Running Scared

by Lisa Jackson

  “I came to find my son.”

  “Your son,” she repeated, disbelieving. “Other than being involved in his conception, you’ve had nothing to do with him—”

  “Because I didn’t know about him.”

  “Your problem. If you’re so careless as to…” Her words faded as she realized what she was saying. As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze strayed to her flat abdomen, where there could be another life—their child’s—beginning to grow.

  “Whoa,” Laura said, “I think I’d better disappear for a while.”

  “That’s a good idea,” Daegan said.

  “Stay put. You’re the only family I have, the only family Jon has.”

  “Not true,” Daegan asserted, his lips flattening over his teeth and his nostrils flaring, “but we can argue about this later. Right now we’re wasting time.”

  She couldn’t argue with his logic, and if the truth were known, she was grateful that he’d be with her when she faced Robert Sullivan. Not that she needed any kind of support or prodding; she’d fight the man tooth and nail all by herself, but it was still fortifying to know that he was there, whatever his motives.

  Laura fluttered her fingers nervously. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Stay here,” Kate said. “If Jon’s in Boston and he can get away from VanHorn or whoever it is who’s got him, then he might come here. He knows your address even if he’s never been to the city before.”

  “Okay, I can do that,” Laura said, nodding, her gaze straying to Daegan again before landing hard on Kate. “Will you be all right?”

  Kate understood her sister’s silent message and she waved off her fears. No matter what she thought of Daegan, she didn’t believe that he would hurt her or her son, at least not physically. Though he’d put them through emotional hell, he wouldn’t intentionally let any harm come to them. That much she still believed. Despite his faults, there was still some smidgen of honor in the man. There had to be. “I’ll be fine,” she said as she grabbed her coat and gloves.

  “We’ll be at Robert Sullivan’s house if the police or the FBI calls.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

  “Believe me, I’ve never been all that fond of the law, but in this case, it’s important that all the state, local, and national agencies are notified.” His lips twisted. “I spent the last day being grilled by the authorities, I think it’s someone else’s turn. What if VanHorn didn’t hightail it back here? What if he took Jon to Canada? Or has him holed up somewhere in the Black Hills? Or locked away on a boat in the Pacific Ocean? Unfortunately, we’re going to need all the help we can get. I’ve got my own private investigator on it, too. My friend Sandy Kavenaugh. He’s watching the Sullivans and has his ear to the ground for VanHorn.”

  Kate shivered. “Do you really believe that he’s somewhere else?”

  “No,” he said as they waited for the elevator in the hallway outside Laura’s apartment. “My gut feeling is that VanHorn brought him here for Robert and that dear old Uncle Bob has been working at trumping up charges against me and finding flaws in the paperwork surrounding Jon’s adoption. According to Bibi, Robert’s become obsessed with his grandson.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

  “But she isn’t?” Kate asked, wanting to hate the woman who gave Jon up when deep inside she was thankful for the chance to become his mother.

  “Bibi still thinks he’s better off with you or me or anyone but her.”

  “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, dying a little inside. The adoption hadn’t been legal. She’d known it for years but assumed that the legality of all the documents would never be questioned. Outside the ground was covered in snow, but paths had been cleared on the sidewalks and streets. The noise of the city hit her full force as Daegan hailed a taxi.

  He spouted off an address and the cab took off, blending into the uneven flow of traffic. Kate leaned her head against the cool glass of a back window and silently prayed that her son was all right. Christmas lights blazed on buildings, and wreaths with huge bows hung on doors. Pedestrians in wool scarves and hats ducked their heads against the wind and snow while cars, trucks, and buses vied for space on the busy, narrow streets.

  She slid a glance in Daegan’s direction, noting the stubborn set of his jaw, the determination glinting in his eyes, the tough, obstinate seam of his lips. Silently he seethed and she felt that same bone-chilling aura of danger that she’d sensed when she first met him. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles bleached white, fingers clenched in a death grip.

