by Lyn Stone
How delicate she looked, wearing a gauzy beige hip-length tunic and loose pants to match. Her narrow feet with their slender toes and unpolished nails were bare, adding to her aura of tragic vulnerability.
Damien wished he could magically wipe away her worry. If only he could hold her, love her and make her forget for a while. Their eyes met. His held the offer, hers a desperate plea. Would this make her guilt worse?
He took her hands in his and pulled her to him, meeting her lips with his. She leaned into the kiss, desperate for the comfort he wanted to give in any way he could.
Damien heard a car pull up in the driveway. It would be Winton, and probably Brenda, returning. Damn their timing.
Reluctantly Damien ended the kiss and cupped her face in one hand. “Later,” he promised with a last touch of his lips. “When everything is as it should be.”
Her weak smile and nod of resignation offered no assurance that she believed anything would ever be as it should be again.
Chapter 14
Damien waited until noon to see whether the woman would call a third time. She hadn’t. Every hour that passed, Molly grew more despondent, less like herself. He couldn’t tolerate this. Something had to be done and he had to do it now.
Winton had sent unmarked cars to keep watch on the phone booths where the calls had been placed. Thomas had gone to stake out the Jensen estate in the event there was any activity there. Agent Blancher had returned. On Damien’s order, he was now stationed in the living room with Molly to assist however he could once Damien left.
Brenda had remained near her shop with her assistant and the fire crews. Detective Winton, after arranging for her safety, had come back to see what else he could do to help. Damien had advised him to catch a few hours’ sleep in the guest room while he had the chance. They were all exhausted. He was running on pure adrenaline himself.
Molly sat on the sofa, her hand only inches from the phone.
Now that everyone else was occupied, Damien picked up Winton’s cell phone and placed his call. “Jensen’s still there? You’re certain?” he asked the agent who had charge of the surveillance in Atlanta. “Good. If he tries to leave, detain him. I don’t care how you do it.” With that, he replaced the receiver and reached for his car keys.
Then he realized he wasn’t alone after all. Winton had heard it all. “You’ve still got that junkyard dog look in your eye,” Winton said, shaking his head, hands braced on his hips. “You know you ought not to do this, Perry. We don’t have an iota of proof Jack Jensen engineered either the kidnapping or the fire. You go over there and lose your cool, he’s gonna sue you personally—maybe the Bureau, too—for harassment. Won’t do a damned thing to help the situation. Screw you up good, though.”
Damien fixed him with a glare that dared Winton to try to stop him. “Jensen’s behind this. He knows where Sydney is.”
“Well, yeah, but he knows how far you can go legally. You knock him around a little bit and he still won’t tell you anything. He’d be stupid to do that, and we all know he’s not stupid. All you get’s a little satisfaction and a lawsuit, right?” Winton raised a brow. “And a reprimand on your record. Maybe even get fired. He’d love it. That what you want?”
“As long as I get him to talk, I don’t care,” Damien said truthfully. “Nothing’s as important as getting Sydney back where she belongs.” Again, he started for the kitchen door, intending to leave by the garage so as not to disturb Molly in the living room.
Winton caught his arm. “Hold up now,” he cajoled. “Let’s get us a plan here so we don’t go off half-cocked, okay?”
Damien pulled away, but didn’t leave. Winton did have a point. “Are you saying you’re with me on this? You were just trying to talk me out of it!”
“Yeah, I’m in. Just pointing out the drawbacks. But we need to play it just right, keep a cool head. Remember who we’re dealing with,” he advised. “Beat him up and he’s still not gonna confess. He’d welcome the lumps just to get you in trouble.”
Damien leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “We’ll work on his weakness, then. What is it, do you think? It’s not doing more time.”
“Nah,” Winton said, shaking his head, worrying his chin with his fingers. “His daddy’s money might not have saved him from getting sent up, but it sure made his stay there right comfortable, I bet. I doubt Jack liked it much, but judging by what he’s done so far, he must not be too scared of going back.”
