Her Stolen Son

by Rita Herron

  Then Colt watched Derrick drive away, Petey’s face haunting him.

  COLT SPENT THE EVENING canvassing the homes near Rice’s, but no one seemed to know anything. According to an elderly woman two units down, the man had moved in a month before and kept to himself. Others claimed they’d only seen him coming and going. None had really talked to him.

  And no one had heard anything the night before. No cars. No arguments. No screams.

  On a positive note, not one of them had seen Serena Stover or her minivan anywhere near the man’s house.

  So what the hell had happened to Rice?

  And who was framing Serena?

  A dozen more questions bombarded him as he wolfed down a pizza. He spent a couple of hours online himself researching Rice, but found very little about the man in cyberspace.

  Which raised more questions. An entrepreneur involved in several small businesses should have more of a presence on the internet.

  He typed in the link to Serena’s business and accessed her records, then phoned two of her clients. Both gave her raving character descriptions, claiming she was nice, professional and adored her son. All seemed shocked at her arrest.

  He tried a different tactic for Rice, searching for more on his background, and was still digging around for information at 2:00 a.m. when the phone trilled.

  Colt frowned and grabbed the handset.

  “Colt, it’s Derrick.” His voice sounded choppy, strained, upset.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Petey. He finally fell asleep around midnight, and then we went to bed, too. But I heard a noise a few minutes ago and got up, and…dammit, Colt.”

  Colt’s heart raced. “What?”

  “Petey’s gone.”

  Chapter Four

  “Petey’s gone?” Colt’s heart hammered.

  “Yes,” Derrick said, his voice strained. “We’ve searched the house and outside, but we can’t find him anywhere.”

  “Dammit, he could have run away again.”

  “That’s what I thought. I’m going to take the car and comb the neighborhood.” Derrick released an explosive breath. “Bri has already called Rosalie at the manor, but I don’t think Petey would go back there.”

  “Me neither.” So where would the kid go? “He was furious at me,” Colt said. “Maybe he was coming here.”

  “How would he know where you live, man?”

  Colt scrubbed his hand over his face. “Right. That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe he’s running toward the jail,” Derrick suggested.

  Colt contemplated that possibility. “Maybe, but we told him that they won’t allow children there.” He tried to put himself in the head of a six-year-old. “He’d probably go someplace safe.”

  “Someplace he felt close to his mother,” Derrick murmured.

  “His home.” Colt grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. “I’ll go to Serena’s. You check outside and the neighborhood, and I’ll call the sheriff and tell him Petey is missing in case he does turn up at the jail.”

  “Are you going to have him tell Serena?” Derrick asked.

  Colt jumped in his Range Rover and started the engine. “No, not yet. She’ll be terrified. Let’s see if we can find him first before we have to put her through that worry.”

  Colt disconnected the call, then punched in the sheriff’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Sheriff Gray, this is Colt Mason. We have a problem.”

  “Do you know what time it is?” the sheriff barked.

  “Petey Stover is missing.”

  A tense heartbeat passed. “What the hell happened?”

  “He was upset when I didn’t bring his mother back. So Derrick McKinney and his wife took him to their house.”

  “I thought he was in foster care.”

  “Brianna works for Magnolia Manor. She—we—thought he’d be better off tonight with them. But Derrick just phoned and said the boy is gone. He’s searching the neighborhood, but I thought you should check the jail in case he goes there to be with his mother.”

  Sheriff Gray muttered a sound of frustration. “Deputy Alexander is at the jail now. I’ll call him, issue an amber alert and cruise the town.”

  Colt sighed. “Thanks. I’m going to Serena’s in case he goes home.”

  The men disconnected, and Colt headed toward the Stover house. He just prayed that Petey was there and not out wandering the streets all alone.

  SERENA HAD FINALLY fallen asleep, but nightmares haunted her—she was locked away in a hellhole with hardened criminals, with women who called her names and beat her, and guards who used her for their own pleasures.

  Jerking awake, she shivered in the cold darkness, the putrid scents of urine and sweat lingering from past prisoners wafting around her as a reminder of the scum who landed in jail.

  That she might be one of them if Kay Krantz and Colt Mason didn’t find out who had killed Lyle. That her juvenile record might cost her dearly.

  “I’m so sorry, Parker,” she whispered. She’d promised to take care of their son but she’d failed miserably, all because of her own selfish needs. She’d been lonely and had invited Rice into their lives.

  She would never put her own needs ahead of her son’s again.

  The image of Petey’s terror-stricken, tear-stained face pressed against the window as he was torn away from her taunted her. Who was taking care of her son tonight? Had someone read him a story? Made sure he brushed his teeth?

  Who had tucked him in bed and tickled his belly and kissed him good-night?

  Shaking with renewed anger, she shoved the ratty blanket away, unable to stand the vile smell any longer.

  But she was too tired to sit up or do anything but stare at the nasty words carved on the walls.

  A spider wove a tangled web in the corner of the cell, and she watched it work, thinking how elaborately the spider planned its trap.

  She was the fly caught in the web now.

  Because someone had orchestrated an elaborate plan to frame her for Lyle’s murder.

