The Ransom

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Kathryn shoved a hand through her hair. “Doing that wouldn’t make sense.”

“You told me Abby would have had a barking fit over being left behind when they took Matthew. The kidnappers couldn’t be sure you’d pour yourself a glass of wine last night or how much you’d drink if you did. So they wouldn’t want any noise that might wake you. The sole threat Abby posed was barking when they left with Matthew. The best way to deal with that would be to give her a shot of a fast-acting sedative. It’d keep her quiet for hours, and cause the limp you saw.”

Guilt descended over Kathryn like clammy heat. “Matthew was virtually unprotected. It would have been nothing for me to have an alarm installed before we arrived here. I could have hired a security company to patrol the ranch—”

“It’s not your fault, Kat.”

“He depended on me to keep him safe. He’s gone because—”

“Some greedy bastard came in here and took him,” Clay said as he gripped her shoulders. “Another thing I learned from Forbes is how committed kidnappers can be. That whomever they plan to take, they take. If you’d had this place secured like Fort Knox, they would have gotten Matthew some other way.”

“Devin has bodyguards,” she tossed back. “I should have hired someone to watch Matthew.”

Clay gave her a firm shake. “Your blaming yourself won’t help your son.”

She gripped his wrists. “I don’t know how to help him.”

“You stay calm, is how.” Clay felt the knots in his gut jerk tighter. Dammit, every hour that went by put Matthew into greater peril. Why hadn’t Forbes called?

Beneath his palms, he felt Kathryn tremble. Her face was chalk-white, her eyes gleamed with a mix of fear and absolute helplessness.

Easing out a breath, he thought about the conclusions he’d come to. If he was right about the wine and the dog, whoever took Matthew had done a lot of research. “Kidnappers,” Forbes had once told Clay, “plan to the last inch.” The articles Clay had read in the Layton Times and People magazine about Devin Mason had mentioned his son’s kidney transplant.

“What type of medicine does Matthew take?”

“An immunosuppressive drug. Transplant patients take them to prevent rejection of their transplanted organ.”

“So, with research, the kidnapper would know that,” Clay reasoned. “This guy came prepared. Maybe he left that way, too.” He looked toward the bathroom. “You said you saw the prescription bottle with Matthew’s medicine. Can you find out if extra pills are missing?”

“I had the prescription refilled two days ago. There should be only two pills gone from the bottle.”

“Count the pills, Kat.”

“You think the kidnapper took some? To give to Matthew?”

“I think we’d be smart to check.” When she started to turn, he held her in place. “Even if all the pills that should be in the bottle are there, it doesn’t mean Matthew won’t get his meds. Not when it’s easy to buy drugs over the Internet.”

“Okay.” Kathryn closed her eyes. “If I could just be sure Matthew’s taking his medicine.”

“It’s my bet he is.” At least Clay hoped so.

His phone rang just as Kathryn stepped into the bathroom. Relief rolled through Clay when he saw Forbes’s name displayed.

That relief lasted only until Forbes advised he was in England, negotiating the release of an earl’s kidnapped wife.

With tension coiling through him, Clay briefed him on Matthew’s abduction. And the conclusions he’d come to.

“I think you’re right about Mrs. Mason and the dog being drugged,” Forbes said in his perpetually calm voice. “And that a check needs to be run on everyone with access to the Cross C.” Clay pictured the gray-haired, scrawny-necked man who never showed emotion, even in the face of impending disaster. Forbes’s air of quiet confidence went a long way to soothing and calming.

For three months, the man had kept Clay sane.

“What about the cell phone the kidnapper left?” Forbes asked. “Can it be traced?”

“No, it’s a brand I’ve never heard of, so I went online and checked it out. The phone’s a disposable one, sold by a company that doesn’t require a purchaser to sign a contract or have a credit card. All someone has to do is walk into any convenience store, lay down cash and they’ve got a phone with a preset amount of calling minutes on it.”

“With no audit trail assigned to the phone there’s no way to trace who bought it. So, that’s a dead end.”

“Right,” Clay agreed.

“The ransom amount puzzles me,” Forbes continued. “Devin Mason is wealthy. Why ask only one million dollars for his son’s safe return?”

“Good question.” Clay tightened his grip on the phone. “Look, I understand why you can’t come to Texas, but I need to get another negotiator fast. Who do you recommend?”

“You.”

Old memories, like the ghost of past sins, knotted Clay’s gut. “No way in hell.” For two years he’d lived with guilt over his parents’ death that gave him night sweats and a dull, skittering sense of panic. The last thing he wanted was to take on the responsibility of Matthew Mason’s life.

“You know the normal goings-on in the community,” Forbes persisted. “Since the kidnapper insists Mrs. Mason maintain her regular schedule, we can assume he’s in a position to watch her. You’re a friend, a neighbor, you can place yourself near her without alarming the person holding Matthew. And perhaps spot someone who seems overcurious about her.”

