Christmas Kidnapping

by Cindi Myers

  “Oh, honey.” Andrea smoothed the back of his head. “Christmas is over a week away. We won’t be here nearly that long.” At least, she hoped not.

  After their late lunch, Andrea washed dishes while Jack used a pry bar from his truck to remove the plywood from the cabin’s side and back windows. “I’m leaving the front boarded up,” he said. “So that it doesn’t look different to anyone driving in. If anyone returns, I don’t want to make it too obvious we’re here. I’m going to move my truck behind the cabin, too.”

  “Having the windows uncovered makes it feel less claustrophobic,” she said. “Thank you.”

  He toweled off his hair, leaving it uncombed and sexy looking. Melted snow beaded on his forearms and a stray droplet rolled down his neck. She had to fight the urge to lick it off.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked. He put a hand to his neck. “Did I get mud on me or something?”

  She turned away, her face burning. “Can I borrow your phone?” she asked. “I need to call my office and let my assistant know what’s going on.”

  Though she had left a message early this morning that she wouldn’t be in today, she told Stacy to cancel tomorrow’s appointments as well, once she got in touch with her. “Is everything okay?” the assistant asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Everything is going to be fine. I just had a family emergency that I need to take care of. There’s nothing you can do. I should be back tomorrow afternoon or the next day.” Surely the snow would have stopped by then.

  “Be careful traveling,” the assistant said. “The weather is awful and a lot of roads are closed, including most of the mountain passes.”

  She ended the call, then phoned Chelsea. “Are you all right?” her friend asked after she had answered on the first ring. “Is Ian okay?”

  “Ian is fine. We’re both fine. Ian, do you want to say hello to Chelsea?”

  “Hello, Chelsea.” Ian sat on a quilt in front of the woodstove with Jack, who was showing him how to make a “telephone” with the two washed-out chili cans and a piece of string he’d unearthed in a kitchen drawer.

  “What happened?” Chelsea asked. “If I didn’t hear from you soon, I was going to call the police.”

  “It’s okay,” Andrea said. “Jack and I found Ian at the address the kidnappers gave us and they ended up running away.” She saw no need to mention the dead man or the frightening race to the river.

  “That’s it? They just ran away?”

  “Well...it was a little more complicated than that, but the main thing is, we’re all right and they’re gone. How are you doing?”

  “I have a headache and I’m still a little shook up, but I’ll be fine. Will you be home soon?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I called. All this snow means the roads into this fishing camp are impassable. We won’t be able to leave until the snow stops and the county plows clear the way.”

  “Where did you say you are?” Chelsea asked.

  “It’s a fishing camp—a bunch of cabins on the banks of the Pine River, outside Bayfield. We’ve moved into one of them. It’s dry and there’s a woodstove and we have food. Not gourmet, but we’ll be fine.”

  “So you’re spending the night there?” Chelsea asked. “With Jack?”

  “And Ian.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, the kid has to sleep sometime. And a cabin in the woods with the snow outside and a nice fire inside sounds pretty romantic to me.”

  “Chelsea!” Andrea would have protested that she scarcely knew Jack and she didn’t think of him that way. But Jack was sitting only a few feet away. And the humming in her body whenever he was near told her that she did indeed think of Jack “that way.”

  Chelsea laughed. “Hey, he’s gorgeous and he seems really into you. I say go for it. A guy who will go out of his way like that for you and your son is a keeper.”

  Her heart fluttered at the words and she looked across the room at Jack, who was patiently showing Ian how to knot the string so that it wouldn’t slip out of the can. “It’s too soon to tell,” she said.

  “Coward,” Chelsea said. “Trust me, you don’t forget how to have sex just because you haven’t had it in a while.”

  “Uh-huh. I have to go now, Chelsea.”

  “I want a full report when you get home.” Laughing, Chelsea ended the call.

  “Here’s your phone.” She crossed the room and returned it to Jack.

