Playing to Win

by Shelley Munro

  “I flick through them,” he said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Eva. Be good.” He walked off to the sound of her laughter.

  If only Eva knew how often he wished for anonymity. There were times when Lane hated the publicity. He envied his brothers—their families and the partnerships they had with their wives. A home.

  That was what he wanted.

  His thoughts turned to Kate Alexander and Jamie. Kate. A woman he admired, a woman he found himself attracted to on many levels. It was more than mere lust. It was something else…something indefinable. His fame didn’t throw her, in fact his public façade worked against him. She relished her independence and had almost spit in his eye when he dared suggest her motives were mercenary. He grinned, acknowledging he baited her to experience the flash of passion in her eyes. It was so damned sexy.

  That brought him to Jamie.

  His grin faded. Caryn hated the publicity hence the reason for this morning’s meeting. She’d told him to sort out his life because the gossip would hurt his sponsorship deal and negotiations for advertising campaigns with some of the local companies.

  “I’ll know in a week,” he had told her. If he survived the stress.

  Lane climbed into his Falcon. After a brief glimpse of the glowing digital clock, he decided he had time to visit Kate before training at the gym. He slowed when he neared the street outside her house. Cars lined the road. A number of them he recognized as belonging to reporters. Damn. Too late now. They’d seen him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled in behind the police car parked in Kate’s driveway.

  “Lane!” a reporter cried, waving his arms wildly.

  He ignored the reporter shouting his name.

  “What’s the latest on your son?”

  “No comment.” Lane strode to the front door. The reporters were tenacious, he’d give them that, but he’d have thought they’d squeezed all the worth out of Jamie’s existence by now. Must be a slow news week. He knocked, ignoring the reporters and photographers clamoring for an interview.

  The door flew open, but to his surprise, a burly policeman stood before him, not Kate.

  “Mr. Gerrard. I’m Constable Allen,” the police officer said. “Come in. You’re a difficult man to locate. I’ve just spoken to your agent Ms. Lucas.”

  A deep foreboding settled in the pit of Lane’s stomach as he followed the policeman through Kate’s house. One look at Kate’s pale, distraught face and he knew something was very wrong. The presence of a second police officer, a woman, backed up the supposition.

  He took two steps forward, his attention centered on Kate. “Kate? What’s going on?”

  “Mr. Gerrard. Sit down,” the russet-haired Constable Allen said.

  It sounded more like an order. Lane bit back a terse retort and sat. He scanned the circle of faces. Everyone was there except Jamie. Alarm quickened. “What is it?”

  “Jamie’s missing,” Kate said hoarsely.

  Lane’s attention snapped from face to face. “Missing? Since when? Why didn’t you ring me?”

  “I tried,” she said without a shred of nuance.

  His gaze halted on Kate’s distressed features. His eyes narrowed. The faint shreds of worry he’d experienced on seeing Kate crystallized into a deep-seated fear.

  Their expressions said it all.

  They suspected him.

  The policewoman introduced herself as Detective Harwood, the officer in charge of the investigation. She flashed ID at him. “Miss Alexander reported her son missing last night around six p.m. Can you account for your time since four yesterday afternoon?”

  The implication pissed him off. Releasing a breath, he turned to Kate, counseling himself not to lash out. Although he resented the hell out of the inference, he needed to keep calm. “You don’t think I had anything to do with Jamie’s disappearance? I spent the afternoon with you.”

  Kate met his gaze briefly. The flicker of indecision, the sign of doubt cut deeply.

  Detective Harwood pursed her lips and fired question after question.

  “Where did you go after you left here?”

  Lane shrugged, beginning to develop a serious dislike for the detective. Mentally, he groped to deal with the charges leveled at him. Hell, Kate had to know he would never hurt Jamie. He might not have known them long, but he respected Kate for the way she’d carved out a successful niche for herself and Jamie. He liked the caring attitude she showed with her son. His son.

  “Mr. Gerrard?”

