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Her movements felt hazy, almost dreamlike as she made her way along the hallway. Although the distance between the bedrooms was short, she had to stop several times when the trembling in her legs worsened.
The closer she got to Matthew’s room, the more urgent Abby’s barks. The instant she swung open the door the dachshund leaped out, weaving frantic circles around her mistress’s bare feet.
“Matthew?” Kathryn stumbled over the dog into the large, airy room with windows that looked out over the front driveway.
Her gaze swept the bed. The jungle-theme sheets and spread were rumpled, as if her son had just climbed out. His robe lay on the end of the mattress. Kathryn swiveled toward the waist-high bookcases built into the far wall. Toy tanks, airplanes and platoons of soldiers crowded the shelves. Several Jeeps and Humvees lay in a jumbled pileup on the braided rug.
“Matty, where are you?”
Pain pulsing behind her eyes, Kathryn walked toward the adjacent bathroom, Abby on her heels. Glancing down, Kathryn frowned. There was something odd about the way the dog moved, as though she had a slight catch in one hip.
“Matthew?” The silence that pressed like fingers against Kathryn’s eardrums told her before she got to the bathroom that she’d find it empty.
It was.
Her concern growing, she shoved at her hair. Considering it was past ten, she wasn’t surprised Matthew was out of bed. What bothered her was Abby. Matthew never went anywhere without the dachshund in tow. Unless, Kathryn reasoned, he hadn’t gone far.
“Are we playing hide-and-seek?” she asked, stepping to the closet.
When she slid the door open, Abby darted inside, snuffling into each shadowy corner. A whine rose up her throat when she failed to locate her master. Kathryn lifted her gaze to the closet’s shelves, but she saw nothing out of place.
When two short beeps sounded, she stepped to the bookcases. Her heart tattooed in her ears while she waited for the beeps to sound again as she scanned the shelves, trying to figure out what toy had emitted the unfamiliar electronic signals.
When the beeps sounded again, she whipped around toward the bed. Her gaze settled on the nightstand and her eyes widened. A cell phone lay beside the miniature airplane that doubled as a lamp. Matthew didn’t have a cell phone. And even if he’d found one that had been laid aside, she knew for sure the phone hadn’t been there last night when she’d tucked him into bed and dropped a kiss on his rumpled blond hair.
She crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the phone and flipped up its cover. The screen displayed the text message icon.
Kathryn’s fingers made trembling, fumbling stabs at a series of buttons. When the message displayed, its first line sent fear pressing against her heart so she could hear the panicked beat of it roaring in her ears.
WE HAVE YOUR SON.
CHAPTER THREE
“MATTHEW…” Terror crimped Kathryn’s voice. A growing pressure around her heart made it beat in hitchy strikes. Her entire body shaking, she forced herself to read the entire text message.
We have your son.
We will kill him if you contact the police. We are watching you. Get one million dollars in various denominations. Keep the money and this cell phone with you. Don’t change your routine. We will call and tell you what to do. Screw up, the kid dies.
The words blurred while heat traveled in a wave up Kathryn’s spine.
“No, no. Matthew…” Panic clawed at her throat; for a moment, the shapes and colors in the room seemed to shift. She felt herself sway.
With a flurry of barks, Abby raced to the bedroom’s door, her right hind leg lifting out of sync with the others. Turning, the dog rocketed back, tramping across Kathryn’s bare feet. The contact snapped her back. She forced herself to breathe. Struggled to think.
Think. Whipping around, she dashed into the bathroom, moving so fast she plowed one hip into the sink. The pain didn’t even register as she wrenched open the door on the medicine cabinet.
A ball of ice dropped into her belly as she stared at the large amber bottle containing the antirejection pills Matthew took daily. Had to take daily. Missing even one dose could jumpstart his system into an attempt to reject his transplanted kidney.
“Oh, God.” The terror burning in her had her stomach heaving. She leaned over the sink and gagged. Nothing came up but a stream of saliva.
