan, Kelly hurried to the room she’d used earlier, picking out landmarks so she could find the gym again. More clothing, two pastel golf sets similar to the one she had on, were laid out on the bed. This time even clean lingerie had been provided. She fingered a white lacy bra and matching panties created by a French company she would never dream of splurging on. Wentworth had nailed her cup size.
But of course he had. Her face warmed as she remembered he’d gotten a good look at her bare breasts.
She ought to be grateful he’d provided clean underwear for her to put on in the morning. So why did she feel resentful of Wentworth’s courtesies? Maybe because with his bottomless pockets the man could do whatever he wanted, and that kind of power bred a dangerous kind of arrogance. And contempt.
She didn’t belong here. All this luxury wasn’t her thing and never would or could be. Really, who laid out such a lavish buffet for two people? What waste. She could remember days when her belly had ached from hunger.
She picked up one of the outfits to check the size, and found a bright red bikini bathing suit underneath. Hardly appropriate for swimming laps, but no doubt the type of swimwear Wentworth’s bimbos wore to parade around his pool. Should she be grateful or insulted?
Shaking her head, Kelly moved to the window and gazed down at the pool deck, now illuminated by hidden lights. Barely visible, in the distance the dark Atlantic Ocean stretched into an unseen horizon.
She leaned against the window frame. God, what a gorgeous piece of real estate. A laugh bubbled up as she considered the ludicrous proposition of her squad making a domestic call to this island paradise. Anyone in trouble would bleed out before the cops could manage to get on and off that slow ferry.
At the sound of voices, she refocused on the deck and stood up straight. Trey Wentworth, dressed in a black tux that fit him as if custom made—and likely was—spoke to a giant, muscled dude that looked as if he were straight out of special forces. She figured the big guy had to be a bodyguard or security of some sort, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Wentworth.
Smooth and sophisticated in black tie, he made her think of James Bond. South Beach style. God, but he looked good enough to eat.
Why was he so dressed up? But she knew why. Obviously the man had a date. That couldn’t be right. His son had been kidnapped, rescued—by her, thank you very much—flipped out and then drugged into oblivion, but Wentworth, obviously not a candidate for dad of the year, was going out on the town to some swanky shindig?
What kind of a father did that?
When he looked up at her window, Kelly jumped out of the way, hoping he hadn’t seen her. This family’s dirty laundry was none of her business.
She quickly changed into her clean running shorts and jog bra. Feeling better in her own clothes, she hurried back down the stairs only to encounter Wentworth striding across the loggia toward the front door—looking even more delicious in the brighter light. As his arm moved, she caught the flash of gold at his cuffs, and again stepped out of sight. Things were awkward enough between them without the man thinking she was a stalker.
Hans opened the door to the limo, and Wentworth climbed in. Kelly moved forward to watch the black vehicle drive away.
Well, do have such a good time, Mr. Billionaire. Oh, and don’t worry about your traumatized son. I’ll be here in case Jason wakes up and needs a parent to comfort him.
She whirled away from the disappearing tail lights and marched toward the gym. Man, did she ever need that workout.
CHAPTER FIVE
HURRYING UP THE marble steps into his home, Trey focused on one thing: Jason. How was he? Had his son woken? Cried out for his mother or his father?
Probably not. Donna said Jase would sleep through the night and it was only 11:00 p.m.
He’d remained at the benefit the minimum amount of time, escaping at the first opportunity after less than two hours, ninety minutes of a frozen smile and feigning interest in a cause that was no doubt worthy but one he couldn’t care about right now.
All he cared about was his son.
At the top of the stairs, Trey slipped off his shoes so he wouldn’t make any noise as he approached Jason’s room. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him if he remained asleep.
Trey edged open the door to Jason’s room and exhaled a relieved breath. Jase lay on his side with his favorite stuffed animal, a pink, ragged chimpanzee named Chimpie, clutched against his body. His son’s chest rose and fell steadily. He looked like any normal four-year-old, happy, at peace with his world.
Trey prayed that tonight his son’s slumber wasn’t inhabited by violent nightmares.
Shutting the door, Trey headed toward the bar. He needed a drink. He’d held himself in check at the party, refusing anything but club soda, afraid alcohol might loosen his tongue and allow him to say things in public he shouldn’t. Things about his father.
The most heartless son of a bitch on the planet.
Trey removed his jacket, tossed it over a chair and poured himself an inch of his favorite whiskey. He downed the liquid in one swallow, welcoming the fiery burn that trailed down his throat into his belly and then poured another.
He was sick of people, of being polite and sociable. All night, every hand he’d pumped, every perfumed cheek he’d kissed, every lame joke he pretended to find amusing, all he could think about was whether Jason had woken up frightened and missing his daddy.
But he hadn’t. Jase was safe in bed and sound asleep. Trey drank his whiskey and added more to his glass. He could stop obsessing about his son and indulge in a little blessed solitude.
He longed to forget the present and return to a time when Jason had been a happy, well-adjusted little boy who adored his parents. Holding the crystal tumbler, Trey moved to the window and stared outside onto the illuminated pool deck. He wanted to forget a reality where his son despised him for taking away his mother. Where the world had warped to the point where Jason had latched on to a stranger and anointed her his absent mom.
When Jason woke up in the morning, would he still insist Kelly Jenkins was his mother? It couldn’t be good for Jase to allow him to carry on with that delusion. At what point did he bring it to an end?
What a terrifying mess. Trey removed his tie and slammed it to t
he bar.
Donna insisted time would heal his son’s wounds, but Trey wasn’t so sure anymore. And he was helpless to do anything for Jase. A father should be able to help his son.
Nursing his drink, Trey stepped outside. Maybe a little fresh air would make him feel better. He breathed in the scent of something blooming mingled with a salty ocean breeze. What he ought to do is turn on the court lights and whack a few thousand balls over the net. The idea appealed, but the growing effects of the whiskey made him doubt the wisdom of that plan. Maybe tomorrow.
At the sound of a splash, he turned toward the lit pool in time to witness two legs kick into the air and push off the wall, propelling a blur of crimson toward the other end.
Just who was swimming in his pool at this hour? He moved closer to the edge of the water and watched the swimmer’s efficient strokes.
It was Officer Jenkins, executing flip turns as if she were a professional. He took a deep breath. He’d told her to make herself at home and was pleased she’d been able to do so.
He moved back when she approached his end of the deck again, not wanting to get water on his pants when she flipped.
But she stopped. Breathing hard, she placed her hands on the side of the pool.
“Good evening, Officer Jenkins,” Trey said, his words coming out more slurred than they should.
She jumped back and raised her arms in a defensive posture, eyes wide, ready to fight. He’d startled her.
She lowered her fists. “Mr. Wentworth.”
“Trey,” he said. He took a sip of whiskey and gazed down at her. She had a classically oval and quite lovely face. His gaze lowered, but the rippling water obscured the rest of her body.
She nodded and glanced around as if looking for an escape route, no doubt embarrassed. “I’ll get out of your way,” she said. “I’m sure you wanted privacy.”
“You’re fine.” Surprised by her obvious discomfort, Trey sat on a lounge chair with a towel draped over the back. He didn’t care if she enjoyed his pool. Few guests ever did.
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