Waiting, he stared at an ostentatious statue on the front lawn and dug out his badge. Coldness creeped into his spine, but he squared his shoulders.
He was here to do a job and kidnappings were the worst. Finally Ashley Romero, a maid and friend of his sister, answered the door and he tucked his badge back into his pocket. "Hey Ashley, I'm here to meet Miss Elizabeth Morgan."
"She's waiting for you in the library."
Rafe wiped his black leather shoes on the bamboo door mat, just inside the marble foyer. Rafe assumed Ashley must have told his sister, Caro, about the kidnapping. He heard sobs in the background. His ears burned and he wondered if he knew whoever it was that cried. A woman's tears equaled heartbreak. Because of the Morgan name, anyone might have taken the missing boy for ransom.
As the door closed, Rafe glanced around him. More polished marble that would freeze a man’s heels, but then he sneered at the extravagent black vase that probably cost more than his mother's lifetime salary of working for this family.
The maid led him toward a room down the hall. As they passed the living room, he recognized the dark curls of Caro, sitting next to her new boyfriend, Dr. Luke ‘Marshall’, on the loveseat, holding hands as they talked with Isabelle Morgan. The matriarch of the clan had recently come out of hiding with three Morgan children, of which Elizabeth was one. Luke said, ‘Mother’ in the conversation.
He'd ask his sister later what they’d been talking about and followed the maid toward the library where the mother of the kidnapped boy must be waiting, frantic. Even if he didn’t care for the Morgan family, kidnappings were an awful crime.
He turned the brass knob and entered, already rehearsing the standard phrases one used to comfort the parents of kidnap victims. He froze as he heard a whimper.
In his experience, though kidnappings lacked the blood and gore of a murder, these were some of the worst crime scenes, because the emotions, especially the grieving mother’s, cut right into his soul.
His footsteps sounded heavy once he entered the room and he stopped. Goosebumps grew on his arm. Vanilla invaded his senses but as he searched the library, he detected no flowers in any vases on the table or window.
A blonde, willowy woman stood at the window, gazing out into the night sky over the pool that was next to the Intracoastal. Her figure seemed almost perfect outlined from the shadow. His body heated with desire and he swallowed. This was not how he investigated any crime. He cleared his throat and took out a pen and paper. "Ma'am."
"Rafe!" His head bobbed up fast and he squeezed the pen hard as he met clear blue eyes wide with recognition. The pen shook, that sweet voice was unmistakable. He swallowed, not sure if this was a dream or a nightmare.
That night in Vegas, with her fingers wrapped in his hair as she kissed him passionately on his hotel bed, replayed in his memory. Two years ago? "It's you!" she said.
"Yeah." Liz wasn’t a mom and hadn’t lived in Miami. She couldn’t be Elizabeth Morgan. Somehow he had to be wrong. Vegas Liz must work for the Morgans. Was he in the wrong room? Her blue dress was probably a name brand, and put together with that classic tilt of her chin? The names matched. His lips pressed together. "Your name is Elizabeth Morgan?"
"This can't be happening." She waved her hands in front of her as she looked upwards.
"I never thought I'd see you again." He’d been at his friend's bachelor party in Las Vegas when he met Liz in a casino as she played the slot machine next to him. Her blue jeans had clung to her legs like butter on toast, and her smile had been enticing. When she’d laughed? He’d been filled with desire to kiss her.
Things heated up and they’d gone back to his room, but she’d left while he was asleep and he’d never learned her full name. Until this moment, he had thought that event to be the best night of his life.
She squinted at his badge and hugged her waist. "Yes, Officer Soliz, it's me."
They’d exchanged first names only that night. He straightened his shoulders. Naked Vegas Liz as she moaned out his name while he entered her was something he needed to forget so could do his job. "My name is Rafe."
"Yeah." She rocked backward like she saw a ghost and her eyes misted. "I remember."
At the casino that night, he’d helped her find a cashier after she’d won on the slot machine, excitement in her huge blue eyes. The exact opposite of her expression now. He took a step toward her, but she backed into the wall. He froze, not wanting to frighten her. "I didn't know your last name."