Damien agreed. “I actually think he believes taking revenge on Molly is worth getting caught.”
“You’re probably right. He wouldn’t do more than a couple of years for a parental kidnapping. Nothing for the arson unless we can catch who acted for him and get them to implicate him. And that’s not too likely. Daddy John would pay whoever it was to do the time, which wouldn’t amount to much since no one was injured in the fire. Hell, the fire might not be related, after all.”
“You said you didn’t believe in coincidence,” Damien reminded him. “Changed your mind?”
Winton ignored that since it was rhetorical. “I can only think of one thing that might make Jensen give up the game,” he said with an evil grin. He even twisted one side of his mustache. “Something even dear old dad couldn’t make nice for him after the fact. Something real basic.” He shrugged and held up his hands. “Everybody’s scared to die, right?”
Damien grimaced. “And I would love to kill him.”
“Nah, you don’t wanna do that,” Winton said with a laugh. “Just convince him you will. I’ll help you do that. Give him an ultimatum. The kid comes home today or he dies tonight. That you don’t care about the law, or justice, or the consequences to yourself. That baby comes back tout de suite or he’s ready for a dirt nap come sundown.”
“Exactly what I had in mind in the first place,” Damien said. “I’ve got a helicopter on hold. Let’s go.”
“Just where do you think you’re going?” Molly demanded, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, one shoulder propped against the frame. From the expression on her face, she didn’t really need an answer. “Come back here and sit down!” One slender finger pointed to the kitchen table.
Uncertain whether to resent her belligerent attitude or applaud her renewed spirit, Damien started to explain. Winton intervened. “We’re thinking about having a little talk with Jack and see what we can find out,” he said, his usual smile firmly in place.
Did the man ever get truly worked up about anything? Of course, he must. This facade Winton hid behind had similarities to the one Damien normally employed himself. He almost smiled himself at the comparison. They had much in common, he and Winton, even though they were as different as kippers and cornpone. He had a feeling that if the situation were reversed and Winton’s lady were the one caught up in this, Damien would be the one offering cool reason to a hot head. Yes, he thought, nodding, they should work well together today.
“I heard what you’re planning,” she said, pursing her lips in disapproval. “What happens if you’re wrong about this? What if Jack panics and tells whoever has Sydney to get rid of her? They…might.”
The little hitch in her voice struck Damien through the heart. He crossed the room and would have put his arms around her, but she shoved him back, impatient. “I said sit down!”
She glared at Winton until he shrugged and complied. “We need to discuss this first,” she added, shooting Damien a look of accusation.
He sat. She could be right. They had no idea who Jensen had hired to keep the baby or whether that person had any compunction about simply doing away with the evidence altogether. Which meant doing away with Sydney herself. Cold fear for her gripped Damien and he realized that this fear was likely only a fraction of the terror Molly felt.
Eliminating the child would certainly accomplish Jensen’s need for revenge and also leave him in the clear. He might even have a prearranged code to put that in motion if he made a call to the one who had Sydney. Dam
ien blew out a ragged breath of frustration.
Molly took a seat and leaned forward on the table, her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes looked weak from tears and fatigue. Damien noticed her nails were down to the quick, her fingertips red on the ends. They had not been that way yesterday. He recognized the nervous habit as one he’d had when he was very young.
She looked a child herself at the moment. A very worried child who could not count on her distraught mother for solace. Brenda had lost her livelihood last night in the fire, a gross disaster added to her grave concern for her stolen grandchild.
All the more reason for Damien to resolve this plight as soon as he possibly could. Above all, Molly needed Sydney with her. She needed her harried mother’s mind set at ease. And, at the moment, she also needed someone with the authority she didn’t possess to make things right for her. He would.
“I’ve been thinking and thinking about that voice on the phone,” Molly told them. “Even though it was only a whisper, there was something familiar about it, a tone that reminded me so much of Jack’s mother.”