  “We made a phone, Mom. Look.” Ian giggled and put the empty chili can to his ear. “Hello. Mr. Jack, can you hear me?”

  Jack peered from around the kitchen door and spoke into his chili can. “Hey, Mr. Ian. How are things at your end of the room?”

  “My mom wants to talk to you.” Ian thrust the can into Andrea’s hand. “Say hello, Mama.”

  “Hello, Jack.”

  “Mom! You have to talk into the phone.”

  Andrea nodded and moved the can to her mouth. “Hello?”

  Jack said something she couldn’t make out. Ian erupted in giggles. “Mom! Now you have to put the phone to your ear.”

  Sheepish, she moved the can to her ear. “You’re the sexiest playmate I ever had.” The words, issued in a low, masculine whisper, sent heat to more than just her face.

  “I want to talk now,” Ian said, and reclaimed the can.

  Andrea curled up on the sofa and watched her son and Jack play. The telephone call morphed into a mock wrestling match, which ended with Jack giving Ian a ride on his shoulders all through the cabin while they both sang loudly, and off-key, a song with made-up lyrics about slaying monsters.

  Jack had slain Ian’s monsters, turning this cabin from a place of fear into a place of fun. He had beaten back some of Andrea’s fear, too, though she needed to hold on to some of it for a little longer. Some of her fears—of letting go or giving in, of trusting someone else with her happiness—had kept her going in the years since Preston’s death. She couldn’t afford to give that up just yet.

  The warm fire and her son’s happy laughter lulled her into a doze there on the sofa. When she woke, someone—probably Jack—had covered her with a blanket. He sat in the cabin’s one armchair across from her, Ian on his lap, both of them studying something on his phone. “How long have I been sleeping?” she asked, sitting up and raking a hand through her hair.

  “A long time,” Ian said.

  “A couple of hours.” Jack’s smile was like a caress, sending a rush of pleasure through her.

  “Jack and me have been playing games on his phone,” Ian said.

  “Jack and I,” she automatically corrected, worry raising its familiar head as she came more fully awake. As much as she loved seeing Ian so happy, she knew he would be crushed when Jack left. And Jack would leave. His job would take him away from them, both physically and mentally. One of the great disappointments of her marriage had been discovering that even when Preston was with her, part of him was focused on criminals and clues and the work that consumed him.

  “I’m hungry,” Ian announced.

  “I’m hungry, too.” Jack stood, lifting the boy with him. “Let’s go see what we can rustle up for dinner, bud.”

  Andrea retreated to the bathroom, where she frowned at the sleep marks on her face and the tangles in her hair. She wasn’t exactly a sexy playmate now. And it was just as well. As flattering as it was for Jack to see her that way, it wasn’t a good idea if she intended to keep her distance. No sense starting something with him that would only end badly.

  Dinner was canned beef stew and biscuits from a mix Jack found in the cupboard. “Jack is a good cook,” Ian announced, beaming at his new best friend.

  “I’m sure your mom does a much better job,” Jack said.

  “But she always makes vegetables and fish and stuff.” Ian made a face. “Healthy food.”<
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  Jack laughed and winked at Andrea. She looked away.

  After supper she helped Jack clear the table. “You cooked, so I can do the dishes,” she said.

  “We’ll do them together.” He took out his phone and handed it to Ian. “Hey, buddy. Why don’t you go play in the other room while your mom and I clean up in here.”

  Ian took the phone. “I wanna play with you,” he said. “Mom can do the dishes by herself.”

  “Ian McNeil,” Andrea said. “You’ve monopolized Jack all afternoon. You can play by yourself for a little bit.”

  “Okay.” With all the reluctance and drama of a stubborn five-year-old, he shuffled out of the room.

  Andrea began gathering up the plates, scraping them into the garbage can under the sink. Jack filled the basin with hot, soapy water. “He’s a great kid,” he said.

