by Mallory Kane
Travis spooned sugar into the caramel-colored drink, stirred it vigorously, then took a long swig. “Mmm. There’s nothing like real Louisiana chicory coffee.”
Dawson took the other cup and sipped it. He didn’t say anything else, just waited.
“What do y’all use this place for?” he asked.
Dawson shrugged. “A hideaway if we need to protect someone. We stay here if we have to be in New Orleans overnight. It’s handy for lots of things. Jules wants to fix it up.” Dawson shrugged and smiled.
Travis sent him an assessing look. Dawson married was a concept that was going to take some getting used to. Dawson drank his coffee in silence.
Finally, Travis took a deep breath. “I left Walter Reed AMA,” he said.
Dawson nodded. “Against medical advice,” he muttered.
“Yeah. I’d been on a mission—a long one.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to get into all that right now. Suffice it to say, I walked out, bought a car and drove down here.”
“When was that?” Dawson asked, studying the plastic lid of his cup.
“I got here last night. Went to Kate’s. Kate Chalmet is a psychiatrist. She—”
“I know her,” Dawson said.
“You do?” Travis was a little surprised. Although he shouldn’t have been, he supposed. Dawson worked as an independent investigator, but it made sense that he came into contact with the D.A.’s office and the people who worked there. Kate had already told him she had had dealings with his baby brother Harte, who was a prosecutor.
“Sure. She works for the D.A.’s office. Right now she’s supposed to be making an assessment about whether Myron Stamps was insane when he shot Paul. Did you know he shot Paul Guillame?”
“Yeah, I heard,” Travis said.
“So I’m guessing you weren’t seeing Dr. Chalmet professionally?” Dawson looked up with a twinkle in his eye.
“Nope,” Travis said. “She and I lived together for a long time while we were in college. It ended badly.” He took a deep breath. “Look. I’ll cut to the chase. Kate has a son—Max. He’s four years old and he’s—” To his dismay, Travis felt his voice catch. “He’s mine,” he said thickly, then swallowed hard.
Dawson’s gaze went sharp. “Four years old?”
Travis nodded. “I came home on furlough five years ago and we—hooked up,” he finished harshly. “I didn’t know until this morning that Max is my son.” He waved a hand. “So anyway, you know Kate is evaluating Stamps. I don’t know the whole story but apparently it’s in Stamps’s best interest, or someone’s, anyway, to be acquitted on grounds that he was temporarily insane when he pulled the trigger.”
Dawson stayed quiet.
“Well, yesterday afternoon, somebody abducted Max.”
Travis was surprised again when Dawson didn’t react. But he supposed Dawson had heard it all.
“He disappeared from child care,” he continued. “The child-care personnel were frantic, so they called Kate. She had just hung up from talking with the abductor. He had warned her that if she said anything to anybody, they’d kill her son—they’d kill Max.” Travis cleared his throat. “She told them that she’d popped in and picked up Max without telling anybody. She said the girl who had called was so desperate to believe that Max was with his mom and okay that she had accepted Kate’s explanation without question.”
“When was that?”
“Around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t heard anything since.”
Dawson finished his coffee, then looked at Travis. “Did you tell anybody you were coming here?”
“What? Here?”
“New Orleans.”
“No, I didn’t. You think— No. Not a soul. Not even the used-car dealer.”
“Okay, so the kidnapping is not about Delanceys. That’s good. What can I do?”
Travis laid Kate’s phone on the table. “This is Kate’s phone. The phone the kidnapper called her on. I’m hoping you can trace where his call originated, or figure out where he bought the phone or something.”
“Sure.” Dawson reached for the phone.
“But first,” Travis said. “There was a car outside Kate’s house this morning. I can’t say how long he’d been there. But he was there when she left for work, and he was still there, taking pictures with his phone, as I was getting into my car. He had a magnetic sign on the side of his car, advertising a real estate agency.”
“Can you describe the car or the man?”
