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What did he have to lose?
NINE TEDIOUS HOURS and Jane was losing her patience. Driving to Lake Buchanan through heavy rains had been a nightmare. Unexpected flooding in south Texas shut down roads and delayed her by four hours.
Her uncanny recall for details had set her apart for as long as she could remember. But an eidetic memory didn’t help in storms that obliterated the road signs or detours due to flooding.
How she’d wished for her ability to go away so she could be like normal little girls. A normal life full of dolls, playtime and friends. Full of stability instead of university studies. That “special” part of her everyone admired had contributed to her exploitation by her parents, losing her dream job and now the kidnapping of her son.
The formula stored in her unique memory had drawn criminal attention to her. Guess she didn’t blend in well enough after all. If she had, Rory would be safe at home instead of in the hands of coldhearted kidnappers.
Thunder echoed across the landscape, jolting her back to the driving rain beating against the windshield. It had started storming south of Stephenville and never let up. Kingsland had received its share, too. Although it was nearly seven in the morning, the sky remained shrouded in darkness as the rain continued to pour.
She drove past two barricades on the last turn and parked the car in a drive leading to an unused field. The ground was normally a mixture of small pebbles and dirt, but was now mainly water and mud. A couple of steps from the car and she slid to the ground, losing the flip-flops in the dark. She walked the last quarter mile to the lake house, falling time and again.
Her luck had to change. If the FBI understood her message, she could wait for their help here, away from the kidnappers’ view.
If they didn’t show, she’d get a message to them. Somehow. But she was too exhausted to think after driving all night. And if Steve decided to come, what then? She’d thought about how to break the news to him. He deserved to know. But how did you tell a man he was a father and that his son had been kidnapped in the same sentence?
I can’t think anymore. She finally sloshed up the muddy walkway thankful the heavy rains had placed the lake country in a flash-flood warning. There weren’t any cars along the road or in the driveway. No lights on in the house. Hopefully, the family was still at the ranch.
Amanda Woods, Steve’s mother, usually hid a key so her kids could use their weekend retreat at a moment’s notice. Jane hoped it would be that way now, or she’d spend a horrible wet day in the boathouse. She hooked the soggy strands from the wig behind her ears, wearing it just in case someone saw her or if she was stopped.
She pulled the key from under Brandon’s Texas-shaped stone near the roses, meaning Steve’s brother had been the last one here. They each had a cement rock with their handprint and initials from when they were five.
Walking along the veranda-style porch, she wondered what it would have been like to have a loving family with traditions and roots. Her parents had done what they thought was best, protecting her from…well, everything. Yet exposing her to one university study after another and keeping her from a normal childhood.
To be normal was all she wanted for Rory. And now? One step at a time. Or one hurdle.
The door swung open without a squeak. Now breaking and entering could be added to her list of fugitive accomplishments.
Trembling from nerves more than the damp, she grabbed a towel from the shelf in the mudroom and buried her face in its softness. A good sleep was far beyond her reach without Rory in her arms. But she’d been up for days and craved to stretch out with a pillow under her head. Just for an hour or so.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Jane screamed, dropped the terry cloth, and looked up to see Steve. A very alive, strong, healthy Steve. Goose bumps broke out across her flesh at the intensity of his stare. She took a deep breath, calming her racing blood.
The T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest. He looked great. Too perfect for words. But she could come up with a few: absolute, excellent, flawless, hunk, masterful. Not to mention archaic, pig-headed and loner.
Steve’s brow wrinkled, and the tiny laugh lines around his eyes were emphasized. She’d been gaping at him, but couldn’t help another look down his long, lean torso and back up again to his lightly whiskered face. Another gaze at the last and only man she wanted to see.
But, dear God in heaven, she’d missed everything about him. The shape of his once-broken nose, his deep brown eyes, how his dark hair curled out from under his hat—even his boots. She wanted to throw herself into his arms but couldn’t. He’d made his choice four years ago. Having him hold her wouldn’t change that.
“You look surprised to see me.” He blocked the door leading into the rest of the house. He was dry and immaculate except for that little bit of stubble that drove her crazy. “Didn’t you leave me a note?”
Technically she’d left two. “I expected someone else.” She wasn’t up to verbally sparring with him. She wanted to warm up and dry off. Curl up and cry. Turn everything over to the FBI and be certain they’d find Rory.
“Yeah, well, that knockout juice left a heckuva hangover.” He rubbed his forehead while continuing. “But I managed to make a plane.”