Clay set his jaw. From the instant Kathryn handed him the phone with the ransom message he’d had the sensation of having stepped in quicksand. Now, he felt himself getting sucked farther into a black hole. How could he help her when he couldn’t trust himself to make the right moves?

“Kathryn is a celebrity,” he said. “Everyone is curious about her, so you’d have Layton’s entire population on your suspect list. The best way I can help her is from a distance.”

“I disagree. Mrs. Mason needs someone she can trust staying close to her to assess the people she interacts with. Someone who will know if a person’s normal body language has changed, if they’re showing signs of nervousness and stress. You’re a former police officer, you’re trained to do that.”

“Are you forgetting my instincts are so screwed I didn’t sense the danger closing in on my parents?”

“What happened in Bogota was not your fault. And even if I were able to come there,” Forbes continued, “I would be dependent on you to advise me on the people, their backgrounds. You already know who, if anyone, on the local police force can be trusted to be approached. I can consult for Mrs. Mason by phone if you’ll agree to work with her there.”

“Dammit.” Clay lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to be responsible for another person dying.”

“You have never been responsible for that.”

Just then, Clay saw Kathryn step from the bathroom, the pill bottle gripped in one hand. He explained to Forbes about Matthew’s medicine, then held the phone so that the negotiator could hear Kathryn.

“Ten of the pills are gone.”

“You’re sure?” Clay asked.

“I counted them three times.”

“Okay. Is there any chance Matthew could have gotten that bottle out of the cabinet? Taken the missing pills, thinking they were candy? Or maybe to hide them?”

“No. He’s spent weeks in the hospital, years going to various doctors. He understands why he has to take medicine.”

Clay put the phone back to his ear. “You hear that?”

“Yes, ten pills,” Forbes said. “I wonder if that’s the kidnapper’s timetable? Ten days from the snatch to delivery of the ransom. Or do they plan to demand the ransom be paid sooner? They possibly took more pills as a cushion in case something unforeseen requires they hold the boy longer than planned. If that’s the case, why not just take the bottle?”

“Would have made more sense,” Clay said.

“You said Matthew’s father is in Tibet?”

“Yes. He insisted on coming here to deal with the kidnappers. I talked him into staying put, at least for now.”

“And you claim you can’t handle things?” Without waiting for a response, Forbes added, “Let me speak to Mrs. Mason.”

Clay handed Kathryn the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

“He’s coming, right?” she asked. “Mr. Forbes is coming?”

He met her desperate gaze. “No, Kat, he can’t come.”

AFTER TALKING to Forbes, Kathryn handed the phone back to Clay, then clenched her hands to keep from burying her face in them and weeping. Because her legs had turned to water, she lowered herself onto the edge of her son’s bed.

“We can bring in another negotiator,” Clay said.

“How long will that take? Another day? Two? Three?”

“There’s no way to know until I make a few calls.”

Kathryn pleated the rumpled sheet. The bed was in the same condition as when she stumbled into the room that morning. She thought of the stories she’d read about parents who left the bedrooms of their missing children unchanged. Her heart had ached for those people. Now, she was one of them.

She looked at the phone she’d placed on the nightstand. “Why don’t they call? God, why don’t they just call?”

“They will,” Clay said. “When they do, remember what we went over.”

“No matter what they…threaten, stand firm,” she said, her voice raspy. “Insist they get the ransom only after I have proof Matthew is alive.”

“Staying calm while they swear they’ll kill your child will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”

She met Clay’s grim gaze. “You know that, because of when your parents were taken, right? You had to stay calm while talking to the people who…” Killed them.

Kathryn’s throat tightened when she saw the pain in Clay’s eyes a second before his expression hardened. Now that the stunning shock that had held her in its grip was subsiding, she realized how difficult her situation must be for him.

“When Reece and Johnny said you could help me, I didn’t think twice. I just found you. It didn’t occur to me how dredging all this up would be for you. I don’t guess I cared. But it has to hurt, remembering what happened to your family.”

Clay stared down at her. There was no way for her to know that his pain was twofold, that his parents might never have been kidnapped if only he’d made a different choice where she was concerned. So many regrets, he thought. So much pain.

Pain that he was going to have to shove back into the dark pit inside him since the weight of responsibility for Matthew’s life had dropped like lead onto his shoulders. Though he’d wanted to avoid that, Clay knew this wasn’t about what had happened to his parents, or himself. This was about a five-year-old boy whose life was at stake.

And the ashen-faced woman staring up at him.

He crouched beside the bed, bringing his face level with hers. “Matthew’s situation is different,” he said evenly. “My parents were grabbed by rebels who wanted to force the Colombian government to release their imprisoned pals. A Colombian general lost patience and ordered an attack on the rebel camp. My parents got caught in the crossfire.”

Reaching out, Clay tucked a wisp of dark hair behind Kathryn’s ear. When heat arrowed straight to his gut, he nearly jerked his hand away. He knew the only way Matthew would stay alive was for everyone involved to keep emotion out of the mix. For him, that wasn’t going to be easy.

“Matthew doesn’t have opposing groups warring over him,” he continued. “His kidnappers want money. You’re willing to pay. We’ll get him back safe if we’re careful.”

