by Sean Michael
Table of Contents
Blurb
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Epilogue
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Copyright
Unlikely Hero
By Sean Michael
When his three-year-old daughter is kidnapped, Eric Wilson doesn’t have many options, and time is running out. With nowhere else to turn, he reaches out to his ex, influential businessman Brock Vencenza, whose money and contacts might be able to save Josie.
Brock never got over Eric’s loss, and he’s more than willing to help when Eric needs him most. Together with law enforcement and private security, they embark on a twisting investigation to find the little girl—and who wants to hurt her and destroy both men in the process. Under the circumstances, confessing he still has feelings for Eric would be inappropriate, but Brock can’t deny what’s in his heart. He doesn’t know if their love can be rekindled or if he can even protect Eric and Josie. But one thing is certain: Brock’s determined to be the hero in reality that he is in Eric’s eyes.
Chapter One
BROCK VENCENZA glad-handed the board members, smiling and nodding, making all the right noises. He just had to wrap this up and then he was off to the Cayman Islands for some richly deserved R & R. Deep-sea fishing, baby.
He saw the last concerned stockholder out the door and headed for his desk, closed down his computer, and tossed a few files into the in-box for Stephanie.
Speak of an angel; his intercom buzzed, Stephanie’s voice coming next. “Brock, there’s an Eric on the phone, says he has to talk to you. He won’t even give me his last name, sir.”
Brock frowned. Eric? Now there was a name he hadn’t heard in a while. Years. A lot of years. Enough years that it couldn’t be the Eric his mind had automatically pulled up.
“It’s probably just a salesman, Steph. Tell him I’m on vacation.” His yacht was calling to him. Calling.
“I already did. Brock, he sounds too upset to be a salesman.”
Brock growled. “Fine. Put him through.” Steph was getting soft if she couldn’t put off a nuisance call. He pressed the button for the outgoing line and barked out his name.
“Brock? Brock, it’s me. Please, love. I need help.” It was his Eric—his silly, goofy, soft-hearted, ridiculously idealistic to the point of absolute fucking madness Eric—with hysteria in his voice.
It might have been nine years and Eric might have dumped his ass hard, but Brock didn’t even hesitate. “What do you need?”
“Help. Someone’s kidnapped my daughter.”
Brock stood and grabbed his briefcase. “Where are you?”
“I’m downstairs. The security guard wouldn’t let me in. Please, Brock. Josie’s only three. She’s got to be so scared.”
“Don’t move. I’m on my way.” He hung up the phone and nodded to Steph as he passed her desk on the way to the elevators. “I’m off. You know the cell number if there’s an emergency.”
“Have fun, Brock.”
He nodded to her again as the elevator came.
Two minutes later he was in the lobby, scanning it for his ex. God, nine years. That was a lot of fucking water under bridges that were long ago burned.
Eric Wilson stood there, looking completely out of place in the glass and steel modernity of the lobby, reminding Brock oddly of the Scarecrow from Oz—still as skinny as always, dressed in a button-down, a pair of khakis, a ball cap. Jesus. The man had no fashion sense and was all arms and legs and nose and huge blue eyes and…. Right. Zero fashion sense.
None.
And he looked like he was stressed to the gills.
“Eric.”
“Brock.” Eric ran over to him, face drawn, eyes shining. “Thank you. I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know where else to go.”
He put an arm around Eric’s lean shoulders and pulled him in for a quick, hard hug. “No problem, baby.” He drew Eric into a quiet corner. “Have you called the cops?”
“No. No, the note said they’d kill her. I just… it’s been almost two hours.” Liquid baby blues stared at him, pupils huge.
“You have the note?”
“I do.” Shaking fingers handed it over, the words already smeared with sweat.
We have your dotter, fag. We want $100,000 or she dies. We’ll call at 7. Have $$ redy. Dont call the cops or she dies.
“Okay, you need a scotch.” Or a Valium. Maybe both. “Come on.” He grabbed Eric’s arm and led him out to the parking lot where his Lexus waited.
“What—what do I do? I don’t….” Eric walked beside him, staying close. “God, if something happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.”
Brock opened the passenger door for Eric and then went around and got into the driver’s side. “We get you a drink. We pick up the money. We get my people on it.” He unlocked his cell phone and dialed the number for the company that did his security. He was friends with the owner; Gordon was a good man.
Eric clicked his seat belt on, reaching for his wallet.
Brock looked at him. “What are you doing?” Before Eric could answer, a cool woman’s voice said, “Bidden Security, how may I direct your call?”
“Anita? This is Brock Vencenza. I need to speak to Gordon. It’s an emergency.”
“Of course, Mr. Vencenza. Right away.”
The line went quiet, and then Eric handed over a picture of a beautiful, laughing little Chinese girl. “This is her, about a month ago.”
He handed the picture back and squeezed Eric’s hand. “It’s going to be okay, baby. We’re going to get her back.”
“Yes. Please, God. I’m so fucking scared.”
“Brock? Gordon. What’s up, man?” The deep voice was confident, booming. Strong.