“Just you? None of your team is here? Why wouldn’t they come? You never work alone.”
“I take orders from the FBI, or at least I think I do.” He rubbed his temples again. “They put me on medical leave after I was stuck with an unknown drug.”
“You were obviously injected with the antidote so you have nothing to worry about.” She needed to sit down. She pushed at his chest, attempting to get around him, but he held his ground, not budging from the mudroom.
“You know, for a genius you’re not making much sense. You left a note for me to follow, but you’re surprised to see me.” He shoved the dripping blond wig off her head, resting his hands on her shoulders. “What’s going on, Jane? If something’s wrong, why not just tell the authorities everything?”
“It was the only thing I could come up with. There wasn’t a way to write a note.” She didn’t dare look at him again. She kept her eyes focused on the scuff marks on his boots. She was just too shaky to think straight. “The picture was already in the book, so I decided to come here and hope.”
“Why tell the FBI where you were going at all? Kidnapping has serious consequences. Tell me where the boy is and where you stashed the money.”
“What are you talking about?” She’d kidnapped someone and had the money? “The kidnappers said they’d give him back if I did what they asked.”
His hands stilled and created two pools of warmth through her wet T-shirt.
She opened her mouth to ask about Rory but couldn’t. He let her go and turned away. But not before she’d seen the disappointment on his face. The same disappointment she experienced for not having enough courage to tell him about Rory.
Steve pulled his cell from his belt. “I’ve got to call McCaffrey and let him know I’m bringing you in.”
“I can’t go back to Dallas!”
“Oh, yes, you can. I don’t know how you got involved, but—”
She tried to take the cell from his hand. His grip was too firm so she kept her fingers wrapped around his. “Please, Steve, I need you to listen to me.”
“It’s a kidnapping.” He shook her hand from his, but didn’t dial the phone. “Every minute counts if we’re going to find the kid.”
“The kid? His name is Rory.” So he didn’t know. But why was he there? She couldn’t tell him about his son like this. She needed to think. Plan what and how. She hadn’t really slept in three days. Everything was getting jumbled in her head.
“Rory?” He wrinkled his brow. “You collected the ransom for Thomas Brant. The kid you and a couple of monsters abducted yesterday morning.”
Another kidnapping? A second little boy was missing? She stumbled against the washer and slowly slid to the floor.
Sweet mother of God, would she ever see her son again?
Chapter Two
“Are you okay?” Steve’s first instinct was to kneel down and pull Jane into his arms, but he couldn’t. She was a fugitive.
Wanted for kidnapping.
And no longer his.
“I’m so stupid.” Her hands covered her face and she burst into tears. More than tears. Her body shook from the force. She rocked back and forth like a woman keening for a lost child.
This near hysterical person was not the woman he had known four years ago. Jane hadn’t shed a tear as they parted ways or at any point in their relationship.
“I’ll never see…him…again,” she hiccupped.
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“My son, Rory. He’s gone. They took him. I can’t believe I… Oh, my God.”
When he couldn’t watch the stream of tears any longer, he knelt until she looked him in the eyes. “I don’t think I heard you right, Jane. You keep saying your son. The little boy that’s missing is Thomas Brant.”
“And Rory. They have Rory.”
“You’re saying they kidnapped two kids and one is yours?” He got back to his feet.
Her bottom lip trembled and her head dropped as she pulled her knees in close to her chest again.
Steve couldn’t have heard her correctly. He’d been up all night, drugged yesterday and his brain wasn’t working right. Were her words just the result of a drug-induced hallucination?
She had a son? Jane? His Jane?
Her dark auburn hair was plastered to her scalp, she was soaked to the skin, but she was still beautiful with those tear-filled eyes staring up at him. And very real.
Leaning on the doorjamb kept him upright, but he couldn’t think. He forced his hand to reach out. After a few seconds her shivering fingers wrapped around his and he pulled her to her bare, muddy feet. Then he moved, taking the short tiled hall in four steps with Jane following. He tossed his phone onto a chair, sinking onto its match. All his energy had been zapped right out of him when he heard those words.
She had a son.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He croaked the question past a very dry throat, wanting to head to his dad’s wet bar and the bottle of Jim Bean hidden from view. “When did you get married?”
That guy was lucky. Jane was smart, beautiful and crazy in bed. He couldn’t think of her like that. The hell he couldn’t. She’d been with him first. Her kid was missing on top of being involved with the Brant kidnapping. Pull yourself together, Woods. You made your choice four years ago.