Damien started to protest, wanting to warn Molly that the mind could play tricks, manufacture theories that might offer hope.
She held up one hand to silence him. “I know you told me it couldn’t be Mildred, Damien, but are you absolutely certain she was there when you searched the place? It had to be dark in that room. Could it have only looked like two people in the bed? Maybe there were a lot of extra pillows bunched up or something?”
He shook his head. “She was there, Molly. And she definitely would not have had time to get all the way to that phone booth where the call was made, even if she followed me out as soon as I left. And she did not have Sydney in that house with them. That much, I will swear to. I searched it thoroughly.”
“I know you did.” Molly tapped her fingers against her lips, lost in thought. Then she asked, “Could it have been someone else in bed with John?”
Damien’s brows shot up and he looked at Winton, who wore much the same expression.
She continued. “I just have trouble picturing John and Mildred all cuddled up like you described, you know? He might demand sex now and then, but I doubt it. Even if they do still have…relations,” she said, faltering, blushing, “I doubt they’re that lovey-dovey…after.”
She cleared her throat and tossed her head, dismissing her embarrassment. Damien marveled at her modesty, even as he applauded her savvy. Hadn’t he wondered the same thing when he saw the couple together?
“So, what do you think? Could it have been somebody other than Mildred?” Molly persisted now that his and Winton’s attention assured her that her theory might be viable.
And it was quite viable, Damien thought. Why the hell hadn’t he considered it before? Well, he knew why. “You believe John Jensen would bring in another woman to sleep in the house with him? In their bed?”
In his experience, men of wealth did not give their wives such ammunition. Being discovered in a flagrantly adulterous position could cost them a whale of a lot of grief, not to mention a pile of alimony.
“What did she look like?” Molly asked eagerly.
Damien thought back. “I couldn’t see her face. Almost as tall as Jensen. Nicely rounded. About your size.” He noted Molly’s huff of disgust and added, “I mean that as a compliment. She looked…well proportioned.”
He closed his eyes, recalling further details. “Except for rather large feet,” he added, remembering the one he’d seen exposed in the tangle of sheets. “Dark hair, I think, though it was hard to tell. Long enough to cover her face and shoulder.”
“Long?” Molly clapped her hands and jumped out of the chair. “Not her. That’s not Mildred!”
“You’re sure?” Winton asked, more animated than Damien had seen him get about anything.
“Her hair’s blond, almost platinum!” Molly declared with a self-congratulatory grin. “Medium-length and sprayed to a fair-thee-well. A real sixties-type helmet head. Probably sleeps in a net.”
Her excitement grew. She flashed a smile and poked the table with her index finger as if to establish her point. “Mildred’s keeping Syd somewhere, I know it! John would never bring a woman into the house for sex unless he knew Mildred would be occupied somewhere else and unable to come home and catch him at it.”
“The maid was there,” Damien reminded her. “Or the cook? The one sleeping just off the kitchen.”
Molly shrugged. “That would be Ina. She’d never rat on him. John would fire her and she needs that job.”
She reached out for his hand. “You know what this means? Mildred has Syd. I might not be crazy about Jack’s mom, but she’s really not a bad person. I know she’d never do anything to hurt my baby, even if she were dead certain Syd’s not her grandchild.”
Winton interrupted her, “If she does have your daughter, then she’s following Jack’s orders.”
Molly seemed to wilt. They were at an impasse. Again. Damien still thought their best bet would be putting the screws to Jack. “What do you think they plan to do next, Winton? Your best guess.”
The detective looked from one to the other and sighed. “Jack obviously took Sydney to cause Molly here some grief. I’d be willing to bet he did it on impulse. Maybe went to Clarkston to get at you two, found you gone and took the baby. Then he had to decide right quick what to do with her so he could hotfoot it to Atlanta to cover his butt. He enlisted his mama to help him out. If John knows, I bet he sent her away from the house in case we came with a warrant to search.”
“What about the other woman?” Molly asked. “You would have found her there.”
