Protecting Her Secret Son

by Regan Black

  She did believe. She did, but doubt was a dark, persistent undercurrent dogging her every thought. Doubt and dread. “I believe.” She curled and flexed her fingers, made herself say the words again. “It’s this helpless feeling I don’t know how to cope with.”

  “Kidnappers prey on that, use it against loved ones to get their way. Your son is still in the city and you’ll get him back.”

  “You don’t know that,” she said.

  “You don’t know I’m wrong.”

  “Fair enough.” She wandered through the kitchen, ran her fingers across the smooth quartz countertops. “We can’t stay here. If you’re paying to stage it, you need to list it.”

  His dark eyebrows dipped low as he scowled at her. “Have you been talking to my father?”

  “Not since last month,” she replied, moving around the island and down the hallway. “I didn’t agree when Ed installed the bead board. It works.”

  “That was my call,” Daniel said. “No one liked it on paper. Now back up a second. Exactly when and why were you talking with my dad?”

  She faced him. His bewilderment gave her a moment’s distraction from the pain squeezing her heart like a vise. “You do remember I work for him?”

  Only for a bit longer, though. If Bradley was behind the kidnapping, she’d have to move on as soon as she got Aiden back. “He signs my paycheck,” she reminded him. “He comes around and checks in with each of us at least once during a project.”

  “No, he leaves that to his managers,” Daniel insisted. “Especially on jobs like this one, jobs I choose.”

  She tilted her head, startled by his outburst. “I really thought you two got along.”

  “We do,” he said through clenched teeth. “We didn’t see eye to eye on the timing of the charity house, that’s all.”

  He was genuinely upset. It seemed she was wrecking his day right and left. “I got the impression he wasn’t happy you fronted so much of the financial responsibility there. I’m sure he’ll be pleased with the positive publicity for Jennings.”

  “Yeah, he will.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “And I didn’t realize he was snooping around the projects on my slate.”

  “Not snooping, taking an interest.”

  Daniel snorted in obvious disagreement.

  She let the tender subject go. Walking through the rest of the house, envisioning how she and Aiden might fit in. The mental exercise always kept her in the right frame of mind, happy and eager to do her best for the eventual homeowner.

  “Getting hired full time with Jennings was the best thing that happened to me after Aiden was born,” she said.

  “Did Dad hire you?”

  “Not directly.”

  Her mind drifted back to those first months in Philly, juggling the hours at the tile supply store with her waitressing job. Banking her tips, her back and feet aching more each week as her pregnancy progressed, she’d lost more than one night’s sleep wondering what she’d do after she delivered.

  “Ed would come by the diner where I worked with the lunch order at least once a week and we’d talk while he waited. I had some ideas for updating my place, and he gave me some advice as I cleared each project with the landlord. About a week before I delivered, he asked if I was interested in picking up some extra cash doing touch-up work after the baby came. One thing led to another.”

  She rolled her shoulders. As soon as she had Aiden back again, her past would shove them into another new start. Would she be as lucky to find good work when she found her next place? She had her emergency fund and a decent savings built up. She supposed how long the money lasted would depend on where she ended up. She made a mental note to start researching the most affordable cities nearby.

  “That was a Victorian remodel,” he said. “You had the patience of a saint, painting that detail work.”

  She smiled. “Aiden was about a month old. I was going a little stir crazy alone in the house. Ed saved my sanity. Aiden napped in his car seat through most of that job.” It was bittersweet, thinking of those days, full of such pure relief and endless joy that she was a mother, raising her son her way. “The fresh air put him to sleep every time.”

  “Ed was smart to bring you on. You did great work on that job. And every job since.”

  “Thanks.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about him taking such notice of her particular efforts. She’d noticed him, of course, and for several reasons that were far less professional. “I’d ask for a reference for when I leave, but I couldn’t use it.”

  “Leave? What are you talking about?” His gaze went razor-sharp as he stared her down. “You’ve made a good life for yourself here.”

  “It’s common sense. Once I have Aiden back, I’ll have to relocate. I can’t count on my ex or his enemies leaving me alone after this. I won’t let him have anything to do with Aiden.”

  “You’re planning to run away?”

  “Relocate,” she repeated stubbornly. She refused to call it running, wouldn’t give Bradley that much control, even in her mind. “Isn’t today proof that it’s not safe for people to know who I married, who fathered my son?”

  “Running.” He scowled again. “That’s no life for you or Aiden.”

  She didn’t care for the judgment in his tone or the subtle disapproval in those deep blue eyes. In self-defense, she ignored him and moved on down the hallway and peeked into each of the three bedrooms, two baths.

  As if she wanted to leave Philly. She’d done well here, rebuilding herself from the inside out and providing for her son. There was no reason for her to pop up on the radar of someone looking for her ex, yet somehow his enemies had stolen her son simply for the sake of leverage.

  “Shannon, I’m sorry,” he said, blocking the doorway of the hall bathroom. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just wrong for this to drive you away from a good, stable situation.”

  “I agree.”