“I was trying to play it casual, so I couldn’t get a good look at the man, and the license plate was obscured by mud. But I got the first two numbers and the last. Also, the sticker on the windshield was pretty distinctive. It had three stacked emblems on the left half, with two light blue stripes down either side.”
“Good eyes,” Dawson said.
“I was trained to notice everything and remember it.”
Dawson nodded as Travis handed him a piece of paper where he’d written the car’s make, model and what he’d seen of the license plate number. He’d sketched his description of the left half of the sticker.
“So he’s from out of town. He’s a pro.”
“A pro?”
Dawson nodded as he tucked the note into his pocket. “A professional. They imported him. He must be awfully good at what he does. What did he do when you drove away?”
“He pulled out behind me, but he made a left when I turned right. Left is the way Kate goes to her office. I’m guessing that his instructions are to watch Kate. But he wanted to see who owned the Maryland car. Once he got a good look at me and took some pictures with his phone, I’m guessing he headed for Kate’s office to keep watch on her.”
“I’ve got a computer whiz who can do anything. I’ll get Dusty on this as soon as I get back to the office. Now let’s look at Kate’s phone.” Dawson picked up the phone and pressed a couple buttons, studying the display. He pressed another one, then another. Then he nodded and pocketed the phone. “I’ll get Dusty started on this, too. We’ll have some information soon. I don’t know how much. What else?”
“How can I find Stamps? Do you know?”
“I know where his office is and Juliana can get his home address for you. Why?”
“I have to confront him and find out who took my son!”
“Hang on, Travis. It won’t do you any good to go throwing your weight around. I’d hate for Stamps to hang a harassment charge—or worse—on you. Why don’t I take care of it? I can send someone to watch his office and home, to see who comes and goes. Right now he’s taking time off from his legislative duties, from what I understand, and is working with his attorney to prepare his defense in his upcoming trial.”
Travis rubbed his face. “You can put somebody on him if you want to, but I’m still going to talk to him.”
“I thought you didn’t want anybody to know you’re here. If you piss off Stamps, it’s going to get around.”
“It’ll probably get around anyhow, since the Chicago guy took my picture, and it’s a cinch he’s reporting to someone Stamps knows if not to Stamps himself.”
“What’s the deal with hiding out from everybody? You haven’t even talked to your mom?”
“No, and I’m not going to until I get all this sorted out.” Travis heard his voice. He sounded stubborn, almost petulant.
Dawson assessed him for a moment. “So the only reason you checked yourself out of Walter Reed and drove all the way down here was to see Kate Chalmet? Did you want her to help you find a therapist here in town?”
“A therapist? What are you talking about?” Travis asked defensively.
Dawson shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious, kid. You’re suffering from PTSD.”
Travis laughed, but not with amusement. “No, I’m not,” he snapped, glaring at Dawson. “You think I need a shrink? I can assure you I don’t.”
“Hey.” Dawson held his hands up. “I wasn’t making a judgment. Just asking. So why’d you go to see her? You said you didn’t know about th
e boy.”
“That’s right,” Travis retorted. He grimaced, then unclenched his jaw. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little on edge right now.” He sighed. “I went to see her because—” He stopped. He didn’t speak for several moments. To his relief, Dawson sat quietly.
Finally Travis took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk about himself, but he figured if Dawson was going to help him, he needed to know everything.
“I wasn’t just on a long mission. I was captured,” he said finally. “It’s not important, got nothing to do with Kate and my—our—son. But the reason I drove straight to her house—” He stopped again.
Dawson picked up the tiny plastic triangle that he’d twisted off his coffee lid. He twirled it in his fingers, watching it.
“I was held captive for five months. It was beyond hell, and the only thing that kept me alive was thinking about the people I loved. My family—and Kate. Hell, Dawson. I don’t want to talk about all that. I’ll deal with it later. Now my priority is finding Max.”
Dawson nodded and smiled. “Not a problem, Trav. I’ll get right on it. Is that everything?” he asked.
“If you think it might help to tail Stamps, I’d like to know who all he sees and talks to.”