  “I left here around five.” He waited for Kate’s confirmation. She inclined her head. “I stopped at the gym, the Clive Green gym in Newmarket,” he added. “I stayed there for about an hour and a half before heading home. I watched television and had an early night. This morning I had a meeting with my agent Caryn Lucas. After the meeting I came straight here.”

  “Can anyone vouch for you? For the time you say you were at home?”

  “No. I… Wait, my mother called, about eight last night.” Lane frowned at Detective Harwood. The woman’s face bore a hard, determined expression that pulled the plug on his temper. “I don’t suppose mothers are acceptable alibis?” He definitely didn’t want his mother questioned. Thank goodness his mother had received clearance from her doctor to fly out to his house in the Gold Coast in Australia. His parents should have arrived by now.

  The detective ignored his sarcasm, forging ahead with yet more questions. “Where do you live, Mr. Gerrard?”

  “The Pines. Owens Road, Epsom.” All of this was taking time. Wasting time. Meanwhile, the real culprit had Jamie.

  “Those are apartments, aren’t they?” Detective Harwood asked.

  “Yes. I live in 9A.” Impatience simmered in both his voice and his stance. Why didn’t they believe him?

  “Did you see any of the other tenants when you arrived home last night?”

  Lane scowled. “Not that I remember. I wasn’t paying attention. I had other things on my mind.”

  One delicate blonde brow rose. “Such as?”

  “Jamie. The publicity. Why don’t you check with the reporters outside? Maybe they took Jamie,” Lane snapped.

  “There’s no need for sarcasm, Mr. Gerrard.”

  Lane leapt to his feet. “You’re not the one being interrogated about a kidnapping.”

  “I never said kidnappers have Jamie, merely that he is missing. Sit down, Mr. Gerrard.”

  For one brief moment, Lane considered refusing, but a glimpse of Kate’s distraught face quashed his irritation. What he felt was nothing compared to the nightmare she lived. He vowed not to make it any harder for her. The police were only asking the same questions he would ask in their situation. They were doing their job. He sat but took his time.

  Detective Harwood’s smile seemed cool. “We have questioned other people as well, Mr. Gerrard. Neighbors. Friends.”

  “I don’t think Lane has anything to do with Jamie’s disappearance,” Kate said.

  They all turned to stare at her. Lane was relieved to see a little of her color had returned. Her unnatural quietness had shocked him. This was more the feisty Kate he had come to know over the last couple of days.

  Kate swallowed audibly. “We don’t know for sure if Jamie is Lane’s son. What about the practical jokes? The phone call?”

  “I agree,” Detective Harwood said, “but we need to question everyone involved. Have you received more calls?”

  “Not yet,” Kate said grimly.

  Almost on cue, the strident rings of Kate’s phone sounded. Kate paled but rose to answer the summons.

  Detective Allen halted her with a hand on her arm. “No, let the answering machine pick up.”

  All four moved closer to the phone waiting for the caller to leave a message. Tense expectation permeated the room. Lane reached for Kate’s hand. It felt icy cold, her fear palpable. A living, breathing thing.

  Kate’s voice stated the caller should leave a message. Silence. Then a muffled voice echoed down the line. Panting sounded, loud and uneven. T
he line cleared. Lane frowned, concentrating on the caller’s words.

  “I have your son. I know you’re listening, Kate. Pick up.” The singsong voice sharpened. “Now! Or I’ll hang up.”

  Detective Harwood nodded at Kate. Lane tightened his grip on her left hand, silently expressing encouragement. Kate swallowed while Lane gulped to clear the knot constricting his own throat. Would this madman harm an innocent nine-year-old boy?

  “Kate.” The voice stretched her name out with mocking humor.

  Kate grabbed at the phone. “Where is my son?” she demanded.

  Fierce pride grew in Lane. Most people would fall apart in a situation like this. Not Kate. The way she gripped his hand told him of her fear, but that terror didn’t show in her voice.

  “He is safe. But he won’t stay that way unless you cooperate,” the voice taunted.

  “I want to speak to my son!” Kate persisted, her anguished gaze connecting with Lane’s.

  “I want one hundred thousand dollars for his safe return. Small, unmarked bills. If you want to see your son again, don’t contact the police.”