“Gordon. I’ve got a situation. Kidnapping. Little girl. We have less than two hours before they call. The money’s not a problem, but I want your best kidnapping guys on this. I want the girl back unharmed.”
“Where can I meet you?”
He snapped his fingers at Eric to get his attention. “Address.” He repeated it back to Gordon when Eric told him.
Eric lived in an older part of town—one of those places that was going through a revival, with charming cottages and tiny little streets. It was mind-numbingly quaint. He called his bank as he pulled up into the little driveway of a well-kept, tiny house that looked like it should be on the front of some feel-good chick lit novel. Jesus. He’d bet Eric’s car was back at his office. If the man had a car, that was. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover that Mr. McDreamy was foot-power only.
He gave his name and asked for the bank manager. “Jim. I need a hundred thousand dollars in cash couriered to me within the hour and I don’t want to hear the words ‘I can’t.’”
“Let me make some calls.” Jim was a good man, if a bit persnickety. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“I don’t believe that’s any business of yours, Jim. Just get me the money, and you’ll keep my business.” He got out of the car and followed Eric up the fro
nt steps.
Green. The little cottage was painted green. Eric dropped the keys twice before getting the key in the lock.
He followed Eric in and looked for a little wet bar or something in the living room. “Baby, where do you keep the good stuff?”
“The what?” Eric took his hat off, walking around in slow circles, stumbling over a few discarded toys.
He grabbed Eric’s arm and brought him around, looking into the beautiful blue eyes and brushing the still too-long blond hair off Eric’s forehead. “Booze or pills; you need something to calm you down, baby.”
“I have… in the cabinet above the fridge. So Josie can’t get into it.”
Brock headed in the direction Eric had pointed. He found the scotch easily enough, grabbed a couple glasses, and brought them back into the living room. “Sit,” he ordered, pouring them both a couple fingers of the amber liquid.
“What do I do now? What do I do? She’s going to be so fucking scared.”
“You keep it together for her. Drink. It’ll help.” He guided Eric’s hand, moving the glass to his mouth.
Eric gasped, but he drank, throat swallowing hard.
“All right, my security man’s going to be here soon with the kidnapping expert, and the money is on the way. We’re going to get her back.”
“Should I have gone to the police? I’m just so scared….”
“It doesn’t matter now.” He looked at his watch. Gordon’s man had better get here soon.
“Why would anyone take her?” Eric sounded so lost.
“You tell me, Eric. I haven’t seen you in nine years.”
“She was at day care. It’s a tiny place run by this lovely lesbian couple, and they were busy, and Lil said no one strange came in, no one raised a fuss…. Josie doesn’t like strangers.”
He shook his head and looked at the note in his hand. “Did you notice the spelling on this?”
“I… It was bad. Not the smartest crayons in the box. What if they hurt her?”
“They’re not going to hurt her, Eric. They want their money. She was just a means to an end.” He frowned. “Do you even have a hundred thousand dollars?”
“Brock, I teach high school English, journalism, and the periodic life drawing class. I made fifty thousand last year.”
“So why does this guy think you can come up with a hundred thousand dollars by seven tonight?” Brock didn’t like to think what the answer to that might be.
“I don’t know. I don’t… I don’t tell people about my personal life. I mean, when I had one.”
The doorbell rang and Brock put out his hand when Eric tried to get up. “I’ll get it.”
Eric nodded, legs curling up underneath him on the overstuffed sofa.
Brock looked through the peephole. Gordon stood there, solid and square, skin darkest mahogany. Grinning, he opened the door. “Gordon. Man. Thank you for coming.”
“Boss.” Gordon’s smile was white, broad. “Let me in and let’s get to work.”
He nodded, letting Gordon in. “Eric, this is Gordon, he’s the best security man in the business. Gordon, this is Eric. His three-year-old daughter has been kidnapped.”
“Okay, man. I need information—where was she? When did it happen? Is there a note? Demands?”
Eric blinked, stared a second. “Her name is Josie.”
“They picked her up from her day care. Here’s the note—I don’t know how it was delivered. Eric? How’d you get the note?”
“It was on the windshield of my car when I got out of school.”
“So they knew which car was yours and where you’d be.”
“I. Yeah, I mean, we have assigned parking spots, but there are a lot of teachers.”
Gordon nodded. “Is it possible one of your students has a grudge against you?”
“Students? Why would a student do this? They’re kids. They spray paint graffiti, egg houses, that sort of thing.”
“And this note looks like it was written by someone without a lot of education. They knew where to find your car. Do you have any students who have threatened you or your daughter in the past?”
“No. No, not at all.”
“Any students who are failing your classes? Who you’ve sent to detention, had any sort of confrontation with?” Gordon was all business.
“Sure. Always. There are always unhappy kids, but….” Eric’s panic came back, in spades.
Brock grunted and sat down beside Eric, putting an arm around the man, the feeling of the lean shoulders under his meaty arm surprisingly familiar still. “Breathe, baby. The more Gordon can figure out before we get the call, the better, right?”