  The cab slid to a stop at an address on Louisburg Square. Daegan paid the driver, then helped Kate out of the car. “Let me handle this,” he said.

  “No way. He’s my son.”

  “And mine. We’ve been over this before. Just let me have a first crack at Robert, then you’re on.” She wanted to argue but the fire in his eyes convinced her to agree. For now.

  “I can’t promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

  “You might not have to.” Together they walked up a brick path that had been shoveled clear of snow. The red brick town house rose four stories to a gabled roof. Black shutters guarded tall windows and lamplight fell through the paned glass. A garland of cedar boughs was woven with thick red ribbon and tiny lights, then draped around the door frame. Everywhere there was the spirit of Christmas. Except in Kate’s heart.

  “I wish this were over,” she whispered.

  “I wish things were different.” His voice was so quiet, she barely heard it.

  Daegan lifted the knocker three times. Kate’s stomach plummeted to the frozen ground as a butler, tall and thin and pale, opened the door.

  “We’re here to see Robert.”

  “May I ask who’s cal—”

  “Just tell him Daegan wants to see him and won’t take no for an answer,” Daegan said and shoved his foot across the threshold to prevent the door from being slammed shut. Robert wasn’t going to weasel out of this.

  With a disgruntled frown, the man let them into the tiled foyer, and it was all Daegan could do to stay calm. His hands were fisted in his pockets, his muscles tight and rigid from restraint. He heard the butler’s clipped steps as he retreated, noted the gilded mirrors and elaborate chandelier with hundreds of lights sparkling over his head. In the center of the room stood a table with a cut-crystal bowl full of floating jasmine, and poinsettias spread their red and white splendor up a sweeping staircase.

  The butler, his face expressionless, returned. “This way,” he said. “Mr. Sullivan will see you now.”

  “No shit,” Daegan muttered.

  Taking Kate’s hand in his, Daegan followed the stiff-spined employee through wide double doors and into Robert’s den. To Daegan’s way of thinking, he was striding through the gates of hell.

  Although Neils kept telling himself the woman was poison, that he ought to take his money and run far away from her, every time he saw her, he weakened. He tossed back his scotch and let his eyes run down her body, trying to soak up her slick beauty. Composed and sophisticated in her own bitter way, she definitely possessed the talons to scratch his itch.

  “So the boy is here?” she asked, tapping a manicured nail on the bare table top of the quiet little bar where they’d agreed to meet. She wore shaded glasses and a scarf to protect herself from being recognized, creating an air of mystery that he found sexy as hell.

  “Got him here in Boston,” he replied. “I’m just weighing in on final offers.” Twin lines of frustration appeared above the bridge of her nose. How he’d love to rip those sunglasses off—along with her cashmere coat and everything underneath. “Your offer tops Robert’s,” he said. “Both in money and other areas.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  He watched as she crossed her legs, letting one high heel suspend from her toes, showing off the arch of a delicate foot. Neils’s manhood sprang to attention.

  “So what’s the holdup?” she asked.

  “I like your offe
r,” he admitted, shifting against the pistol between his legs, “but I’m not cool with what you want me to do with him. Let’s just say it’s beyond the range of my specialty.”

  “Too bad.” She lifted a shoulder and her smile turned pouty and damned seductive. “But I still want the bastard. I’ll just have to switch to plan B. Which means I’ll accept delivery as soon as you can arrange it, out at my family’s place on the lake.”

  He nodded, images of the two of them cozying up by a warm fire at the Sullivans’ lake house. “And my money?” he asked, finishing his scotch and signaling for another round. Her glass of wine remained untouched.

  “Half on delivery, half a month later, when the dust settles.”

  Neils ran his tongue around his teeth, thinking of the many things they could do in a month’s time. Normally he demanded his money on a more timely basis, but he would enjoy stretching things out with Alicia. And it would be a huge relief to dump the boy off with her, get that bit of walking, talking trouble out of his hands. The kid worried him, with his weird visions. Not to mention the fact that Jon had almost run off yesterday, which would have left Neils royally screwed. All that work and he would end up with jackshit. Which was why he’d left the boy with his wrists and ankles cuffed this time. That would hold him.