"I didn't know yours,” she said. “We should have exchanged that."
He’d come here to investigate the kidnapping of a one-year-old boy. Had she been married at the time and that’s why she’d left so fast? There was still no ring on her finger.
“I wanted your number but you’d disappeared.” The night in Vegas had been out of character for him, swept away by being near her. Vegas was twenty two months ago. Could it be? No. Rafe tucked his pen and paper in his pocket and then showed her his hands, palm up. “Trust me. I’m here to help you.”
Tears sprang from her eyes as her entire body shook. "Why?"
"You need me.” He'd find out who the father was of her child. She hadn't been pregnant then. He kept his body loose and his palms stayed open to not frighten her. "I am here to help you find your missing son."
She scoffed. "How can you of all people help me?"
"I'm a detective, ma'am." He held his pen to the paper like it was evidence of his skills, but his hand itched to show her his badge. The usual victim didn’t ask the detective for his resume. His cheeks warmed. If she didn’t want to talk about Vegas, he wouldn’t either. "I helped your brother John find Alice when she was kidnapped. I helped your sister Victoria clear her name and I’ve helped your brother, Peter, many times."
Liz glanced away. "That's not what I meant, Rafe. It shouldn't be you who came to my door."
"I realize this is awkward but let me do my job, Liz." He needed to ask who the father was of the missing boy. His gut churned as he calculated how fast she’d found someone else or else she’d had a fling, and cheated on her husband.
"Your job isn't what I meant." She then glared at him like he was the cause of all her problems.
His gaze narrowed. His soul begged to know what happened to her after she’d disappeared from his hotel room. "What do you mean?"
She took a step forward. "Because we have a son who is missing. Brandon is yours."
A huge boom echoed in his heart and reverberated through his entire body, like it was the orchestra that highlighted the moment. No. He was not the kind of man to father and then abandon a child. Cold sweat dripped down his spine as he planted his feet. "My son? How do I know you're telling the truth?"
She crossed her arms and shook her head as her blonde straight hair billowed down her elegant neck. "Despite what happened in Vegas that night, I don't sleep around."
The world tilted on its axis. Not fathering a child out of wedlock had been his motto for his entire life. The condom he’d bought at the hotel had slipped, but what were the odds? "Did you even try to find me?"
She glanced at the ceiling, as if in prayer. "I didn't know your last name or anything about you. I had no idea you lived in Miami."
His heart raced. Clearly he’d made many mistakes that night in Vegas. There was a buzz in the air. He pushed because he had to know. "When you found out you were pregnant, you didn't demand the hotel give you that information? You didn't use your Morgan influence?"
"No. I didn't think about it." She adjusted her pendant that likely cost more than his monthly salary.
Figures. The Morgans always did what they wanted, even the newly found Morgan siblings. Meanwhile his life was imploding in on itself. "Forget it.” 22 months minus 9 months of pregnancy put his son at 13 months. The math added, but in order to keep his sanity, he needed to deal in facts only. “Tell me everything about the kidnapping."
Liz picked up a silver-framed picture from the side table and handed it to him as her
hand trembled. Rafe gripped the edges and somehow hoped he didn't see himself. Then he stared at the portrait and saw in this baby the eyes of his mother. His family all had walnut-shaped brown eyes. His heart constricted. She hugged her waist as she said, "This is his picture."
Rafe flinched. The baby with blond streaks in his hair looked to be about six months old. He recalled a boy at the station a week ago with the same brown eyes, but that boy had been bigger and was part of his police partner and friend's murder investigation.
That kid had been a year old—his child would be a year old. His body grew hot as his stomach churned. He’d struck up a conversation at the station with the boy’s aunt and he’d held the child during the investigation. What if that was him? Bile grew in his throat. Had he held his son and hadn't known?
What if he was wrong? He'd not tell Liz until he investigated further. There was no need to get her hopes up to then crush them. He just stared at the picture. "What’s his name and how old is he? He looks small here."