“I… I guess. I suppose. I’m sorry; she’s supposed to be home by now, having her bath.”
“I know. We’re going to make that happen, okay?”
Eric nodded, clinging to his arm a little bit. “I’m sorry, love. I swear.”
Gordon met his eyes, mouthed, “You got some downers for him?”
“Have another drink, baby.” He poured out a couple more fingers of scotch and put the glass in Eric’s hands. “So what do we do when they call?”
“You let me talk to them.” Gordon looked sure, certain. “You let me set up the drop off and you keep him quiet.”
Brock nodded. He could do that. “So are you the kidnapping expert you were going to bring, then?”
Gordon gave him a wolfish grin. “I’m the head of the company—nothing but the best for you.”
The front doorbell rang. “That’ll be the cash.”
“I’ll get it. You stay put.” Gordon sauntered off, ass swaying as he went.
“Are you two lovers?” Eric was swaying a little bit himself.
“I don’t mix business with pleasure, and Gordon is the best security man I know. His company deals with all my security needs, which definitely puts him in the business category.” He hadn’t really had a lover since Eric. Oh, he’d fucked plenty of men, even had some repeats that had lasted months at a time. But lovers? No.
“Oh. He’s pretty. Not like you, but pretty.”
“I can introduce you when all this is over if you want.” He winked at Eric and ignored the pang that went through him at the words, despite the fact that he knew they were just a joke. Hell, Gordon’s partner would kick the ass of anyone who tried it on with the big man.
“No. No. No boyfriends for me. You…. You were all I needed. I mean, after you I. I mean. Fuck.”
“Shh.” He drew Eric in, held the man against his chest. “Just breathe and relax.”
“Breathe and relax. Right. She’s beautiful. She’s so smart and funny.”
“I bet. Did you go to China to get her?”
They were interrupted by Gordon and the money courier. “He needs your signature.”
Brock signed on the pad where he was asked to.
“I’ll pay you back, Brock. I swear to God. Every cent, even if I have to sell the house.”
“It’s a drop in the bucket for me, Eric. Let’s not worry about it and just concentrate on getting your little girl back.”
“Josie. Her name is Josephine Mathilda Wilson.”
“That’s a beautiful name. Tell me the story of her adoption.” Focusing on Josie was clearly calming Eric.
“I went to China for her. The flight was so long and I had to go twice. There was a complication the first time, and I had to leave her. She was tiny and all eyes and….” Eric stopped, sniffled. “I promised her I’d be back. It took me three weeks, but I came back and brought her home.”
“You light right up when you talk about her.”
“She’s amazing. She just turned three. She’s such a happy little girl.”
“I bet you’re an amazing father.” It was what Eric had always wanted, why the man had dumped him. Suburbs, nine-to-five job, a family.
“I try to be. I can get tired, and I need to decide if I want to adopt another because I work, and…. God, I want her home.”
Brock glanced at his wat
ch. “It won’t be long. You need to keep it together for her, okay? Let Gordon handle things.”
Eric nodded. “I’m trying. I am.”
“I know.” He could just imagine how Eric would be dealing with all this by himself. He took Eric’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you called me, baby.”
“You were the first person I thought of, the only one.”
“Good. I’ll always be here for you. I’m glad you knew that.” He glanced at his watch. It was almost seven.
Eric stood up, started pacing, walking the floor, arms wrapped around his ribs. Eric looked good—a little tired, a little harried, but good.
“You want a Valium, Eric?” Even if there wasn’t one here, he could have a bottle of the stuff sent over.
“Huh? No. No, she’s going to come home, right? I mean, it’s almost time. They’ll let her come home. It’s her bedtime.”
He nodded. Eric needed to believe that, and Brock hoped like hell that it was what was going to happen.
“Okay. Okay. I.” Eric’s cell phone rang. “Oh, God. What do I do?”
Gordon held out his hand. “Give me the phone, sir.”
Eric’s eyes met his and it rang again.
“Let him, baby. Gordon knows what he’s doing.”
Eric handed the phone over and Gordon flipped it open. “Hello? No. No, it’s not. This is Mr. Jackson. I’m Mr.….” Gordon looked over at him.
“Wilson,” Brock whispered.
“Mr. Wilson’s agent in this matter.”
Brock went to stand next to Eric, wrapping his arm around Eric’s shoulders and squeezing tight. Jesus, Eric was shaking violently, muscles jerking and trembling under his hand.
“Yes, I have the money. No. No, that is not acceptable. I want the child home. Tonight. No.”
Brock held on tight, keeping Eric right where he was. Gordon was handling this; they had to let him. Gordon was good at his job.
“I said no, you stupid fuck. There will be no negotiations, not without proof of life.”
Eric made a low, pained sound, and his knees buckled.
Brock caught hold of him, making soothing noises. “Shh. Shh. It’s okay, Eric. She’s alive—he’s just playing hardball with them.”
“Please, Brock. Please. She’ll be so scared.”