  “Then stop planning to leave. Focus on how you’ll stay.”

  His intensity had her leaning back, looking for a way around him. Although he didn’t understand what he was suggesting, she was too weary, too grief-stricken to try and explain further. Her plans to leave Philly weren’t a result of defeat or self-pity, it was simply her reality. Only someone who’d been close to Bradley could comprehend the fear he invoked in those who disappointed him or went against his wishes.

  “It was a miracle he granted me a divorce in the first place,” she said. “If he decides he wants to know Aiden, everything I’ve worked for falls apart.”

  Daniel started to say something and stopped when they heard voices in the front room. “That would be the stagers. I’ll get them started. You keep thinking positively.”

  Shannon was positive she would have to make a move, have to take some action or she’d never take another easy breath. She couldn’t raise her son while looking over her shoulder, waiting for his father to strike.

  With her phone set to full volume, she tucked it in her back pocket and said a prayer the kidnappers would call. It had been almost six hours without any contact. No amount of spinning could turn that into a positive.

  Unable to stand around idle, she made herself useful hauling in counter stools, chairs and abstract art for the mantel. Dreamer that she was, she and Aiden had occasionally been through the houses Daniel flipped, so she had a feel for the easy, transitional style he preferred.

  She stepped back, eyed the mantel and then stepped forward to make another minor adjustment.

  “Can’t sit still, can you?”

  “Could you, in my shoes?”

  “Absolutely not,” he admitted. “You have a good eye.”

  “Hmm. It’s not a stretch to know what you’re after,” she said without thinking.

  “It’s not?”

  He didn’
t miss a detail, something that surely worked for him in both his careers.

  “After a few years with Jennings, I’ve picked up a thing or two.” At his cocked eyebrow, she gave him the fastest reason she could come up with. “Come on. Staging a house is basic logic. The goal is to make it feel like a home and present the space as stylish and roomy without driving away potential buyers.”

  “Let me guess, you worked in staging somewhere along the line.”

  His tone, light and friendly, made her smile. “No, but I’ve seen several examples. On television,” she added before he pegged her as a real estate stalker. To get out of the way while the stagers tweaked the furniture placement in the front room, she retreated to the kitchen and he followed.

  She didn’t feel comfortable admitting how she appreciated his understated style. He went beyond the boring beige palette when he flipped houses and he delivered quality on his remodeling projects. She admired the dedication and organization he and his father used that kept Jennings crews hopping and sites well managed. Daniel in particular had cultivated a winning manager in Ed, who kept things moving while Daniel was on shift at the firehouse.

  Maybe she should follow his example and be bolder when she relocated. With four years of experience, she could accelerate the timeline of owning a home and a business. “How long did it take to get your general contractor’s license?”

  His gaze narrowed. “You don’t need a contractor’s license to flip houses if you partner with someone reasonable and reliable. Better not to shell out all the capital anyway, especially if you’re new to the business or the area.”

  No, he didn’t miss a detail. She bit her lip, keeping more questions to herself for the moment.

  “We’re nearly done here,” Daniel said. “Then you can unpack. Take the master.”

  The shrill ringtone from her cell phone prevented a reply. She pulled it from her pocket, showed Daniel the Blocked message on the caller ID. He urged her to pick up, to use the app that would record the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Your son is safe.” It was the same mean man who’d contacted her earlier.

  “I want to see him,” she said. “Another video.”

  “Not yet.”

  Daniel moved to usher out the stagers and closed the front door behind them. When he walked back into the kitchen, she put the phone on speaker.

  “What do you want?”

  “Everything,” the caller said. “All you have, in fact.”

  Terror turned her knees to jelly. Bradley had given her those very words on their third date. At the time she’d found it romantic, since he’d promised her she’d have all of him. Why hadn’t she seen through him? How could she have ever mistaken his greedy and possessive nature as love? “My son is my everything,” she said, her throat dry and tight. “And you have him.”

  “Good.”

  She stifled a whimper at the cruel sound in that single syllable. Demands backed up in her throat, along with useless threats and promises, but she held her tongue, waiting for the caller to say something. “Can I talk to him?” Maternal worry eroded her patience.

  “No. What you will do is follow my instructions to the letter.”

  “Yes.” She rifled through her purse for pen and paper.

  “First, you will maintain your routine as if nothing is wrong.” Each word was spoken carefully, as if he was reading from a script.

  She’d put a numeral one on the page, now her pen stilled. “What?”

  “You heard me,” he snarled. “Maintain your routine to the letter. Make any deviation, make any report and your son will come back to you one piece at a time.”

  She couldn’t smother the primal cry of despair.

  “Shut up!” he shouted.

  She jumped, the outburst reminding her of the sting of Bradley’s palm on her cheek the first time he’d slapped her. This wasn’t Bradley’s voice but it was definitely his vocabulary. She clapped a hand over her mouth, praying for courage.

  “I’ll do anything for you,” she said, pleading as she’d done in her marriage. “Just let my son go.”

  Daniel waved a hand in front of his throat, signaling her to end those offers.