She gazed at his face and then the picture and then at him again. "Brandon, and yes, he’s only six months in that picture. He’s a year now."
"He has the Soliz eyes and chin."
"I always thought he seemed determined with that chin."
If he was wrong about the boy from last week, he shouldn't say anything to offer false hope. He held his tongue, but prayed he could return her baby to her today or tomorrow, if he was right. "I will find him as fast as I can, but walk me through what happened."
She closed her eyes and rocked on her feet. "I want to believe in you."
He reached out and placed his palm on her shoulder, to comfort her, but then a jolt hit him. She must have felt it too because her eyes widened. He swallowed. "Liz, tell me everything."
"This is too much." She took her arm away. Once she did he could breathe. "Come with me to my bedroom, Officer. I have boxes of information near the door."
Officer was his title. She was smart to keep things professional and impersonal. He could handle a police investigation. It was what he was trained to do. He followed her out of the library and caught a glimpse of his sister, Caro, and the doctor/boyfriend he had met at a bar. Liz had the same exact eye shape and color as Luke. He glared at Caro as he asked Liz, "Is Luke your brother?"
Puzzled, she looked over her shoulder at the doctor and Caro in the living area. "Yeah, why?"
He’d failed his father twice now. His sister should know better. Rafe shook his head and turned away from Caro as he placed his hand on Liz's lower back. "My sister forgot to tell anyone she was out with a Morgan, but let's get back to work."
Liz swayed on her feet, but said nothing. Then she led him down the hall and opened a side door. The brightness of the room struck him. Everything was white and pristine, with no color at all, except for the empty baby crib. The blue blanket seemed wrinkled, though at the moment it was thrown in, but Rafe suspected she probably held it every night. His tongue clicked behind his teeth as he turned toward the boxes she placed at his feet.
He knelt down and picked up another photograph. This was the boy he’d met last week. His hair was darker and his cheeks less round. The eyes were the same, but he had his mother's smile. It must be true. The child was his. Careful to keep his expression blank, he glanced at Liz who kneeled between him and the boxes. "What am I looking at?"
"That was a picture I took with my phone of Brandon the day we went to the mall." She sniffled as she shoved a still photo in his hands, straightening. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears. Rafe stood and grabbed tissues from a box on top of the dresser and offered them to her, maintaining eye contact.
"The studio image was taken the same day. I had a contract with a gallery there, and it was his birthday. He was well dressed and handsome." His son had been targeted because his last name was Morgan. Rafe should have protected him better. His heart caved. He should have been there to help Liz, if he’d only known.
He placed his hand on her back as she said, "But this one, this one mattered to the other detectives.” Her voice broke into sobs. “I printed it out and I’ve studied it every day. The woman circled in the picture is the one we met at the mall."
The murder victim from Jose Perez’s case stared at him. The dead boyfriend of the woman he’d seen a week ago matched the man's height.
The sister of the victim was given custody of the boy. My son. He kept his mouth shut as the facts of the murder case swam in his head. He needed to ask for those files and read the homicide case in more detail. He didn't dare blink. "So, you were followed from the mall?"
She swayed on her feet and then sat. He joined her on the floor, cross-legged. Liz clutched a wad of tissues as her face paled. "The image is blurry. She hasn’t been found."
"She might be dead." Rafe whispered, instinctively offering hope, but Liz inhaled and began to tremble.
She clutched his shoulder, then bunched his shirt in her fist. "No. Brandon has to be alive."
"I meant this woman,” he corrected. “If she's who I think, then I met our very much alive son, but I have to check. I didn't want to tell you—"
Her skin went white as she almost fell over, though she put her other hand on the crib as he held her. “You saw him?”
“Yeah. Last week.” He clearly won for Jerk of the Day by saying the absolute wrong thing—he had no idea how to comfort Liz. He reached out and took her hand. Her eyes widened but she didn't pull away. "Don't cry Liz. If my hunch is right, then I'll find him and bring him to you."
"You saw him, after he was kidnapped?"