Rinsing her mouth, she heard Abby dashing in and out of the bathroom, felt her nipping at her ankles. The doxie’s frenzied barking had Kathryn’s brain clicking to the possibility that whoever had taken her son might still be in the house.
Did she still have time to save Matthew?
Fueled by that hope, she jammed the cell phone into the pocket of her shorts and darted out of the bathroom. As if connected to the dachshund by an invisible leash, Kathryn sprinted after Abby.
Her incessant barks now deep, throaty rumbles, the dog shot down the hallway, a discernible limp in her gait as her long, thin nose skimmed the wooden floor, then lifted as if scenting the air for her master.
Kathryn ran, shouting her son’s name while her chest tightened and the breath sobbed out of her lungs.
Her heartbeat battered her ribs, her temples in a savage, pulsing rhythm. She couldn’t face the possibility of losing her child. Refused to think it. She would find Matthew. Save him before some faceless monster carried him away.
Abby bounded off the staircase, her paws skittering across the waxed floor. She turned a corner, scurried along the hallway toward the rear of the house, her snout sweeping to and fro.
“Matthew!” Kathryn ducked into the living room, Sam’s study, then the dining room, searching for some sign of her child.
Abby slowed, turned and began retracing her zigzagging steps along the hallway. At the bottom of the staircase, she looked up at Kathryn and whined.
She’d lost Matthew’s scent. Breath sobbed out of Kathryn’s lungs. “We can’t give up looking.” Turning, she dashed toward the kitchen, her shouts for Matthew echoing through the empty house.
AFTER SEARCHING the kitchen and Willa’s rooms, Kathryn hammered down the basement stairs, grabbed a flashlight and checked the outlaw tunnel, desperately hoping that she’d wake up from this nightmare and find Matthew playing there.
He wasn’t.
With the tunnel’s dank, musty air still in her lungs, she sprinted back upstairs, yelling his name while she checked each room, closet, looking beneath every bed. She found no sign of her child.
As she raced back down the staircase, the fear that had been pounding at her now screamed into her mind, bursting through her body like a storm of ice.
Matthew was gone. Taken by some faceless someone.
We have your son.
The pain inside her was so huge it reached to the bone.
Intent on searching the stables, she bolted off the bottom step and plowed into a solid, unyielding frame.
“Sweet Jesus!” Reece Silver’s voice was as hard as the hands he clamped onto her shoulders.
“Where is he?” Half-crazed, Kathryn shoved at the veterinarian who’d tended the Cross C’s animals since she was a teen. “What have you done with him?”
“Who?” Reece loomed over her, controlling her with hands well-used to keeping strong horses in line. His face was slender, almost gaunt, and the brown eyes staring down at her were filled with confusion. “Johnny? He and I came up here to talk to you. About the mare that came down with colic yesterday? He went down the hall to the kitchen to see if you were there.”
“Not Johnny,” Kathryn gasped. “Matthew! He’s gone.” The hallway with its dark wood walls and floor seemed to be closing in on her. In desperation she fought against Reece’s hold. “Let go!”
“Not while your eyes are glassy and your face is as pale as a boiled egg.” While he spoke, the vet half-nudged, half-dragged her into the living room. “You need to sit, catch your breath.” His face was grim as he prodded her into one of the wing chairs that ringed the fireplace.
“Can’t…” She tried to pull in air. “Breathe.”
“Lean over.” Crouching beside her, Reece placed a palm against the back of her head and shoved it between her knees. The movement forced the air out of her lungs. Staring at the colorful braided rug, Kathryn pulled in a deep breath, then another.
“More,” Reece said. “In and out.”
She gave a vague nod. There were steel wires around her chest, around her head. Tightening, tightening.
The echo of boot heels coming down the hallway had Kathryn jerking her head up. When the Cross C’s foreman stepped into the room, she nearly sobbed. Johnny Sullivan had put her up on her first horse, he’d taught her to ride, how to use a rifle, to rope a steer. He, along with Willa, had taught her how to love.