  He picked up his refreshed drink and, feeling rather suave, toasted her. “I think we have ourselves a deal.”

  Daegan didn’t believe in pussyfooting around and so he confronted Robert head-on. “You can’t have Jon,” he said, striding into the room and watching the smaller, older man try to get his bearings. Robert’s mouth worked and he glanced several times at Kate as he tried to push himself out of a tufted leather chair. A cigar burned in an ashtray at his side. A snifter of brandy had been placed on the folded pages of the Wall Street Journal. A fire played in the hearth and cast cheery golden shadows around this ancient, paneled room.

  “Who are you to say who will have custody of—”

  “He’s my son, damn it! Mine.” Daegan hooked a possessive thumb at his chest. “You’re not getting him! Not now. Not ever!”

  “You think the courts would give you custody after you nearly shot Frank and beat Stuart to death?” Robert demanded, his white face contorting in a fuming, silent rage as he settled back into his chair. Behind rimless reading glasses his eyes narrowed in anger.

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “Still unable to face the truth.”

  “The truth, Robert, is that you’re going to give up any custody fight for Jon, and if you don’t, I’ll personally see that the old Sullivan scandals along with the new ones come scampering out of their little locked closets to parade before all the newspapers in town. Your clients, Frank’s business associates, Collin’s friends, Bibi’s fiancé, everyone will know. If that isn’t enough, I’ll call the police and demand my own investigations and I’ll see to it that you’ll never raise your head socially again. All this blue-blooded sophisticated act will be over. It’s all bullshit anyway.”

  He leaned over Robert’s chair, his face menacing, his voice the barest of whispers. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. Where’s Jon?”

  Robert’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. “I don’t know.”

  “Bull!”

  “I don’t!”

  “We know VanHorn has him. The police have been informed, so things will be better if you tell us the truth.”

  “I don’t know,” he repeated and Kate almost felt sorry for him. So old and ill. And yet so conniving.

  “I want my boy, Mr. Sullivan,” she said with a quiet calm that she didn’t feel. Her muscles ached from tension, her hands were curled into hard fists.

  “He’s not yours. He never was, Ms. Summers,” Robert said, his watery eyes fixed on Kate. “The adoption was not a legal proceeding, as I’m sure you know. So in fact, it is I who should be demanding the boy back from you.”

  “When hell freezes over.” Daegan crossed the room, snagged the receiver from the phone, and began punching in numbers.

  “Now wait a minute,” Robert groused. “You can’t just barge in here and start bullying me and using my things and—”

  “Like you did to me?” Kate demanded. “For God’s sake, you had your own grandson kidnapped!”

  “Correction: Jon was not kidnapped. He’s simply being returned to his family.”

  “No,” Kate said, her voice deadly. “You will never be his family. Not really.”

  “You’re deluded,” Robert said.

  “I took your grandson when no one else would have him,” Kate said, over thickness in her throat. “When you wanted to be rid of him without a trace. I followed Tyrell’s orders, took him far away from here, and raised Jon as my own son. He is my son. I love him, and no court of law can change that.”

  “We’re at Robert’s house,” Daegan said into the mouthpiece. “I’m here with Jon’s mother, and you better get over here. It’s time we all had a family meeting.”

  “What?” Robert cried. “Who are you calling? Put down that phone or I’ll have you arrested.”

  “Go on and try.” Daegan slammed the receiver back into the cradle. “The police are probably already in the area, the FBI, too. Keeping an eye on you. They’re concerned about Jon, and you should be, too.”

  Raising a shaking finger to his upper lip, Robert scowled down his patrician nose. He wasn’t accustomed to losing, and his thin lips pursed in frustration.

  “Is VanHorn coming here?” Daegan asked.