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I think he’s going to bounce back pretty well from this.” He took the plates from her and slid them into the water.

  “I have a colleague who specializes in children’s issues. I’ll probably have her talk to him, just to be sure he’s okay.” She picked up a dish towel and stepped to one side to make more room for him at the sink.

  “That sounds like a good idea.” He handed her the first clean plate.

  “I’m sorry you’re stuck here with us,” she said. “I mean, I’m not sorry you’re with us, but I regret that we’ve intruded on your life this way.”

  “I thought I’d made it clear that I don’t see you as an intrusion.” He scrubbed at dried food in a pan. “Besides, I’m on medical leave. My days were full of bad TV and too much brooding about whatever was going on with the case without me.”

  “That must be frustrating,” she said. “Being involved in an investigation for months, then suddenly finding yourself left out.”

  “It is.” He paused, both hands immersed in the soapy water. “Being here makes me feel less useless, at least. And though I haven’t found a solid connection yet, I’m sure the people who took Ian are connected to the men I’m hunting.”

  “Maybe the Bureau’s investigators will find the connection when they search the camp.”

  “Maybe.” He began rinsing the next dish. “But they’ll just shut me out again. If I found the connection myself—the proof that what happened to you and Ian is linked to Braeswood and his activities—they would have a tougher time excluding me, medical leave or not.”

  He sounded so wistful, frustration clear in the set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. She put a comforting hand on his arm. “I hope you find what you need,” she said. “I’d help you if I knew what to look for.”

  “Thanks.” His gaze met hers, and she felt a renewed rush of pleasure—and uneasiness. She was still so unsure of where the two of them were headed. She looked away and pretended to focus on drying a plate.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you worried about what’s going to happen tomorrow?”

  She hadn’t even let herself think about tomorrow yet. “What is going to happen?” she asked.

  “As soon it’s safe to travel, we can leave. The Bureau is sending a team out to take this place apart. At some point, they’ll want to interview you about what happened.”

  She fumbled the plate she was drying. He put a steadying hand on her wrist. “Don’t worry. You’re not in any kind of trouble. They just want to gather as much information as they can in order to find these guys.”

  She slid her hand from his grasp and focused on drying the plate. “Do you think those men will try to go after Ian again?” The possibility made her feel sick.

  “I doubt it. But in case they do, I’m not leaving your side until this is settled.”

  She looked up, alarmed. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m officially on medical leave, so I don’t have any other pressing duties. And it’s my fault this happened in the first place. I’m going to make sure they don’t have a chance to hurt you again.”

  She believed he could protect her and her son, and knowing he was watching over them would probably make her feel much safer. But spending more days or even weeks in close proximity to him could cause all kinds of other problems. Ian would grow even more attached to him and she...she would grow more attached to him, too. She rubbed the dish in her hand so hard it squeaked. “I’m sure we’ll be fine on our own. I can always call the police if I see anything suspicious.”

  He let the dishrag slide into the water. “What’s wrong?” he asked. The dampness from his hands soaked into her shirt as he gripped her shoulders.

  She shrugged away from him. Everything was wrong. She and Ian shouldn’t even be here. They should be home, on a normal night after work, eating a meal she had cooked and getting ready for his bedtime story. “Nothing’s wrong,” she lied.

  He released her but didn’t return to washing dishes. “Something has upset you,” he said. “Something to do with me. What is it?”

  She tossed the dish towel onto the counter and faced him. Maybe he was right. Maybe they did need to talk about this. “I’m worried about what’s going to happen to Ian when you leave,” she said. “He’s clearly crazy about you.”

  “What about you?” His gaze searched her face. “How do you feel about me?”

  “How I feel doesn’t matter. I have to think of my son.”

  “We’ve already established that Ian likes me. I want to know how you feel about me.” He took a step closer, crowding her against the counter but not quite touching her. “When we were kissing earlier, I got the impression you thought I was okay.” His voice was low, rough with emotion, sending a shiver across her skin.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “That kiss was a mistake. Yes, I’m attracted to you, but...”