Kathryn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. The man crouched before her bore only a vague resemblance to her lover from a decade ago. Then, there’d been no furrows creasing his forehead. No crinkles at the corners of those dark brown eyes. No lines fanning from the mouth that had so often curved into a cocky grin that had added to the instant, sexual punch. No scar slashing a diagonal line across his right cheek and temple.

She had given him her heart and he’d shattered it. Her own fault, she conceded, since Clay had never pretended his feelings mirrored hers. Nor had he lied about his intentions, or anything else. Knowing that, she now pulled his words to her heart, clinging to them like a safety line to her child.

“Was Mr. Forbes with you in Colombia? Advising you what to do?”

“Yes. It would have been a lot worse if he hadn’t been there.”

She looked toward the window. Already late afternoon shadows had set in. Evening would creep up, then darkness. She couldn’t bear to think about Matthew alone in the dark.

“My appointment with Brad Jordan is in the morning. When I called to tell him Devin was wiring a million dollars to my account and I needed it in cash, I could tell Brad was holding himself back from asking me why. The hospital benefit is tomorrow night. Shannon Burton will be there. She keeps calling, wanting to interview me about Sam. She’ll ask about Devin. About Matthew.”

Kathryn shook her head, overwhelmed by the prospect of making a misstep that might alert someone about her child’s plight. “The ransom message said not to change my schedule. I can’t cancel anything while we wait to get another negotiator’s advice.” She shuddered. “How am I supposed to act normal when I have no idea where my son is? No idea what he’s going through?”

“You’ll do it for Matthew’s sake,” Clay said quietly. “I’ve got an idea how you can deal with Jordan so getting that much cash doesn’t pique his interest. We’ll talk about the best way to handle Burton. My uncle is on the hospital’s board of directors, so we’ll take you to the benefit, give you support there.”

Kathryn stood and wandered to the far side of the room. She paused before the wall of built-in shelves crowded with tanks, Humvees and soldiers. To her right, her laptop computer sat on Matthew’s small desk. Yesterday she had sat there with him on her lap while they wrote an e-mail to his father.

Her gaze went to the picture on the cork board; tears burned her eyes, blurring her son’s face. She took a choked breath. She hadn’t let herself cry. Couldn’t. With fear imbedded deep inside her she was afraid if she started sobbing she would never stop. And no amount of tears would get her son back.

She turned to face Clay. “Mr. Forbes said I can put full confidence in what you tell me. That you know the right things to do.”

She saw a flicker in Clay’s eyes. “I’ll do what I can to help. But you need someone here to give you expert advice.”

“You’re the reason I’ve gotten this far without falling apart, Clay.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “Mr. Forbes agrees with you that Devin should stay in Tibet.”

“It’s the best thing for Matthew.”

“Which is what you’ve kept in mind this whole time.” She rubbed her fingers across her throat. “If you hadn’t told me to count his pills, I wouldn’t know the kidnappers took any of them. I wouldn’t have the hope they intend to keep Matthew healthy.”

“It was a guess on my part.”

“A good one. Everything Forbes told me, I had already heard from you. He’s an expert and you know how he thinks.” At that instant she realized what it had been that reached so deeply inside her when Clay spoke to her earlier with soothing softness. Forbes’s voice had sounded much the same. Calm. Comforting. A voice that had taken an edge off her fear by instilling hope.

Her gaze returned to Clay. Seeing him yesterday had been a stark reminder of the vow she had made after her marriage crumbled to never again place her hopes, her needs, her wants in the hands of another man. But it wasn’t her heart at stake now, it was her son’s life. Forbes had told her she could put her faith in Clay. That, coupled with a deep, intuitive certainty told her that depending on him was the right thing to do.

Her mind made up, Kathryn retraced her steps across the room. “You’re the best person to fill Forbes’s shoes.”

Clay shook his head. He hadn’t been the best man for anything since he wound up in a pool of his own blood while his parents got dragged away. “You can’t depend on my guesswork.”

“Whatever you tell me won’t be guesswork,” she countered quietly, watching a muscle work in his jaw. “Because you learned from an expert.”

“I wasn’t sitting in a damn classroom.” Clay scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Forbes and I moved from one roach-infested hut to another while we followed rumored sightings of the rebels holding my parents. Inside, I felt as unsteady as you do right now. I picked up things from Forbes, but I can’t guarantee I know what he would do.”

“You know how he thinks, Clay,” she countered. “And if you’re not sure, you can call him. You know Mr. Forbes, you trust him. I don’t want someone who neither of us knows guessing what I need to do to keep my son alive.”

She moved forward until only inches separated them. The familiar salty clean scent of his skin slid into her lungs. She remembered the swirling fire that scent had once ignited inside her. Remembered, too, the passion that had fueled the man when he’d gone after something he wanted, whether it be the job at the state department, the breaking of a wild bronc—even her for a short time. That same passion would drive him to do everything in his power to help her bring Matthew home alive.