"I think." He knew better than to say anything. His throat was parched, but he couldn't take his words back. He averted his gaze. "I need all the facts. Don't get your hopes up. I could be wrong."
Tears pooled in her eyes. "Too late. If you know where he is, I'll go with you."
Absolutely not. Something might have happened in the few days, and Liz needed to stay out of this. Besides, he'd be faster without her. "Not a good idea. I need you to stay here and let me handle the police work."
Her face went red then she wiped her eyes. "I'll try."
Right now he had no idea who Liz should trust, but his first priority was his son. "Thank you. Don't tell your family until I find Brandon."
"Not a problem. You know my father, Mitch Morgan, died." John Morgan, her brother, had joined the FBI to get information on his father concerning the 'death' of his sister Victoria that he had blamed on Mitch. Liz scooted closer to him and whispered, "The seven investigators believe that my father was likely the one who ordered my son to be taken from me, just as he stole Victoria's daughter from her on the day she was born. What happened to my sister was in all the newspapers."
“I was there.” Her father had been cold-hearted and a chill went down his own spine as he remembered Mitch Morgan’s blue eyes. Victoria had returned from the grave at his funeral, revealing that her father had told her that her daughter had died at birth. “I helped Victoria and Colt.” Colt raised the little girl and now all three were a happy family. Mitch Morgan had plans for his children that they themselves didn't want.
How much did Liz know?
Once Victoria came back to Miami, she’d found her daughter very much alive and being raised by the man her own father disapproved of. Last there was Peter Morgan, brought up by Mitch to be just like him. New Morgans meant more trouble and Luke, Liz and her other brother were unknown dangers. "It came as a surprise to find your mother alive, and that she had three more children."
"Were you at the engagement party we crashed a few weeks ago?"
"No, I generally avoid the social situations as my mother has to clean up any messes. She’s been a maid at the Morgan house since I was a kid.” He stared at her to see if her gaze became as cold as Mitch’s, but she never blinked. “I'd have done anything to protect our son, if I had known."
"I see that."
He didn't break the connection with Liz as he squeezed her hand. "Yeah. I believe that, but let’s
stick to what happened while you were at the mall, so that I have a full picture."
She took a deep breath, but this time didn't cry. He inhaled her sweet scent of vanilla. "Yes. I was walking in the mall, pushing Brandon in the stroller. It was bright and sunny out, and people were passing us on the sidewalk. I needed a present for my brother Matthew, he’s getting an Oscar nomination, when this woman stopped me and asked for directions."
Oscar nomination? He'd ask about her brother later, but if he was famous that brought in more possibilities to think about. The murder of the woman remained unsolved, but Brandon took precedence. "The same one in the car?"
Her hands shook. "Yes, but I didn't know that then."
Now he didn't dare move. She had to finish telling him what happened. "Keep going."
She took another deep breath, closed her eyes, but didn't otherwise move. "She seemed confused so I took my hands off the stroller for one second to get a piece of paper out of my pocketbook."
A set up, but he kept his mouth closed. He massaged her arm again and whispered, "Then?"
“Winter in Los Angeles is bright, like here, and the sun blinded me.” She shook her head. "Then this man came from nowhere and took my boy. I tried to grab him, but the woman sprayed my face with pepper spray."
In his mind's eye, he could picture Liz screaming for her son. Her quiet sobs brought him back. He wrapped his arms around her and hugged her. "I'm sorry. Don't cry now Liz. I will find your Brandon."
She squeezed his shoulder. "Our Brandon."
The crime scene from last week might have had Brandon's DNA run too. Rafe would ask the lab. He gently stroked Liz’s hair. "I don't want to think about that. It will cloud my judgment."
"He's your son.” She curled both her hands around her waist to hug herself. “Your blood is in his veins."
Her words acted like a sonar. “Who was running your case from the police?”
“Jose Perez.”
“He knows I always handle the Morgan cases. I wonder why he didn’t tell me about yours? You couldn’t have named me as a person of interest because you didn’t know it.”
[House of Morgan 01.0 - 03.0] Boxed Set Page 58