Winton grinned. “He could say she was a maid. Easy enough to explain unless we caught them in bed together. Right, Perry?”
“Yes, and I agree with your theory,” Damien said.
Molly brightened. “I don’t think Mildred would consent to take Syd unless Jack gave her a good reason. Right? She wouldn’t dare be party to a kidnapping unless Jack told her Sydney was his and he wanted to get her away from me. She’d do it then. Mildred never did approve of our marriage because I was outside their league. Beneath them. I guess she felt sorry, though. She is a mother.”
It made perfect sense, Damien decided. “And since Jack didn’t have a prayer of ever obtaining custody in court because of the conviction for assault on you, he just took her. That’s what he would have told Mildred. She would sympathize. She’d want the baby.”
“So you think they plan to keep her?” Winton asked. “For good? But they’d have to hide her to do that.”
Damien got up. “I think we need to give Jack a very good reason to have Sydney returned.” He pointed at Molly. “You stay right here in case she calls again. At least we know she’s sympathetic enough to try to alleviate your worry about Sydney. I’ll give you odds Jack has no knowledge of his mother making those calls to you.” He smiled at Molly and turned to Winton. “Shall we rattle his cage a bit?”
“You shake the hell out of it,” Molly ordered. Her green eyes flashed sparks. “You tell Jack I want my baby back right now or I’ll see him roast in hell!”
Damien leaned over to brush a kiss on her heated cheek. “He will get the message, darling. I can promise you that. And you’ll get Sydney.”
He left her wearing a look of hope that compounded his resolve to make it happen.
Two hours later he pulled alongside Jack’s Mercedes in the parking garage. He and Winton had everything worked out, timed to the split second. Damien carefully checked his weapon and Winton followed suit. Without speaking, they exited the Explorer, identified themselves to the agent sent to watch Jensen’s car, and marched to the elevator.
They also made brief contact with the agent stationed in the lobby when they reached it. Damien acquired the room key. The men here would be prepared if Jensen made a break for it after they left.
“You feelin’ mean enough?” Winton asked when they had reached Jensen’s room.
“Let�
��s do it,” Damien replied with a feral baring of teeth. His muscles bunched beneath his shirt and jacket, tensing for action.
He stuck the card key into the slot and handed it off to Winton as he pushed down the handle. Quietly he slipped inside the room and let the door close behind him with a loud click.
At the sound, Jensen flew out of the bathroom, a newspaper in his hand. Outraged, he squawked, “What the hell—”
Damien slammed him, face against the wall, a forearm cutting off the air supply. “Open your mouth one more time, you son of a bitch, and I’ll off you right here,” he warned, his voice low, gritty and bordering on psychotic. He was barely pretending.
Without warning, he snatched up the waistband of Jensen’s boxers with his free hand, his other arm still immobilizing the neck, and hauled the jerk across the room. The high, tinny groans of pain and fear fueled Damien’s need to increase them.
With effort, he pushed back the thoughts of how this miscreant had snatched a helpless baby out of her safe warm crib, how he had put that look of misery on Molly’s sweet face.
You can’t kill him. You aren’t supposed to kill him. He repeated the phrases in his mind until reason returned.
It came back slowly, only after he had exacted a few more moments of satisfaction at Jensen’s mounting terror. Then he tossed him onto the bed.
Jack quickly rolled over onto his back, clutching his throat with one hand, his groin with the other. Wide-eyed and gasping, he wisely said nothing.
“Yes, you are going to die,” Damien said in a deadly calm voice. He drew his weapon and switched off the safety.
Jensen held up a hand, palm out, and whispered, “What…what d’you want?” He swallowed a sob. It did Damien’s heart good. “Money? I got money.”
Damien chuckled, sounding a bit mad, even to himself. Hell, he was mad. “I’ve got money, too, you bloody wretch. You don’t have a damn thing I want except that child.”
“Child?” Jack asked, all innocence. “I don’t know what you’re—”