“His father is… He’s… I wanted to call you, Steve.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you. They said not to involve any police or the FBI. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Wait, slow down. Let’s start at the beginning.”
If he couldn’t have a shot of whiskey, he might as well make it aspirin. Where did his mom keep them? He pushed out of the chair and stretched his stride to its limit, but stopped short of the kitchen.
“The beginning? Rory and I were going to the park.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?”
“Why do you think you had the right to know? I thought it was better to just keep things the way you wanted.” She sat on the couch, looking as completely worn-out as he felt, but the words still managed to sting. “You were undercover and couldn’t be reached.”
Undercover for almost three years. A lot had happened to her while his life had been on hold.
“I thought we were friends.” Yeah, he knew the futility of the words as they left his mouth and didn’t need it confirmed by her look of you’re-just-being-stupid. “Don’t you think a significant thing like having a kid warrants a phone call?”
“The phone works both ways, buddy. You never called me, either.”
The truth flicked him like a bullwhip, inflicting small sharp pangs of guilt. Yeah, he could have found her. He had ways, contacts. But he’d avoided admitting his culpability, and then it seemed too late for a relationship.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I couldn’t call you while I was undercover. You knew that.”
“I tried to write several times, but what could I say? You made your feelings very clear when you asked me to leave.” Sniffing, she draped a worn afghan around her, like a protective wall between them.
“Who’s the father? Could he be involved?” Probably some genius guy she worked with. It had to be. Maybe that Hayden fellow?
His desire to think superseded the need for aspirin so he skimmed the perimeter of the room, pacing as far away from the afghan and what it covered as possible. He didn’t want to recall the disappointment he’d experienced and just how much he’d wanted a letter during that first assignment. If he did admit it, that would mean he’d been wrong. No, his work over the past four years had been important. It wasn’t a waste.
Jane’s hand peeked from under the blanket to brush her hair back. “His dad’s never been involved with him. And he’d be the last person to kidnap a small child.”
So, the guy had been after sex and not the consequences. Jane deserved better.
As if she thought the same, she pushed off the couch, dragging the afghan around her shoulders to the window. “We have to find Rory.”
Lightning glistened off the phone in the chair, beckoning him to do his job. He should call his team. It was important to let McCaffrey know he had the suspect. Or he could get Jane’s story, then make the call since the FBI needed information on her son’s kidnapping.
“When did you get back to Dallas?”
There hadn’t been any evidence of a child living in Jane’s apartment. Could he be wrong? Could all this just be a ruse to throw him off? After all, he hadn’t seen her in years. But why leave a note he was certain to follow?
“Ten days ago.” Jane leaned against the window frame and looked expectantly out toward the lake.
Her landlord had told them six weeks.
“No one else is coming,” he said. At least no one I’m expecting. “Why would someone kidnap your son? What would they gain?”
“I wasn’t looking for anyone.” She seemed more resigned, more somber if that were possible. “The new drugs I’m developing are very valuable. The sedative is what I used on you yesterday.”
“It has a heck of a kick.”
“It’s not fully developed. I wasn’t scheduled to begin at the lab until Monday. Copies of the formula and several vials were still at the apartment. They took everything.”
Wrapped tightly in the afghan, she took small steps back to the couch and perched on the edge.
“How would they know about it?”
“My money’s from the private sector. It came after my paper was published in the Journal of Anesthesiology. Anyone could know about it.”
“What about your dream job at Johns Hopkins? Did they have any right to the research?”
“Actually, that job didn’t work out. I’ve been privately funded with the understanding that my research belongs to me. So I have a lot of control over the development of the drugs. At least for the time being.”
“Was there a bidding war? Did someone get pissed off because you cut them out of the deal? Maybe another partner?”
“I worked alone and approached a friend at Foster Pharmaceuticals. It wasn’t associated with anyone or any company.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Tell me what happened with your son.”
Taking a deep breath, she dropped her head onto the back of his mother’s old couch cushions, closed her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears. “God, I can’t believe this is really happening.”
Another deep breath and a long pause. He wanted to ask a million questions, but his Bureau training held firm. He slowly sat back in the chair across from her to wait on the story. Waiting was the worst part of his job.
“Mrs. Newinsky, my neighbor on the floor below, greeted us when the movers pulled up to the building last week. She constantly came over and offered to watch Rory. We were going to grill hot dogs at the park July second, but she forgot to buy a package of buns.”
A tear fell from her right eye, and she swiped it away as if it never existed.
