by Angi Morgan
“I could have your badge and lock you up for this.”
“Yeah, but you won’t. The publicity would endanger Thomas Brant.” He felt stronger. “And believe me, I’ll be a big pain in your media ass.”
McCaffrey inclined his head to George, giving permission to leave and get things set up. “I won’t forget this, Woods.”
“Neither will I.” He answered the special agent with just as much intimidation, but felt none of it. He was bluffing, but McCaffrey didn’t know him well enough. Steve wouldn’t endanger any child. He couldn’t.
His soon-to-be ex-partner tossed a key to Steve. He folded his fist around the warm metal. At least he’d have her out of the cuffs. “While you’re at it, McCaffrey, I’m off medical and back on the case. There’s a few things we’re going to have to do.”
“Don’t push it,” McCaffrey said.
“We’ll need to go through with the exchange in the morning.
If Jane is crazy…” Not in a million years. “We need to make her feel like we believe her story. Set up around the Alamo, track her and we’ll find the Brant boy.”
“It’s too risky.”
“It’s our only shot.” Steve stood his ground.
The answer to these strange events was there, buried just under the surface, waiting to be found. Because everything in him believed in Jane. Right or wrong, he’d made his decision. He would help her and find her son.
No matter what that meant.
JANE LOST TRACK OF THE number of hours she’d been sitting. Her legs cramped from the extra physical strain of the past two days. She longed to pace the worn tile. She’d never been arrested and didn’t want to ever experience any part of it again. But if it guaranteed Rory’s safety, she’d do anything.
Would the kidnappers deliver her son if she weren’t at the Alamo like they’d instructed? She had to convince the FBI to let her participate. But how?
Maybe she should reconsider obtaining a lawyer. She searched her memory for a law book. Surely she’d read one? But nothing she recalled referred to federal kidnapping charges.
Where are you, Steve? She didn’t want him to be her only hope, but it seemed that was the case.
Then she opened her eyes, and he stood in front of her. As if she’d conjured him from her fantasies, he bent to one knee and unlocked the handcuff.
“I didn’t hear you come in.” What an unintelligent thing to say. But her mind wouldn’t work when his cool fingers gently rubbed her raw skin.
“You okay?”
Was that true concern in his voice? “Are you referring to how awful I must look, my wrist or the fact that Rory is still missing?”
“All of the above. Can we talk?”
Without waiting for an answer, he joined her at the table. The yellow notepad didn’t escape her notice. She yearned for him to push the paper aside and hold her instead. But he was here to question her. Not to give comfort. She stood and took a shaky step back, away from the table and Steve. “When is the FBI going to believe I was blackmailed into helping with the second kidnapping?”
“I’m here to help.”
“How? By asking me all the questions that I’ve already answered?” She rubbed her wrist and looked at Steve’s clean clothes. She still smelled like the animals from the van. “I can’t live with myself if anything happens to him. You’ve got to convince your team to let me meet the kidnappers in the morning and get him back.”
“That’s no longer a problem,” he said softly. He stood again and followed her across the room. His expression was a bland mask, but his body was taut and alert. “You don’t trust me?”
“Why should I?” She took another step away. Steve took another toward her, backing her into the corner. Just when her shoulders hit the wall and she couldn’t retreat any farther, he abruptly turned and walked to the opposite side of the room. He calmly ripped the wire from the back of the camera mounted there. Returning to her, he managed to get his body even closer.
“Maybe because I want to get Rory back as much as you do? Didn’t you find anything in here,” he whispered and touched her forehead, “to support my side of things?”
Afraid that the closeness of his body had impaired her speech, she could only shake her head.
“How about here?” He touched her breastbone, just above her heart.
It was an innocent enough connection, but he was so close and leaning closer that it set her thoughts off balance. His warm breath caressed her ear, sending a tremor through her senses.
“If you didn’t really trust me, why did you ask for my help, Janie?”
Janie. She’d always loved it when he called her that. She felt her knees weaken, then mentally shook herself to get her wits back. She tried to push him away, but his hands were firmly planted on either side, caging her in. His body didn’t budge, as if he’d been prepared for her pathetic attempt at freedom.
“I shouldn’t have asked, but I thought you would help find…” Dear Lord, she’d nearly said “your son.” Her deliberate acidic tone still didn’t get him to back up, although he momentarily averted his eyes.
His lips skimmed her neck, sending goose bumps over her flesh. She heard his deep breath and withstood the long, soft release across her sensitive skin. He smelled like soap. The direct opposite of the muddy picture she presented. His hair curled slightly above the collar of his T-shirt. The urge to hook her fingers through his belt loops fled only when he spoke.
“Before we can go forward, Janie…” He probably knew what that name did to her. “You’ve got to believe I’m the only person who can help you.”
She pushed harder on his shoulders, but he managed to get closer and crowd her farther into the corner. “What are you doing?” she asked, glancing at the two-way mirror. “They’re watching us.”
“Probably. But the camera and tape aren’t recording. I asked for some time alone with you.” He swallowed hard and looked above their heads.