  Her head hurt from trying to figure out the puzzle. Who had killed Lyle? And why frame her?

  How could she prove that the evidence the sheriff had against her had been planted?

  AS COLT DROVE TOWARD Serena’s, he scanned the streets and alleys, hoping to spot Petey. But the darkness made it almost impossible to see, and intensified his worries. The mountains were massive, filled with dangers and places to hide.

  Would Petey even know how to find his way from Derrick’s house to his own?

  What if he was lost? Or what if some driver couldn’t see him and accidentally hit the poor kid?

  He never should have put Petey in that car. He should have brought him home with him.

  He was the one Petey had asked for help, and he had betrayed the boy by allowing the social worker to cart him away, and then by sending him to Derrick’s. But he’d honestly thought Petey would feel comfortable with Brianna.

  The streets were quiet, and except for an occasional car, traffic was virtually nonexistent. He veered onto Sycamore, keeping his eyes peeled for Petey, but all he spotted was a stray dog wandering through one of the yards. A catfight broke out somewhere behind one of the houses, the shrill screeching unnerving in the night.

  A lone light glowed in a room in a neighbor’s house, but most of the houses were dark, attesting to the fact that everyone was in bed.

  Where Petey belonged.

  He eased into Serena’s driveway, scanning the property. A nice white little bungalow with a fenced backyard. A porch swing on the front porch and the scooter and football in the yard gave the place a homey feel, another reminder that this house belonged to a single mother and her son.

  Ones who’d had their lives uprooted today. The question was, why?

  He cut the engine, then moved quietly toward the front door, checking windows and locks. All shut down. The house was shrouded in darkness, as well.

  If Petey had come home, woul
d he hide out in the dark like this?

  He circled around the side to the back again, checking windows, but they were all locked, and so was the back door. He wanted inside.

  But he hated to break a window or lock. Rational thought kicked in, and he pivoted, searching the back patio for a place Serena might have hidden a backup key.

  A fort for Petey had been erected in the backyard, a bicycle lay on its side, and flowerpots filled with geraniums and impatiens flanked both sides of the patio.

  He stooped and dug beneath the first one but found nothing. Three more pots and his hand closed around the key. Using it to let himself in, he paused to listen for sounds. Any indication that Petey was inside.

  The ticktock of a clock somewhere in the house echoed in the silence along with the low hum of the refrigerator and air conditioner.

  “Petey, it’s Colt.”

  Not wanting to frighten the kid if he was here, he inched his way inside, then moved slowly across the room and flipped on a light. “Petey, if you’re here, please come out. I promise I’m not going to take you back to the manor.”

  Nothing.

  He crept into the den and switched on a lamp, blinking at the sudden brightness. The room was painted a pale yellow with a dark green couch and comfy chairs situated around a fireplace. Children’s books and toys occupied one corner. Family photographs decorated a far wall. He paused to study one of Petey and his dad, and his gut tightened. Serena had said her husband was killed in the line of duty.

  Old instincts kicked in. Police work was dangerous. Had her husband’s killer been arrested? Had his killer decided to come after Serena and Petey for some reason?

  If so, could it be related to Rice’s murder, and the fact that Serena had been conveniently framed?

  He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he was making a wild jump, but it might be worth looking into.

  He glanced at the room that opened to the right and realized it was Serena’s office. A neat desk, filing cabinet, computer.

  But no Petey.

  Across the other side a small hallway led to two bedrooms. He flipped on a hall light and veered into the first one. The room was painted a warm red with a white comforter and red-and-white striped curtains. Obviously Serena’s room. “Petey, are you here, bud? If you are, please come out and talk to me. I want to help you.”

  The floor squeaked as he knelt and checked under the bed, then he searched the closet and bathroom. All empty.

  Damn. One more room.

  Petey’s. Maybe the kid was hiding in there. He entered it, his eyes quickly scanning the room. Bunk bed with a superhero bedspread, toy chest, action figures, a soccer ball.

  “Petey?”

  But he knew instinctively Petey was not there. Still, he threw open the closet door. Toys and clothes overflowed the shelves and a red fire engine sat on the floor.

  He closed the door, but as he started to leave the room, another picture of Petey and his dad caught his eye. Petey’s father was tall with brown hair and had his arm slung around the boy, but in this photo he wasn’t as clean-cut. His hair looked scraggly and long, and he sported a beard. Something about the look in the man’s eyes and his appearance seemed familiar.

  Like an undercover cop.

  He should know. He’d let his hair grow long and used beards, mustaches, tattoos, anything necessary to fit in with the scum he was supposed to be part of.

  Curious about Parker Stover, he hurried into Serena’s office to look for more information on him, then dug through her file cabinet, but everything inside pertained to her business.

  Had she thrown her husband’s things away?

  He had noticed a door in the hallway and wondered where it led. Maybe an attic.

  A great hiding place for a little boy.

  Spurned by adrenaline now, he flipped on the light and climbed the stairs. A few old pieces of furniture were stored in a corner, an antique chair, another bed, boxes of clothes and toys Petey had probably outgrown were crammed against another wall.

