She managed to get a partial tag. Breathing hard, she took out her notepad and jotted down three letters and one number.
She glanced back to her dirty white Ford, dread knotting her gut. Jason’s abductor knew where she lived. Did he know her vehicle? Had he been in her car?
No way was she getting inside until it’d been processed. Maybe they’d find fingerprints on the door handles that would lead them to Adam.
She had to call it in. Damn. She’d miss roll call again after all.
Before she could unclip her phone from her belt, an explosion boomed into the quiet morning, rocketing the hood of her car into the air.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWO HOURS LATER, standing next to Lieutenant Marshall and Special Agent Ballard, Kelly watched the remains of her car being towed away by the FBI. Trucks from several local television stations had set up for remote transmission on the other side of police barricades.
A life she had carefully planned and arranged for so long was now spiraling out of her control. She’d once sworn she’d never be a victim again, and now this.
“As bombs go,” Ballard said, “that one wasn’t much.”
Kelly silently disagreed. Yeah, no one had been harmed, but she was out a three-year-old Ford that she still owed a ton of money on. Would her insurance even cover an incendiary device?
“You’re certain the man you saw was Jason Wentworth’s kidnapper?” her lieutenant asked, his tone indicating he had his doubts. But at least he’d come to the scene. His presence signaled the department took her situation seriously.
“I’m certain,” Kelly said. “But I didn’t get a look at the driver.”
“Excellent police work, Officer Jenkins,” Ballard said. “The fact that you remained alert to your surroundings likely saved your life.”
Kelly nodded, fully aware of how close she’d come to getting killed or seriously injured. According to the techs, the bomb had been triggered remotely. Adam had blown up the car to destroy any evidence he might have left behind, hoping she’d already gotten in the vehicle.
“So your theory is he wanted me out of the picture so I couldn’t ID him as the kidnapper?” Kelly asked. She planned to look at mug shots today to see if either Caleb or Adam had been arrested. If it weren’t for Jason’s mixed-up head—and Wentworth’s money and influence—she’d have already done that.
“Bingo. And this is the first good lead we’ve had since yesterday,” Ballard said.
“But how did he know where I live?” A cop’s home address was always kept private. Law enforcement didn’t even have to reveal it when they testified.
“Yeah, I’d like to know that, too,” Marshall said.
“Probably something to do with the media coverage,” Ballard suggested, with a nod to the trucks. “They’ve been all over this story.”
“Great,” Kelly said. She still hadn’t seen the video of her encounter with the kidnappers. She’d forgotten about her fifteen minutes of fame, and now she’d likely get fifteen more. This couldn’t be good for her career.
“What happens next?” she asked.
“Your partial tag came off a stolen truck,” Ballard said, “but so far that’s a dead end. We’re in the process of obtaining your apartment’s video feed from this parking lot. We’ll need you to review it. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find an image of our guy around your vehicle.”
Kelly shot Ballard a look. The man actually seemed happy, but she’d hardly call it lucky that a dangerous criminal she could identify had somehow learned what car she drove to work every day. And where she lived.
And Adam was still out there somewhere. Was he planning another attempt on her life?
“I need to contact my insurance company,” she said. “How long will you keep my vehicle?”
“No way to know.” Ballard’s phone rang, and he removed it from his belt. “We’ll be in in touch,” he said, moving way.
This just kept getting better and better. She was beginning to agree with Wentworth about the FBI.
Kelly waited for her lieutenant to speak. She barely knew the man and couldn’t get a read on his mood, whether she was in trouble or if Marshall agreed with Ballard that she’d done good police work by spotting Adam before getting into her car and getting blown to smithereens.
“Are you fit for duty, Officer Jenkins?” Marshall asked.
She came to attention. “Yes, sir.”
“You’re not too shook up, need the day?”
“No, sir. Absolutely not.”
Was that a gleam of approval in his steely gaze? She couldn’t be certain. The man was like granite.
He nodded. “Come on then. I’ll give you a ride to the station. Your squad went on patrol a unit short again today.”
* * *
KELLY PULLED HER squad car into the lot of the Coral Bagel deli and parked next to Patrice Skinner’s unit. Patrice was her closest friend in the department. They’d formed an instant connection during training and, if circumstances allowed, they often met for lunch. Other members of their four-unit squad occasionally showed up as well, especially if they wanted to break down an eventful call. Sometimes even their sergeant, Rudy McFadden, who patrolled the same area with his squad, joined them.
But today she didn’t want to talk to anyone but Patrice, who was addicted to popular culture and celebrity gossip, a habit Kelly often teased her about. Kelly intended to pump her friend for info about Trey Wentworth. If anyone knew the scoop, Trice would.
After alerting dispatch she was on break, Kelly entered the quiet diner. To get in and out within thirty minutes, they deliberately took lunch around two, long after the noon rush.
She spotted Patrice in their favorite corner booth, sitting across from Lana Lettino, another rookie from their class. Kelly heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of her friends, both of whom already knew about her encounter with Jason.