Dressed in worn jeans, a plaid shirt and scuffed boots, Johnny gripped his sweat-stained straw hat in one arthritic fist. When he spotted Kathryn, the clear blue eyes in his leathery tan face narrowed. “God Almighty, girl, you look sick as a dog.”
“I’m not sick.” She straightened in the chair. “It’s Matthew. He’s gone. Johnny, they took my baby.”
“Who?” He moved to her, exchanging an uncertain look with Reece when the vet rose to his feet. “Who took our boy?”
Reece scrubbed his palms down his jeaned thighs. “I think she thought I did.”
“I thought they might still be in the house,” Kathryn said, her breath coming in pants. “When I ran into you…” She shook her head. “They left a cell phone in Matthew’s room with a message. They want money. They’ll kill him if…” Kathryn’s entire body trembled. “His medicine. He has to take it every day. He could die if he doesn’t.”
“We’re not gonna let that happen.” Tossing his hat onto the nearby coffee table, the foreman settled a hand on her shoulder, squeezed. “I’d best get Sheriff Boudry over here.”
“No!” Kathryn grabbed his hand, felt the familiar rougher-than-sandpaper calluses. “They’ll kill Matthew if I go to the police.” She dug the cell phone out of the pocket of her sleep shorts, and gripped it tight, the sole lifeline she had to her child. “I have to do what they say, or they’ll kill him.” She paused, her mind reeling in a hundred directions. “Devin. I have to call Devin and tell him. Call the bank.”
Reece’s concerned gaze skimmed over her face. “My advice is bring in a security expert before you do anything.” He stepped around the leather couch and headed to the wet bar. There, he opened the small refrigerator, pulled out a bottle of water and twisted off the cap.
“A security expert,” Kathryn repeated. Watching Reece walk back toward her, she struggled to control her thoughts. “Devin uses a security company in L.A., but I don’t know the name. I’ll find out.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “Devin’s in Tibet, making a movie.”
“You don’t want rent-a-cops or bodyguards.” Reece set the bottle on the table next to Kathryn, then settled on the chair beside her. “You need someone who knows how to deal with kidnappers. A negotiator.”
“He’s right,” Johnny said and gave a curt nod. “I can call over to the Double Starr and talk to Clay Turner.”
“Clay?” For a crazed moment, Kathryn stared up at the foreman, wondering if he’d somehow found out about what happened between her and Clay during that long-ago summer. “No, Matthew isn’t… I lost…” She clenched her jaw. Matthew.
Reece leaned in. “Did you hear about Clay’s parents getting kidnapped in Colombia a couple of years ago?”
Kathryn nodded. Right now, she could remember only one detail. “They died. His parents died. Horribly.”
“T’wern’t that negotiator’s fault.” The foreman’s hand tightened around hers. “A lot of things went wrong then. This is now. Clay was on duty in Colombia when his parents got taken and he got shot. The state department sent in some fella who knew how to deal with kidnappers to work with Clay. He can tell you how to reach that man. Say the word, I’ll get Clay on the phone.”
Kathryn picked up the bottle, took a long, slow drink of the cold water. She wasn’t going to fall apart, wouldn’t let herself. Doing so could cost Matthew his life. She would do whatever she had to do. Deal with whomever she had to in order to get her child back. Just get him back.
Setting the bottle aside, she met Johnny’s gaze. “Find out where Clay is,” she said levelly. “I’ll go talk to him myself.”
“TRACTOR THREW A ROD,” Eddie Woodson informed Clay. “Second time this year.” His straw hat shading his eyes from the straight-up-noon sun, the young, muscled ranch hand with corn-colored hair lapping across a sunburned neck used a rag to scrub smears of grease off his stubby fingers.
Clay sent the tractor a disgusted look. “Ever wonder why equipment always breaks down when it’s in the middle of a field instead of near the work shed?”