  “No,” Robert answered, staring down at the Persian rug. “He most certainly is not.”

  “Where is Jon?” Kate asked, sure she would go mad with worry.

  “I don’t know.” Robert leaned back in the oversized leather chair. “VanHorn was giving me information about the boy. However, he hasn’t phoned in a few days and has not had the decency to return my calls. At first I thought he was holding out for more money, but now I can only deduce that the scoundrel is double-crossing me. I suspect he’s going to sell Jon to a higher bidder.”

  “Who would that be?” Kate asked.

  Groaning, Daegan pressed his face to one palm. “It could be any thieving cutthroat in this dysfunctional family.” His head snapped up, his gaze burning at Robert. “Who is it? My father? Collin?”

  Robert didn’t move, but Kate noticed a vein pulsing in his forehead as the phone rang.

  With a soft knock on the door, the butler entered.

  “What is it, Royce?” Robert barked.

  “The telephone, sir,” Royce intoned with great pomposity, “is for Mr. O’Rourke.”

  At last, VanHorn had slipped.

  He’d acted so cocky and clever when he’d bought a second pair of handcuffs to secure Jon’s legs to the bedpost. “This outta keep you from running,” VanHorn had mumbled as he’d closed the links around Jon’s ankles, looping the chain around the bedpost.

  The cuffs were secure, all right. But VanHorn had forgotten to pocket the keys.

  Even before the man left for his “engagement,” Jon had eyed the set of shiny keys sitting on the nightstand. Locked to the bed, he wasn’t able to grab them with his hands. But as soon as VanHorn’s footsteps had faded outside, Jon had gotten to work hauling the bed closer to the night table, stretching his face toward the shiny silver keys.

  It wasn’t easy. It must have taken a full half hour to close the distance, a quarter of an inch at a time.

  But now, at last, he was near enough to press his face close to the tabletop and close his lips over the keys.

  Got ’em!

  Working quickly but carefully, so as not to drop the keys, Jon worked the shiny silver tab into the hole and sprang the handcuffs open. Gently, he rubbed his tender wrists for a second before bending down to unlock the cuffs at his ankles and free his legs.

  Jon faced the door tentatively. This time, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. If VanHorn returned, he didn’t want to meet him in the motel hallway.

  He’d go ou
t the window. Quickly, he crossed the room and unlocked the old rusted paned window, cracked in one corner. It had been painted shut, but he banged on the sash and finally wedged it open.

  Just as footsteps shuffled in the hallway.

  There was no time to escape now. He’d have to pretend to be locked up, then spring out when VanHorn least expected it. He pulled the window down, leaving it open just an inch, then dove toward the bed.

  As VanHorn’s key rattled in the lock, Jon sat down on the bed and placed the cuffs loosely around his wrists and ankles, pocketing the key in case they somehow got tightened.

  The door burst open and in staggered VanHorn, reeking of stale whiskey and smoke. “Looks like we have a winner,” he announced as he toppled onto the bed. Without a glance at Jon, he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “Christ, I’m tired.”

  “A winner?” Jon said.

  “Yep. Your mother’s cousin Alicia is willing to pay top dollar for you. I’m to deliver you to the Sullivans’ lake house tomorrow night, and from what I hear, it’s pretty swell digs. Moving up in the world, Jonny boy.”

  But she’s the one who wants me dead, Jon thought. She’s the real killer. And you’re going to hand me over like a head of cattle, like a horse sold at auction.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” VanHorn said, though his face was still buried in his hands. “I’m a businessman. This is business, kid.”

  “She’ll kill me,” Jon said evenly.

  “What the hell would I know about that,” VanHorn said, nudging off one scuffed loafer with the toe of his other shoe.

  “You know what she’s planning, and you’ll be tried as an accomplice.”

  “Nah.” VanHorn kicked off his other shoe. “Only if she gets caught, and that won’t happen. She’s smart, real smart. A classy lady.”