A little white box, similar to ones she’d seen on television shows, proved he’d maneuvered her out of sight of a second lens. His lowered voice indicated he didn’t totally trust that no one was listening.
“If you had told me about Rory,” he continued, his voice craggy and tired, “I would have come to you.” Why did his heart race under her fingertips? Was his body actually shaking? “You’ve got to believe me, Jane.”
He knows? Did he find out that Rory is his? Or…
“Oh, God, something’s happened to Rory.”
Steve’s fingers held her wrists in place; she couldn’t get free. She had to get out of here.
“We haven’t had any word. Really.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
His lids hid his brown eyes for a moment before he leaned even closer to whisper in her ear. “We will find Rory. You have to trust me.”
Despite every betrayal, every heartbreak and every frightening moment of the past four days, she did trust him. There was no logic to it. No solid reason she should, but she did.
“Why don’t they believe me, Steve?”
Barely as a whisper, he spoke into her ear again. “Tomorrow, if something goes wrong…” His thumb caressed the inside of her wrist. Couldn’t he just hold her? “You get to the Hilton Palacio del Rio. Wait for me in the Itazaba Lounge on the River.”
True fear gripped her throat and squeezed.
“Do you understand me, Janie?”
“Yes.” But she couldn’t really think. She was so tired. Her knees almost buckled, causing Steve to hold her in place against the wall.
“Good. They’ll be here any second. Try to hang on a while longer.”
Mechanically, her body followed his instructions. For some reason, they believed she had something to do with the Brant kidnapping. Steve was warning and trying to protect her.
“You can’t do this, Steve,” she whispered while he led her to the chair. “If something happens, you need to find Rory. Forget about me.”
“I…can’t do that.”
&
nbsp; The door opened and Agent George Lanning ushered in a female agent carrying a tray with drinks and sacks. Steve backed up, looking furious.
“Hey, man, I thought you’d want food with the sodas.” He stayed close to the door, making eye contact with Steve. They exchanged an unspoken conversation she couldn’t decipher. “Agent Branch is here to escort Dr. Palmer to clean up just as soon as she’s eaten.”
“What about McCaffrey?” Steve asked.
“Special Agent McCaffrey,” he said, sounding exasperated, “agrees that Dr. Palmer should meet the kidnappers in the Plaza. We’ll have operatives in place to make certain everything goes smoothly.”
“Oh, thank God.” Two days of tension evaporated. She wanted to cry, shout, sleep.
Steve had promised not to let anything happen to their son. She didn’t care about anything else. She closed her eyes and blocked everyone in the small interrogation room from her mind. She needed her strength and concentration tomorrow.
Now she could rest.
Chapter Six
Alamo Plaza was filled with artisans and vendors. How was she ever going to find Rory in this crowd? Jane passed booth after booth of paintings, good and bad. Bronze and silver statues, homemade magnets, food… Everything blurred together like the agents’ voices in her ear.
Shoppers passed, their bags brimming with specials from the temporary canvas stores. As they leisurely strolled by, she wondered if their glances were purposely casual or the eyes of Rory’s kidnappers.
Her stomach tightened with the hope that this nightmare would soon be over. To have her son in her arms was all she’d dreamed about in the catnaps allotted her throughout the night.
Men and women talked back and forth across sophisticated wireless microphones and receivers. Through her FBI earpiece she heard them check in every four minutes now that it was ten past the hour.
The kidnapper was late.
Late…behind, delayed, held up, lagging, overdue, put off, slow, tardy. She ran through the list of synonyms to keep her mind off another couple of words…no show. Don’t go there, she told herself. She had to keep it together.
The emotions fumed inside her faster than the San Antonio humidity. Storm clouds gathered ominously around the horizon, symbolic of trouble ahead, while sunshine beamed over her, leaving a ray of hope in its wake.
“Should I walk around?”
“Remember not to talk to yourself since you’re probably being watched. Stay at the entrance, that’s the best you can do,” Steve said clearly in her inner ear. “Being late is completely normal. He’s checking things out, seeing if he can finger any agents or cops.”
His voice was gentle and soothed her frayed nerves whether he was lying or not. How could he maintain calm when their son might be… Don’t go there. Steve was a professional. Several people around her were. And he still didn’t know he was Rory’s father.
Perhaps it was better this way. He could perform his duties and not be distracted by fatherly concern or contempt toward her.
The couple to her right, reading every name on the Alamo Cenotaph, she recognized from when she’d entered the FBI building yesterday. The older guy sitting on the bench, feeding the pigeons. He hadn’t had the beard this morning when he’d brought her a cup of coffee. The guy with the camera and tripod. His name was George Lanning, and he’d questioned her about the kidnapping.
“Jane. Janie!” Steve’s voice snapped her eyes toward the window where his team observed Alamo Plaza.
“Hmm?”
“Quit making our agents.”
More nervous than before and afraid her mistakes would cost her son’s life, she nervously covered her mouth. “What do you mean?”