Finally a return to reality. People who understood her life.
Trice waved her over, and the waitress arrived immediately with three glasses of water.
“Roast beef and Swiss on rye,” Lana ordered.
“The usual,” Patrice said.
“One veggie burger,” the waitress confirmed. “And you, Officer Jenkins?”
“Just a small house salad and coffee.”
“What’s up with that?” Lana asked when the server had moved away.
Kelly shrugged. “I’m not hungry.”
“You look awful,” Patrice said. “And the fact that you’re not hungry has got me seriously worried.”
“Funny,” Kelly said. “But you wouldn’t believe the amount of food I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours at Wentworth Villa. I’ve probably gained five pounds.”
Lana laughed. “Come on. You don’t like the good life on Collins Island?”
“You have no idea.”
“We need details,” Trice said.
Kelly filled her friends in on the morning’s events. “So now I don’t even have a vehicle.”
Dark eyes wide, Lana sat back in the booth. “A bomb? No way.”
Kelly shrugged. “No good deed goes unpunished.”
“So this kidnapper knows where you live and remains at large gunning for you?” Lana asked.
“Until the Bureau can apprehend him. I spent an hour on the computer looking at mug shots before I went on patrol.”
Patrice cursed. “Then it’s a good thing you’re moving to Collins Island. No way the scumbag can get to you there.”
Kelly sipped her water. Trice had a point. She would be far safer at Wentworth’s mansion than in her own apartment. And maybe a limo back and forth to the station wouldn’t be such a rotten idea after all. Although she should let Wentworth know about the threat.
Was it fair to put Wentwor
th’s driver in the middle of the danger? She wouldn’t even be having this conversation if she hadn’t noticed Adam watching her. She couldn’t be on her guard 24/7. Sooner or later she’d make a mistake.
“I guess you didn’t spot either of the perps in the mug shots,” Trice said.
“No such luck,” Kelly muttered.
“Are you worried?” Lana asked.
“A little,” Kelly admitted. “But I figure that goes with the job. It’s what we signed on for.”
“I don’t know about you,” Patrice said, “but I sure didn’t sign up for any bombs in my car. Is the department going to do anything for you? Like give you a rental?”
“I doubt it.”
When the food arrived, since they only had fifteen minutes left, Patrice and Lana dug in.
“Any chatter around the station about me being in trouble?” Kelly asked, pushing the lettuce around on her plate.
Patrice narrowed her hazel eyes on Kelly. “Trouble about what?”
“For missing yesterday.”
Patrice shook her head. “Seriously? Come on, girl. You’re a heroine. You saved a little boy’s life.”
“There’s even talk about a commendation.” Lana grinned. “I’d be jealous if it weren’t for the bomb and all.”
“You’re sure Rudy isn’t pissed?” Kelly asked. The squad had already gone out on patrol by the time Lieutenant Marshall delivered her to the station, so she hadn’t been able to talk to her sergeant.
“He did mention he wants to chat with you before you check out this afternoon,” Trice said.
So she was in trouble. “You don’t know what about?”
“Nope.” Patrice shook her head.
“You still got that crush on our sergeant?” Lana asked.
Patrice’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t be silly. I respect the guy, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right,” Lana said. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“At least I’m not still hung up on my high school sweetie,” Patrice said.
“I am not hung up,” Lana said. “I just need to find his murderer. Your thing for Rudy will bring you nothing but trouble, girl. He’s already taken.”
“I know that.”
Remaining silent, Kelly shook her head. Trice all but swooned over their married sergeant while Lana couldn’t get over some dead boyfriend from high school. Kelly had no use for romance. In her opinion—only reinforced since she’d been on the job—men did nothing but create chaos in a woman’s life. Her two best friends were proof of that.
“So what’s Trey Wentworth like?” Patrice said in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Now, there’s a man who is serious eye candy.”
“Agreed, but I’ve hardly spoken to him.” Kelly leaned forward. “What can you tell me about him?”
Patrice took a swallow of water. “The Wentworths are old money.”
“Legal old money?”
“That’s the word. Their base of operations is Manhattan, and they’re very private. His father rules the family with an iron fist, and it’s rumored he pays a publicist to keep their dirty laundry out of the tabloids. But the antics of Trey’s rock star wife were too outrageous to keep quiet.”
“She was a rock star?” Kelly asked.
Patrice sighed. “I keep forgetting how literal you are. No, a model, a gorgeous girl, but one with a serious drug habit. After she married Wentworth, she quit working, had a kid, began to party and quickly self-destructed. An all-too-familiar story.”
“He told me she was killed DUI.”
“Oh, really?” Patrice sat back. “That’s sounds like a rather intimate discussion for a man you’ve barely spoken to.”
“We’ve had a few conversations about the kid.”
“So come on. Give,” Lana said. “What’s he like?”
“The kid? He’s totally screwed up.”
“You know I mean Trey Wentworth.”