Eddie shot Clay one of his good-natured grins. “My ma says stuff like that happens to people who have black clouds hanging over their heads.”
Thinking about his past, Clay couldn’t disagree.
Glancing down, he tested the soil with the toe of one boot. Too dry, he thought and made a note to turn on the system that irrigated this section of pasture earlier than programmed. Also on his mental to-do list was assigning a couple of the hands to start rotating cattle from pasture to pasture.
The designation of chores, the buying and selling of cattle and horses had been his province for the past two years as his uncle gradually turned over the day-to-day operation of the Double Starr to Clay. Ironic, he thought, that the work he’d had no real heart for during his youth was now his whole life.
“Guess we can also blame those black clouds on how things break down when we don’t have parts on hand to fix stuff.” Eddie jammed the rag into the back pocket of his worn jeans. “You want me to drive into Layton now and pick up what we need?”
“Yeah.” Clay adjusted the brim of his Stetson lower to shade his eyes. “I want to check Cimarron, so you can drop me at the barn,” he said, referring to a mare near her time who always had difficulty foaling.
“Doc Silver’s planning on being here for the birth, right?”
“Right.” Studying Eddie, Clay slid the fingers of one hand into the back pocket of his jeans. Because he knew all too well how a young man with a circus going on in his pants operated, he inclined his head in the kid’s direction. “I want this tractor running again today. Which means you can drop by the drugstore to rub up against that cute blond checker. What you can’t do is spend a couple of hours there.”
Eddie’s sunburned face turned even redder. “I enjoy talkin’ to Andrea, is all.”
“Nothing wrong with talking when you don’t have a tractor sitting idle.”
The sudden thunder of hooves had both men looking across their shoulder. Clay narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize the chestnut galloping flat-out over the rise, but he had no trouble identifying its rider.
He would know her if he’d spotted her five miles away. Kat had always looked more natural on horseback than she did on her own two feet. Still did.
As the chestnut thundered closer Clay noted Kathryn was hatless, her dark hair flying behind her as her boots pumped against the horse’s sides. Its hurtling hooves puffed clouds of dust into the still air.
Since she’d made her feelings for him clear during yesterday’s impromptu encounter, he couldn’t even guess at what had brought her riding his way, hell bent for leather.
“That looks like…” Eddie squinted, then looked at Clay. “Is that Kathryn Conner?”
“Mason. It is.” Clay noted that the kid was ogling Kathryn the same way the customers had in the café.
“Ma’s gonna drop into a dead faint when she hears I met Devin Mason’s ex.”
“Put a lid on it,” Clay ground out. Frowning, he watched Kathryn jerk the reins back so sharply the chestnut nearly skidded into the side of his pickup. Before the horse came to a full halt she slid out of the saddle, a movement as graceful as ballet. Still holding the reins, she turned his way.
And Clay’s gut tightened. Her face was pale. Tense. Lines of stress fanned from the corners of her mouth. Shadowy smudges clung beneath her eyes.
Something was wrong. Bad wrong.
“Ma’am.” Oblivious, Eddie dragged off his straw hat and stared with undisguised curiosity at the woman who’d been the talk of Layton for the past weeks. “Welcome to the Double Starr, Mrs. Mason.”
Giving Eddie a vague nod, Kathryn released her grip on the reins. While the chestnut trotted a few feet away, she kept her gaze locked with Clay’s while she clenched one hand on the cell phone clipped to the waistband of her jeans.
“I need to talk to you.” Her voice shook. “Alone.”
Clay shifted his gaze. “Eddie, go on now and run that errand.”
“Sure.” Cramming his hat back on his head, the young ranch hand walked to the pickup, swung open the door, then paused. “How you gonna get back to the barn, Clay?”
“I’ve got my cell. I’ll call one of the other hands.”
“Okay.” Eddie shot Kathryn another look of interest. “Ma’am.”