“I’ll put somebody on it.”
“Just bill me,” Travis said, and pushed back from the table.
“Hang on a minute. What do you know about Myron Stamps?”
“Me? Not a thing. Why?”
Dawson shook his head. “I’ll fill you in so you’ll know what you’re dealing with. Myron Stamps is a long-time state senator. He’s probably only ten years younger than our granddad. You probably never heard him talk about the Good Ole Boys, did you?”
Travis shook his head. “Good old boys as in racist and bigoted with a pre–Civil War mentality?”
“Yeah, in general,” Dawson acceded, smiling. “But specifically, the Good Ole Boys are a group of elder senators and congressmen who are following in the footsteps of Con Delancey. And Con, of course, patterned his entire political career after Huey Long. In their heyday, Long in the 1930s and Con in the sixties and seventies, they each courted the rural folks by such programs as Long’s Share the Wealth and Con’s Work and Receive initiative while pushing more and more power into the governor’s hands and out of the legislature. Did you know Con ran for governor three times and lost? Grandmother was sure that he’d have been elected in 1990 if he hadn’t been killed.”
“I’ve heard some of those stories about Granddad. Not about him running for governor, though. What’s all this got to do with Stamps?” Travis asked.
“Myron Stamps followed right along in Con’s footsteps, only he and several other legislators who have been around for a long time called themselves the Good Ole Boys. These days there are only three left—Stamps, Darby Sills and Gavin Whitley. There have been rumors for years that they’ve taken bribes and kickbacks from businessmen in the import business to keep import taxes low and look the other way when certain illegal substances are brought in through the Port of New Orleans.” Dawson took a drink of his coffee, then continued. “Danielle Canto overheard the men who had killed her grandfather yelling out Stamps’s and Paul’s names. The importer, Ernest Yeoman, was convicted of conspiracy to kill Freeman Canto. Your baby brother Harte was involved in the case.”
Travis nodded. “Kate told me he was shot, but he’s doing okay.”
“Right,” Dawson said. “So, like I said, Yeoman was found guilty of conspiracy, but Danielle Canto’s testimony was the only evidence against Stamps or Paul, so they walked away. Stamps is on leave from the senate now, stating he’s working with his attorney to prepare that temporary-insanity defense that the D.A. is bringing against him for shooting Paul.”
“What’s all this got to do with anything?”
“The other two Good Ole Boys? Sills and Whitley? They’re still going strong. Still in office. Still advocating low tariffs. And they owe their careers to Stamps.”
“Sills and Whitley.” Travis frowned. “Are you saying they’re somehow mixed up in all this?”
“Word is they’d do anything for Myron Stamps. So...” Dawson spread his hands, palms up.
Travis tried to wrap his brain around the concept that three state legislators would conspire to kidnap a child. “Kidnapping a child is a federal offense.”
Dawson nodded.
“Why risk it? Stamps could plead down to simple assault.”
“But that’s still a felony. He couldn’t hold public office.”
“You said he’s out of the senate?”
“Nope. Not out. Just taking a temporary leave of absence. If he manages to make this insanity plea stick, he could be back on the job within a year or two.”
“That makes no sense. He’s probably got the best attorney money can buy. From what Kate told me, Paul is not pressing charges. Why not plead innocent and claim it was an accident?”
Dawson shrugged. “I’m not saying it makes sense. I’m just trying to follow their logic—or illogic—tree. If he pleads not guilty and loses, he’s out of politics for good.”
Travis stood. “Okay,” he said. “If you could put a man on Stamps, I’d appreciate it. But I’m still thinking about having a talk with him.”
“He’ll make you as a Delancey.”
“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
“Let me know what happens.”
“I will,” Travis said. “Listen, Dawson. Don’t say anything to anybody about me being here.”
“I won’t, but I think you’re making a mistake.”
“I know. If it were me, I’d go to Lucas. But Kate believes the guy. He told her he’d kill Max if she told anybody. Any time I try to bring up going to one of my brothers or cousins who are on the job, she gets hysterical.”
