Sarah's Secrets

by Lisa Childs

  Because he didn’t feel fine. Something felt very wrong to him.

  The sweat dribbled from his lip into his mouth, the salty taste of it souring his tongue. His heart slammed against his ribs as his stomach clenched again.

  He could call, but it wouldn’t matter what the police told him…he’d have to see for himself that everything was all right.

  With studied care he rolled Sarah from his arm and stepped into his jeans. Then he headed for the stairs, his bare feet silent on the cold oak treads.

  The hall light burned on the second floor, casting a golden glow onto the leaf-patterned carpet and the cream walls. Understated elegance, like Sarah; she fit in this house better than he ever had.

  The thought fled as he stopped outside the room where Sarah had tucked Jeremy in. Rumpled covers lay at the side of the bed in a patch of light cast across the floor from the hall. Royce’s shadow fell on the bed, on the empty bed. Jeremy was gone.

  “No, not Jeremy…” His husky words fell into the silence of the room, followed by a gasp not from his throat. He lifted his gaze to the hall and the trembling shadow standing beside the jamb.

  “Sarah…”

  “He’s gone?”

  He nodded, not certain she could see him but certain she knew what had happened. While she lay in his arms, someone had kidnapped her son. Despite all the extra safety measures he’d taken…

  Guilt squeezed his heart. He couldn’t imagine hers. In the end, he’d failed both Sarah and her son.

  Chapter Eleven

  A scream choked Sarah’s throat. But as if in a nightmare, she couldn’t utter it. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t wake up. Her son was gone. Kidnapped. While she lay asleep in her lover’s arms, exhausted from making love half the night, someone had stolen her baby.

  That her baby was as tall as she didn’t matter. Despite those busybodies who had thought she should abort a dead man’s child, she’d carried him in her womb for nine months. And unlike her own biological mother, she’d kept her child. She’d cared for him to the exclusion of all else. Until tonight. Tonight she’d acted selfishly, and doing so had cost her son.

  A sob bubbled up, and she bit her lip to silence it. She couldn’t fall apart now. That would continue the selfishness.

  “Is—” She struggled to clear her throat. “Is there a note?”

  “Sarah, I can’t disturb the area. It’s a crime scene.” He stepped backward, away from the bed. “It doesn’t make sense. How could someone—”

  She whirled around him, tearing at the covers with trembling hands. “I don’t care. I have to find my son!”

  She lifted a note from his pillow, reading the word scrawled across the front of it. “‘Mom’! He wrote this, Royce.”

  Careless of fingerprint evidence, she tore the paper open. Her voice shook as she read it aloud, “I’m going to prove to you guys that I can be a lawman, too. I’m going to find out who killed Mr. McCarthy and who’s after me. Love, Jeremy.”

  Royce choked. “What? The kid ran off on his own?”

  She laughed as her heart lifted. “Yes. He’s all right, Royce. He’s just trying to be like you…”

  “Trying to be like me?” Royce spoke softly as he paced the room, then he turned to the window, throwing open the curtains. The window guard, the catch that kept the sash from rising above a few inches, had been removed.

  “He went out the window?” she asked, peering over his shoulder into the darkness below the second story. “Wouldn’t he have gotten hurt?” The thought of her baby lying hurt somewhere brought a whimper of pain to her throat.

  Royce swung his legs over the sill. “There’s a rope tied around the drainpipe. He grappled down. I’m going to check it out.”

  Sarah gasped when he disappeared through the window, the night swallowing him just as it had swallowed her son. She wrapped her arms tightly around her midriff, the denim of the shirt she’d grabbed from Royce’s bed scraping against her skin.

  Had Jeremy’s face scraped against the brick wall? Had he fallen onto the ground below the house?

  “Sarah!” Royce’s deep voice called out of the dark.

  She leaned over the edge, catching the glint of his eyes below. “Is he there?”

  “No. I’m going to keep looking. I’ll check with the guards at the gate, too.”