  “But what?” He cupped her chin in his hand, and she leaned into his touch, in spite of her determination not to. “Do you think because you’re a mother, you don’t get to act on your feelings?” he asked.

  “If I let you get closer to me, it’s only going to hurt Ian when you leave.” And it’s going to hurt me, too. I don’t want to deal with any more pain.

  He slid his hand down her neck and moved nearer, the front of his shirt brushing her breasts, his eyes dark with desire, mesmerizing her. “Who says I’m leaving?” He kissed her cheek, a feather brush against her sensitive nerves.

  “You have a job to go back to.” She forced herself to focus on the issue at hand, to ignore her racing heart and the tension building inside her.

  “So do you,” he said, and kissed her other cheek.

  She put her hands up to push him away but only rested her palms against the hard plane of his chest. She fixed her gaze on him, stern and determined. “Your job is different,” she said. “Police work is— It’s consuming. It’s not something you can leave behind at the end of the day.”

  He leaned back, his mouth set in a hard line. “You mean it’s not something your husband could leave behind. I’m not him.”

  “I counsel plenty of law enforcement officers,” she said. “One of the traits of the good ones is that they’re very focused.”

  “In your work, I’m guessing one of the things you work on with people is balance,” he said. “You help your clients find that equilibrium between work and the rest of their life.”

  She nodded. “It’s a common problem for law enforcement.”

  “It’s a common problem for everyone. But no life is ever perfectly balanced. Sometimes the scales tip more toward work. When I’m on an important case, I have to put in long hours and devote a lot of my attention to the job. What I’m doing is important to the safety of the country. To the safety of people like you and Ian.”

  “I realize that. But I also know that you came to me because you couldn’t let go of your guilt over your colleague’
s death. Something that happened on the job was affecting every aspect of your life.”

  “One reason that happened, I think, is because the job, and the friendships I’ve made there, were all I had in my life. At the end of the day I came home to an empty apartment. I didn’t have anyone else who mattered to me. Now I do.”

  Her therapist’s training had taught her to read between the lines of what her clients told her, and to pick up on subtle cues of body language to divine their feelings. But she didn’t trust her instincts when it came to Jack. “What are you saying?” she asked.

  “I’m saying that you and Ian have become important to me. I had this void in my life and you two have moved in to fill it up.” He cradled the back of her head, fingers threaded into her hair. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but from the moment I met you, I felt a connection. It was as if I had been looking for you and I hadn’t even realized it until I found you.”

  “I felt the connection, too.” She curled her fingers against him, no longer pushing him away but reluctant to pull him to her. “It caught me off guard. I don’t know what to think. I...I don’t want to lose you.”

  “Life is all about risk.” He moved his hands to her shoulders again, reassuring and gentle. “Relationships are never easy. But I think the two of us are smart enough to figure this out. I want to try.”

  Instinct told her to shy away from complications she didn’t need, but a small voice in her head—or maybe from her heart—told her she would be a fool to pass up a chance with a man with whom she had felt such an immediate connection. “Maybe we could try,” she said.

  “You’re right about one thing,” he said. “I am focused. When I’m at work, I’m focused on work. And when I’m with you, I’m very focused on you.” He tipped her head up, his gaze fixed on her mouth, which tingled as if he had touched her.

  She wet her lips and tried and failed to draw a steady breath. He was like a tide, pulling her under, and when he bent to her, she closed her eyes and surrendered.

  Chapter Eight

  Andrea had expected a repeat of their earlier kiss, forceful and almost overwhelming in its passion. Instead, Jack teased her with the slightest brush of his lips against hers. Then he trailed a line of similarly gentle caresses along her jaw until his mouth rested against the pulse at the base of her throat. Her body hummed with awareness, every nerve attuned to the heat and strength and maleness of him.