Dawson reached for the doorknob. “She was okay with you talking to me?”
At that moment the phone started ringing.
“Don’t answer it,” Travis said. “It’s Kate. She knows I have her phone. She’s called once already.”
“This isn’t Kate,” Dawson said, holding up the phone so Travis could see the display. “It says Private Number.”
“That’s the kidnapper,” Travis said.
Chapter Five
“Should I answer it?” Travis asked.
Dawson shook his head, then held up a finger as he clicked the speaker button with his other. “Hello,” he said.
There was silence on the other end, then, “I told her what would happen if she told anybody.”
“Who are you?” Dawson asked.
The man cursed.
“Don’t hang up. I’ve got a deal for you.”
Travis stared at Dawson, who nodded reassuringly at him, still holding up his hand.
Travis felt helpless, listening to Dawson dealing with the kidnapper while he stood there, having no idea what to do or say—or even think.
“A deal?” The voice laughed harshly. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I’m the guy who can get you what you want,” Dawson said.
“I told Dr. Chalmet what I want.”
“Right,” Dawson drawled, cutting his eyes to Travis, who still wasn’t sure what was going on. He just hoped Dawson knew what he was doing. “You want Senator Stamps to be ruled temporarily insane so he can skip out on his assault charge. That’s what you want?”
“That’s right,” the voice said.
Travis realized that Dawson had taken control of the conversation. “No, it’s not. What you want is money. It’s the people who hired you that want Stamps off on an insanity plea.”
“Same difference,” the voice said petulantly. “What the hell is it to you? And hey. You still haven’t told me who the hell you are.”
“Nope. And I’m not going to. You don’t need to know who I am. All you need to know is I’ve got plenty of money and I’m willing to give it to you to return Dr. Chalmet’s son to her and walk away.”
“How�
��” the voice stopped, then spoke again. “I took a job and I intend to finish it. But say you want to buy some insurance, be sure the kid stays healthy, that’s fine with me. But I ain’t walking out on a job. I got a reputation.”
“Oh, you’ve got a reputation.” Dawson hit the mute button, then looked at Travis. “Like I said, he’s a pro.”
“Hell, yeah, a good one,” the man on the phone said. “Now you’d better let me speak to the doctor, now.”
“So he’s a pro—a professional kidnapper?” The idea that his son was being held by a man who kidnapped children for a living horrified Travis.
Dawson shrugged and pressed his lips together. “My guess is he does more than just kidnappings.”
Travis’s stomach felt as if it had hit the floor. “You think he’s a hit man,” he said.
“He’s not going to hurt the boy,” Dawson responded quickly. “He needs him.”
Although that was what Travis had told Kate to reassure her, Dawson’s words didn’t make him feel a whole lot better. He was becoming more and more worried about Max. Where was the man keeping him? Was he safe and warm? Was the man feeding him and giving him enough to drink?
Dawson held up his hand again and took the phone off Mute. “I’m representing Dr. Chalmet,” he said into the phone. “You can talk to me.”
“Oh, hell, no,” the man said. “I don’t talk to her right now, I’m hanging up and she can kiss her kid goodbye.”
“You’re not going to hurt the kid. He’s your ace in the hole.”
“Look, asshole. I heard the trial’s been moved up. If the doctor doesn’t know that already, you tell her,” the kidnapper went on. “And tell her this. She missed her chance to talk to her kid. Little sucker’s been whining so I thought maybe he’d like to hear his mama’s voice. But that ain’t happening now. I’ll call back one more time and when I do, she better be there to talk to me or I’ll hang up and hell will freeze over before she ever sees her kid again. You got that?”
Travis touched Dawson’s arm and pointed to himself. Dawson shook his head.
“I got it. Dr. Chalmet will be very sorry she missed your call, but she’s busy working on your demands. So there’s no reason to punish her or her child because she’s doing what you told her to. Why don’t you call back at seven o’clock this evening and—”