  Kate gasped. “One hundred thousand dollars! I don’t have that kind of money.”

  “Find it, if you want to see your son again. Alive.” The voice became brisk, almost matter-of-fact. “You have one day to collect the money. I’ll ring at midday tomorrow with details for drop-off point. Remember, no police or you won’t see your son alive.”

  “Wait! How do I know Jamie is safe? I want to speak to him.”

  “Tomorrow,” the voice said. A sharp click sounded, indicating the end of the call.

  “No, wait! I want to speak to Jamie. Jamie. Jamie, it’s Kate.”

  Lane gently removed the phone from her trembling hand. “It’s too late, Kate. They’ve hung up.”

  Chapter Six

  Tears of tormented frustration filled her eyes as Kate stared at the police officers. “The kidnapper must know I don’t have access to that sort of money. How do they expect me to raise one hundred thousand dollars?” The nausea that had crawled through her belly ever since Jamie’s disappearance darted into prominence. She gulped, her right hand darting up to rub her uneasy stomach. Unable to bear the sympathy in Detective Harwood’s eyes, she jerked her gaze away. “They might as well ask for a million.”

  Lane slipped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. With a strangled sob, Kate sagged against his chest, drawing reassurance from his solid warmth, needing the scrap of human comfort in the way a drug addict requires his next fix. Jamie was all the family she had left. Her mind raced, searching for a way to secure the ransom money. She’d do it—somehow—even if she had to re-mortgage the house.

  “I have the money, Kate. You’re welcome to it.”

  Kate’s head jerked up and she whirled from Lane’s grasp to quell him with a glare.

  “No strings.”

  “I’m not taking money from you.” Kate’s voice sliced through the air like machine-gun fire. Since his crack about her house requiring repairs, he was the last man she’d accept money from to pay the ransom. The money would have to come from a second mortgage, if the bank would take the risk.

  “I find the circumstances of your son’s disappearance odd.” A wrinkle of deep thought marred Detective Harwood’s smooth brow. “The kidnapper must be aware Miss Alexander has little hope of raising the money in less than a day. Why haven’t they targeted a family with more obvious wealth?”

  Lane stalked the perimeter of the kitchen, coming to a stop by the phone. “The stories in the tabloids have made no secret of my connection.”

  “The press was issued details of Jamie’s disappearance this morning, so the kidnapper must know of our involvement. What kidnapper wouldn’t listen to the news?” Constable Allen asked. “That’s strange too.”

  Kate lightly massaged her stomach as she thought of Jamie. Please let the kidnapper take care of him, she prayed. A fat tear escaped and ran down her cheek. She swiped at it with a tissue. “I’m positive Jamie was snatched because of the publicity. The kidnapper obviously thinks there’s substance to the stories.”

  “What do we do now?” Lane asked. “I thought the police department didn’t encourage the payment of a ransom.”

  “We don’t, not under normal circumstances. But it’s an option. I’ll discuss the matter with my boss. Meanwhile, we’ll set up a tap on your phone and continue speaking to neighbors. It’s a waiting game now, Miss Alexander.”

  Concentrating on the nuances in the detective’s voice made both Kate’s head and heart ache. The woman was trying to remain upbeat, but she couldn’t hide her obvious concern.

  Kate trudged down the hall toward the kitchen after showing the police officers out. The house was so quiet, so tidy. What she wouldn’t give to see Jamie’s books and clothes littering the floor. And right now, the sound of his thumps and hollers would soothe like the strains of a Strauss waltz. Instead, a bone-deep fear threatened to strangle her mind. Scared and vulnerable didn’t begin to describe her mental state. All this waiting chipped away at Kate’s fragile grip on her emotions, letting terror gallop on full rein.

  The splatter of water at the far end of the kitchen made her head jerk upward. Alarm jolted her heart. Lane. It was Lane filling the kettle. A deep breath slowed her pulse, but his silent regard brought the desire to cry again.

  “I feel so helpless,” she muttered in an unsteady voice.