  On the opposite side beneath the window sat an old trunk. Just big enough for Petey to crawl inside.

  He crossed the room and opened it, hoping Petey was inside. Two worn blankets covered the top, then a lump.

  “Petey?”

  He felt beneath it, but his hand connected with a duffel bag instead of a child.

  Frowning, he yanked it out with a curse and unzipped it. The damn bag was filled with cash.

  All in hundred dollar packs.

  His stomach knotted. Why in the hell did Stover have this much money hidden in his attic? Did Serena know about it?

  And where had the money come from?

  He counted the first stack, and worry crawled up his spine as cop instincts filled in the blanks.

  A large sum of cash like this suggested that Stover had been dirty.

  UNABLE TO SLEEP, Serena’s anger festered. She had been a cop’s wife. She’d heard Parker talk about cases, had seen his methodical mind working to figure out the puzzles of a crime.

  She had to help herself and do the same.

  She called the deputy’s name, and a moment later he surfaced. “You oughta get some sleep,” he grunted.

  Serena gripped the bars. “I can’t. Would you mind giving me a pen and a piece of paper?”

  His eyes narrowed. “What you gonna do? Try to break out with a pen?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t overpower you if I tried.” She forced a feminine smile. “But I would like to figure out who framed me. I thought I’d make a list of everyone who’s been in my house the last few weeks and see if anything suspicious jumps out at me.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “I guess that’d be all right.” He strode back to the front office and returned a minute later with a small yellow legal pad and a pen.

  “Thanks.”

  He gave her a clipped nod, although she also felt his gaze sliding over her as if he was judging her himself. A sense of how alone they were bolted through her, and perspiration broke out on her neck. The damn man might be handsome, but she would never use sex to obtain what she wanted.

  She was well aware that some police officers and guards expected it. Even took it sometimes.

  This bastard had been the one who’d handcuffed her and ripped her from her son and she would never forget that.

  But he gave her a dismissive look, then walked away, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe she was being paranoid. But her past had taught her that she had to remain alert, that she couldn’t trust anyone.

  As soon as he disappeared through the doors leading to the front, she sat down on the cot and thumped the pen on the pad, thinking. She didn’t have any enemies that she knew of. But Lyle obviously had. Maybe he’d lied to her about what he did. Or maybe he had cheated someone in business and they wanted revenge against him.

  She’d ask Colt and Kay to check into Lyle’s past. Hopefully Colt was already exploring that angle.

  Now, the evidence. Her panties and prints had been at Lyle’s house. And the sheriff was having her van processed for evidence. What if they found something inside her van?

  She frowned. Her prints could have been taken from anything, even a coffee cup or bottle of water. She and Lyle Rice had had coffee on their first date. She tried to remember—had she used a paper cup or glass mug? Ceramic. She had also eaten a bagel, but she’d thrown the trash away when she was finished, and left the mug on the table.

  Had they walked out together or had he lingered and slipped it into his pocket?

  The memory slowly slipped into focus. He had received a phone call and stayed, and she’d left to pick up Petey from T-ball camp at the YMCA.

  She quickly dismissed anyone from the Y. Most of them were young student volunteers or females. And the male coach had two boys of his own and no reason to frame her for murder.

  So Lyle could have lifted her print from the mug, but if Lyle was dead, then someone else framed her. Had someone been
watching him, planning his murder, then seen them together and decided she’d be the perfect patsy to take the fall? If so, he could have lifted her prints from the mug.

  She closed her eyes picturing their movie date, trying to recall the details. She had ordered a Diet Coke and dropped the cup in the trash on the way out. But it seemed far-fetched that someone was following them to a movie and grabbed her cup. Still, if this killer was ruthless, it was possible. Something for Kay Krantz to point out in court.

  The emails bothered her, too, but as Kay pointed out, someone else could have used her phone to send the emails. Or a professional might have the knowledge to set it up so it appeared the emails came from her phone when they actually hadn’t.

  But her underwear posed a bigger problem. Her panties had to have been stolen from her house. She stewed over that problem. She hadn’t noticed any signs of a break-in over the past few weeks.

  So who had been in her house? Two of her clients had dropped off work, but neither of them had stayed or even come inside. She and Petey were so new to Sanctuary that he hadn’t made a lot of playmates yet and she hadn’t cultivated friendships either, so they hadn’t had company. They’d been too busy settling in.

  Only Lyle Rice had come inside to pick her up the night of the movie, and then to have an after-dinner drink.

  Which meant that someone had broken into her house and stolen her underwear without her noticing. The thought sent another wave of fear through her.

  When she was released, she had to change all her locks. She’d install a security system, as well. If she and Petey had been home when the person had broken in, he could have hurt her or her son.

  She’d do anything to keep Petey safe.

  COLT NEEDED to know more about Serena’s husband and why he’d been killed. Could his death be related to Rice and his murder?

  The bag of cash and both men having been murdered raised his suspicions.

  He glanced at the clock. Five a.m.

  Dammit, he had to find Petey. The poor little boy was out there somewhere alone, vulnerable. He scrubbed his hand over his bleary eyes. If anything bad happened to Petey, he’d never forgive himself.