Kelly took a swallow of lukewarm coffee. How should she describe Trey Wentworth? “Arrogant. He thinks his money can solve any problem.”
“Maybe because, hey, it usually can,” Lana said.
“Money can’t get his son’s head unscrambled. So there’s never anything in the tabloids about Trey, just his ex?”
“He is known as a party animal,” Patrice said. “That’s how he met his ex.”
“That much I’ve heard. Anything else?”
Patrice raised her eyebrows. “All these questions from the woman who made fun of my subscription to Celebrity magazine?”
“If I’m going to be living in his house, I need all the intel I can get.”
“Oh, I’m sure that’s all it is. Let’s see. Like I say, the family manages to keep most things out of the public eye, but Trey is or was an excellent tennis player. He won some big-time tournament as a junior player—maybe the US Open—and was considered good enough to go on the professional tour. No one was surprised when he went to work for Wentworth Industries instead.”
“Why? Professional tennis players earn a ton of money.”
“That sort of common entertainment was deemed beneath the Wentworths.” Patrice made quote marks in the air around “common.”
“Seriously?” Kelly rolled her eyes.
“How does he act toward you?” Lana asked.
Kelly shrugged. “Most of the time he’s polite enough, but he hates cops. He thinks we’re all incompetent.”
Lana leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Is it true the FBI screwed up the drop?”
“Apparently. Wentworth is grateful that I saved his kid, but he thinks I’m some kind of hick from the wrong side of the tracks.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Patrice said.
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
Trice smiled. “You’re exactly his type. Blond hair, blue eyes, great body. You actually resemble the dead ex.”
“Yeah, apparently the little dude thinks so, too. And, man, if you ask me, that’s just creepy.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“WHEN WILL MOMMY be home, Daddy?”
Sitting on the pool deck after a long romp in the water, Trey paused towel-drying Jason’s hair. This was the fourth time his son had asked about his mother in the last hour. Each time the question pierced him like a knife straight to the gut.
Jason showed no signs of regaining any memory of Darlene’s death. His son preferred to live in a world where his mother still breathed, and who could blame the kid.
“She’ll be home later, son,” Trey said. “After your nap.”
Jason yawned huge. “I don’t want to take a nap.”
“But you know you have to, right?”
Jase nodded, and Trey began briskly rubbing his head again. His son was exhausted but as usual would never admit it.
“Will Mommy be here when I wake up?” Jason asked from underneath the terrycloth.
Trey lowered the towel. “I can’t promise. She might have to work late.”
A confused look passed over Jason’s sweet young face. “I wish she didn’t have to work.”
“Me, too, buddy. But she wants to. She likes to work.”
“Why?”
“Why do you like to play in the pool?”
“’Cause it’s fun.”
“Well, maybe her work is fun, too.” But how could that possibly be true of police work?
“Come on. Let’s find Maria and get you into bed.”
When Jason was settled into his airplane bed, he looked up and asked, “Is Dr. Donna coming back today?”
“No,” Trey replied. “She’ll be here in the morning. Do you like talking to Dr. Donna?”
Jason yawned again. “She’s okay.”
Trey drew the
drapes and moved to the door where he dimmed the overhead light. The frog night light illuminated his son’s bedroom with a soft green glow.
“Sweet dreams, buddy,” Trey said. He closed the door quietly and moved downstairs into his office.
With a vague intention of getting some work done, he sat at his desk. He was days behind on correspondence and reports, but couldn’t yet concentrate on the questionable decisions his father had been making lately. And he needed to pay attention. Allies on the board were worried the old man was seriously damaging Wentworth Industries.
Trey came to his feet and moved to the window. Was it the right thing to let his son continue to believe Kelly Jenkins was his mother? Dr. Carico insisted they should let Jason come to the realization his real mother was gone forever gradually, on his own.
That sounded great, but what if he never did?
Maybe it was time for a second opinion. He respected Donna, but this was his son’s life. He didn’t want to take any chances.
His phone rang. He’d been ignoring texts and calls all day to devote his time exclusively to Jason, but this was the ring tone he he’d programmed for Kelly Jenkins so he’d know when she called.
“Hello, Officer Jenkins,” he said.
“Hi. Listen, I’ve got a problem,” she said. “Is it possible you could send your limo to pick me up at my station at six after all?”
“Of course. I’ll tell Hans. What’s the problem?”
She hesitated before answering. “You haven’t talked to Agent Ballard?”
“I’ve been with Jason all day.”
“Ballard said he’d notify you.”
“Notify me of what?”
When she hesitated again, Trey closed his eyes, certain he was about to receive more bad news.
“What’s going on, Kelly?”
“The kidnappers somehow tracked down where I live and planted a bomb in my car.”
“What?” The word exploded out of his mouth. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’ll explain everything when I get there, but the FBI took what’s left of my car for processing, so I need you to send a ride. Okay?”
What’s left of her car? “But you weren’t injured?”
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