  He set the kettle down and stepped closer. “The police will find Jamie. Someone, somewhere will have seen him. Let me hold you, Kate.”

  She knew he intended comfort, but every time his eyes met hers, her heart somersaulted in response. The physical reaction brought forth stinging guilt. Jamie remained the important one here. Concentrate on finding him. Try his friends again. Anything. Lane held her gaze with silent expectation, and she was powerless to resist the siren call of comfort. Just for a brief moment she wanted to share the heavy burden of being a parent. Wordlessly, she closed her eyes and stepped into his arms.

  “Why didn’t you ring me?”

  Kate raised her head. “I rang your agent. They wouldn’t give me your number so I left a message. The police said they would contact you but Detective Harwood said they had problems too.”

  His sigh held regret. “I’m sorry, Kate. I meant to leave my number before I left yesterday.” He pulled away to rummage in his jacket pocket. Almost immediately, she missed his touch, and it irritated Kate that her hard-fought-for independence had fizzled away into need so quickly. Hadn’t Steve taught her the only person she could count on was herself?

  After appropriating a pen from the kitchen counter, he scrawled a number on the back of a card and handed it to her. “That’s the number for my apartment. My cell phone number is on the front. Ring any time you need me. If I’m not there, leave a message on voice mail. I’ll contact you as soon as I can.”

  Kate accepted the card and placed it under a bird magnet attached to her fridge. Her shoulders straightened even though confusion and terror warred within. Business. Now. “I have two appointments this afternoon—”

  “You’re going to work?”

  Kate’s chin jerked up. Color surged into her cheeks at his incredulous tone. “I have to do something to keep busy,” she snapped. “Otherwise, this waiting will send me crazy.” And between appointments she’d start work on raising the ransom money.

  Lane relaxed against the counter. “Sorry. You’re not the only one who needs to keep busy. At least I have training.”

  “What I was going to say was that I’ve started a list of Nicole’s friends. I wondered if you’d like to go through it now.”

  “No, not now. Training starts in half an hour. Would it be all right for me to come back here after training? We could work out a strategy while you’re between customers. Perhaps I could start ringing the people on your list.”

  Kate nodded, not wanting a further discussion about money with Lane. “Can you answer the phone while I’m with c
lients?”

  “Sure.” He paused beside her to give her a quick hug and drop a light kiss on her cheek. “Jamie will be all right. I know it.”

  Kate froze, feeling the soft peck right to the tips of her toes. Her heart stuttered before resuming a speedy beat that made her blood race through her veins. “Bye,” she whispered, but the click of the front door told her he’d gone, leaving her once again in a silent house.

  She went through the motions of preparing her inner sanctum and halfway through mixing a blend of oils came to an appalled halt. Kate consulted the client’s file card. This was the wrong selection of oils. The client suffered from stress. She needed relaxation. This uplifting blend would send the poor woman into hyper-drive. After restarting the recipe, Kate’s mind wandered right back to Jamie. He’d be frightened and wouldn’t understand why someone would hold him against his will. A tear scampered down her cheek and plopped into the relaxation blend of oils. Her head turned to stare at the telephone sitting on her small wooden desk, willing it to ring. It remained stubbornly silent. Another tear followed the track down her cheek. If only the kidnapper would call back and let her talk to Jamie.

  * * * * *

  Lane parked his car behind Kate’s house not long after one. She answered the door at his first knock. The surge of hope in her expression crumpled when she realized it wasn’t the police with information about Jamie.

  “Any news?” Tension made his voice sharp.

  “No. I know news will probably come via the phone but every time someone knocks on the door my hopes soar.”

  And plummet again, he thought. She looked dreadful. Lane ached to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would turn out all right. The need to ease the worry from her distinctly gray face and smooth away the dark smudges from lack of sleep simmered inside him, but her tense body held him at bay. She appeared so fragile, almost shattered.

  “Should you be working?” Unable to resist the urge to comfort, even in a small way, he trailed his knuckles across one pale cheek. She trembled under his touch but didn’t move away.

  “All compliments today, Mr. Gerrard.” Her attempt at a joking tone fell flat.