  “Maintain your routine and I will call back with further instructions.” The caller sounded more natural now, with less stiffness and space surrounding each word. “Do you understand me? Yes or no?”

  “Yes.” She wanted to ask for proof of life, knew she wouldn’t get it.

  The call ended and she clutched the phone, giving in to the fresh wave of tears as she folded in on herself.

  Daniel gathered her into his arms, his heart beating steady under her ear. He spoke to her, but lost in her grief, swamped by fear, she couldn’t make out the words.

  Her phone chimed with an incoming text with one word: routine. A second message arrived with a link to a website. She clicked on it immediately. It was a video of Aiden sitting on a twin bed in a small room. Only fifteen seconds long, she watched her son wave at the camera and say, “Hi, Mommy,” when prompted by someone off screen.

  Shannon blinked away the tears so she could see clearly. She saved the video to her phone, just in case the sender removed it from the site. Then she replayed the video over and over, soaking in every nuance on her son’s sweet face.

  “He’s confused. His eyebrows furrow right there when he’s confused.” She tapped the screen and paused the video. “Does he look scared to you?” She angled the phone for Daniel. “What do you think they told him?”

  “No idea,” he said. “You can ask him once he’s back home. Give me a minute to update Grant.”

  “No,” she protested. “They said normal routine.” Panic sank deep in her belly, clawed at her. “I’ve never been to the Escape Club. I never helped you stage a house.” She leaped to her feet, grabbed her purse. “I have to go.”

  “Slow down.” He nudged her back to her seat, held her there with the lightest touch of his hands on her shoulders. “I heard the order. We’ll get back to the routine. Grant needs this so he can have someone with the right skills analyze the link and the video.”

  He was right. “Okay.” She forwarded the video to the email address he gave her.

  “Bradley’s behind this,” she murmured as he exchanged messages with Grant. “The demand to make him cooperate with himself doesn’t make sense, I know that. But he’s behind it. The caller was using his words.”

  “A script? It sounded stiff, I’ll give you that,” Daniel agreed. “If he wants his kid, wouldn’t he—”

  “Don’t say that. He can’t want Aiden.” She didn’t have the resources to fight that kind of custody battle. “He can’t have my son.” Her breath came fast and she couldn’t slow it down. Her arms tingled. She was too young for a heart attack, she thought as the room started to spin.

  “Whoa, slow down. You’re hyperventilating.”

  She reached for him, clinging and desperate. “Help,” she wheezed.

  “It happens,” he crooned. “Breathe like this.” He pursed his lips and she did the same. “There you go, just take it easy. You’ll be all right. Easy, easy now. Slow it down. You’re doing great.”

  His solid, gentle voice was wonderful, but she still felt horrible. Closing her eyes made the dizziness worse.

  Daniel shifted his stance. “Let me help?”

  She bobbed her chin, locked her eyes with his. He had the most amazing eyes. She focused on that deep, deep blue as he moved her hand over her mouth, held it there. He pressed a finger to one nostril.

  “Keep breathing. You’re doing great.”

  Slowly, her lungs recovered and she felt better as the strange method brought her breath under control. He carefully released the pressure on her nose while keeping her hand over her mouth.

  “Better?”


  “Mmm-hmm,” she managed around their layered hands. The dizziness passed and her arms were back to normal.

  “You’re sure?”

  She eased back, more than a little embarrassed that she’d lost it. Again. “How many times do you think you’ll have to rescue me from myself today?” His smile, so open and easy, soothed her immeasurably. “Thank you.”

  Daniel gave her shoulders a squeeze. “It will be okay.”

  “I don’t want to stay here. Not after that call.”

  “We’re going. Back to your place,” he added, preempting her next question. His phone sounded off and he showed her the reply from Grant. “See? He already has someone tearing into the video.”

  “All right. Thanks.” She stood up, needing his assistance for only a moment before she felt steady. She checked the time. “This is about the time I’d be home with Aiden on a Saturday afternoon.”

  He pulled out his keys. “Then that’s where we’ll be.” His phone rang with an incoming call this time. “Grant,” he said, picking up.

  “I’ll turn out the lights.” Shannon worked her way from the master suite, through the bedrooms and back to the hall bathroom where she stopped to splash cool water on her face.

  Her routine and normal behavior didn’t include crying jags or hyperventilating. She had to get herself together or she wouldn’t stand a chance against whatever Bradley had planned. She didn’t have any idea how she’d manage to pretend everything was fine while her son was being held hostage who-knew-where. She only knew she had to be convincing. She had no doubt Aiden’s life depended on her performance in the hours—probably days—ahead.

  Nothing was off-limits and no one was safe when Bradley set his mind on owning or controlling something. Seven years ago, when he’d spotted her in the bar during a conference in Miami, that something had been her. She’d been swept off her feet, falling for the charming façade.

  “You were naive,” she told her puffy-faced reflection. “Not anymore.” She raised her shirt to dry her face and gave herself another long look. “He fooled you, held all the cards.” And she’d escaped. “Not anymore. You’re stronger than he knows.”