“You’re looking up at me now. Try to relax and act like a sightseer.” He laughed, teasing or worried she had just shown the kidnappers where each agent was located.
“The note said to come by myself. Do you think he’s not here because he’s seen—”
“Stop, Jane. He’ll show.”
Such confidence. She yearned to share it, but this was all her fault. She had trusted the wrong person. Persons. First Mrs. Newinsky and then Steve. If the kidnappers didn’t show because the FBI was here, it was completely her blunder. What would happen if they didn’t find Rory? She’d shrivel and die inside.
A chill cooled her body despite the climbing heat of the southern Texas sun. She crossed her arms and rubbed her hands over her clammy skin.
“How much longer?” she asked through a tightly gripped jaw.
More tourists disembarked from a bus on the corner. The sidewalks were full of shoppers of every age. Children laughed and ran through the Plaza. She wanted to grab their parents and warn them of what could happen when they dropped their guard for just a moment.
“Don’t lose it, sweetheart. You can do this.”
Steve’s voice seemed far-off. He was right. She was on the verge of losing it.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Take control of the emotion. Turn it into positive energy.
The deep breathing worked and she gained a clearer sense of awareness. Heat prickled the skin on her bare arms, irritating the raw skin around her right wrist. She tucked the plain new T-shirt farther into her jeans that thankfully weren’t too tight around her waist. Some FBI person had shopped at an all-night Walmart to provide the new clothing. Even her tennis shoes weren’t too bad a fit.
Steve had borrowed sunglasses from a slender brunette named Selena Stubblefield. The plastic frames slid lower on her nose as she caught sight of a Texas park ranger rounding the corner. Would the kidnapper avoid her because the ranger stood too near?
“Pardon me.”
Jane whirled, making the apparent mother of three tow-headed boys all just below her elbow take a step back.
“Sorry, I was wondering if you could take our picture?”
The camera was thrust into Jane’s hands before she could refuse. She moved closer to the street in order to get as much of the building in the snapshot as possible.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to remove the dogs to the other side of the street,” the ranger said to a man in black with two yelping schnauzers.
The three boys chased each other into place around their mother’s legs until she scolded them into being still. Each had matching burnt-orange shirts with a drawing of longhorns across their chests.
“I’m just going right there to the Menger Hotel,” argued the dog guy.
“Smile,” she told the family.
Click.
“Can you take another?” the woman asked. “Russell was making a face.”
“Sure.” Jane’s eyes darted around the plaza.
“I’m sorry, sir. Dogs aren’t allowed.”
Click. Bark.
“Oh, thank you. It’ll be the first picture of us all together.” The woman took her camera. The boys punched each other in their arms.
The man with the schnauzers moved closer to the Alamo.
The park ranger grabbed the leashes.
People stopped to stare at the commotion.
It was all surreal. Jane stood on the edge of the crowd taking in the information, barely processing the events unfolding around her, unable to acknowledge the voices in her ear.
Don’t you all know my son has been kidnapped! she yearned to scream.
A young girl tugged on her shirtsleeve and held up a folded piece of paper. Jane’s hand extended.
“I’m supposed to give this to you.” Then she skipped away.
Dogs barked. Men yelled. People in the crowd booed.
“George, flash your badge to the ranger and break up that crowd. Windstrom, stay on the girl,” Steve’s voice yelled in her ear. “Did anyone see where the note came from? Read it, Jane.”
With trembling fingers she opened the message.
I should get rid of the boy since you didn’t obey me.
You have one LAST chance.
Go inside and find the Tennessee flag.
ALONE.
/> Shove this paper in your pocket.
Ignore your new friends.
The kidnapper might “get rid” of Rory? Oh, God.
“I have to go inside. Alone.” She crumbled the paper and put it in her pocket as instructed. “He knows you’re here, Steve. Please stay away.”
“Read it to me, Janie,” he pleaded. “Team Two, cover the perimeter. I don’t like this.”
The urge to run overwhelmed her, but she held her legs back. And as much as she wanted Steve and his team to help, she knew she had to do this on her own.
Alone.
Just like the note said.
It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the cool dark of the Alamo. Flags stood in every alcove. She scanned the signs and numbers indicating how many deaths each flag represented. Scotland, Rhode Island, Georgia, Kentucky, Minnesota—the names flew by as she searched for Tennessee.
Whispering from the crowd and the dim light added to the tension. Then just beyond the small rooms, a red flag stood alone. Tennessee. A white grocery sack lay on the floor, next to the stone wall and the flag’s base.
“Jane, I just entered the building. Don’t be surprised when you see me.”
The kidnapper was sure to be watching her. She ignored Steve’s voice and opened the sack, pulling out another note.
Shirt. Wig. Cap.
East entrance of the Alamo.
Menger Hotel, Message for RHONDA FRASER.
She ducked between the wall and two men talking about professional baseball. They turned toward the door and she slipped out of the building. Her heart beat triple time as she ran to the restrooms at the back wall and pulled the shirt and wig on.
“This is too dangerous, Jane. You can’t do this on your own. Let me help,” Steve said among the voices reporting in.