  Legs trembling, Sarah settled heavily onto the side of Jeremy’s rumpled bed. She’d made sure he was in there earlier despite his protests that he was too old to be tucked in. Then, probably so as not to arouse her suspicions, he’d talked more of adding a climbing wall to their new house than of helping Royce find a killer.

  A killer. This was about more than threats. More than kidnapping. A man had been shot and killed. A good man. Her grandfather. And her son had the crazy notion that he could track down the killer. That he could be a hero like Royce.

  She didn’t know how long she sat there, praying that Royce found him walking the grounds, before she realized she wasn’t alone anymore. A dark shadow loomed in the doorway. Her heart clenched even though she knew it was Royce. “You didn’t find him.”

  Royce shook his head. “No, Sarah. God, that kid’s smart. He must have gotten his hands on some fireworks today at the company. That’s one of my father’s imports. Jeremy tossed some over the wall toward the back of the property, then must have gone over another part of it when the guards were distracted.”

  “We didn’t hear anything.” But they’d been preoccupied…with each other.

  “You wouldn’t. The wall’s high, and we were…”

  “So what now?”

  “I called my father at the hotel. He’s coming to sit with you while I go out looking for Jeremy.”

  “I’ll go with you!” She had to find her son…before someone else did.

  “You need to stay here, Sarah.” He’d reached the doorway when the phone rang.

  Sarah lifted the receiver with trembling fingers. “Hello?”

  “Mom? It’s me.”

  “Jeremy! Thank God! Where are you? You shouldn’t have gone off alone in a strange city—”

  “Mom! He’s got me.” Fear quavered in his voice along with tears he tried to fight. “They want the money. You need to get it ready—two million. And they’ll call back with instructions on where you’re supposed to drop it.”

  “Jeremy!”

  “Mom, tell Mr. Graham I’m sorry I went through the gate, okay? I’m sorry, Mom. I love you!”

  She clenched the receiver tightly, screaming his name into it. But only the dial tone answered her. Royce’s arms wrapped around her as he pried the phone from her grasp. She sagged against his chest, fighting the urge to turn into his embrace and seek comfort. She didn’t deserve comfort.

  And love, she had thought fleetingly of love while lying in his arms. But what did she know of that emotion when she’d failed everyone she’d ever loved? “That was Jeremy.”

  Royce nodded, his chin brushing over her hair. “I know. I have to get the police.”

  She stepped away and stood at the foot of the bed, staring as if her wish could conjure up her son and tuck him back into bed.

  Royce spoke into his cell phone, his deep voice choked with emotion. He cared, but he hadn’t protected Jeremy. Not the way he’d promised.

  Nobody kept their promises to Sarah. She shivered in Royce’s shirt and crossed her arms over her chest, cupping her shaking shoulders. With an effort she held in the whimper of fear. They had her son. Where was he? Was he cold? Alone? Scared?

  He would fight the fear. He prided himself on being brave, on being a man. In his mother’s eyes, he was still a little boy.

  Strong fingers closed over her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, Sarah…”

  She closed her eyes on the tears, not letting them fall. “Do you think…” She couldn’t ask it, not the question that clenched her heart with fear.

  “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  She fought to steady her voice, to keep the hysteria from
rising into it while she repeated Jeremy’s words.

  Royce absorbed it, his expression blank but for his clenched jaw.

  “Royce, do you think—”

  “They’ll call to tell you where to drop the money, Sarah.”

  “But do you think—”

  He glanced away from her face. “The police will be here soon. You should get dressed.”

  She knotted the fabric of his shirt in her hand, wringing it for courage but finding none. She nodded and turned around, turned her back on the rumpled bed where she’d tucked in her son only hours before.

  Tears slipped through her lashes, burning trails down her cheeks, and her chest ached with sobs. She had no doubt that she’d get that call telling her where to drop the money. The question Royce hadn’t let her ask was the most important thing to her. Would she see her son again?

  FRUSTRATION ate at Royce’s nerves. He couldn’t wait for the police to finish searching the grounds he had already gone over. He couldn’t wait for the Feds to arrive and take over.

  He couldn’t stare into Sarah’s haunted eyes and deny her what she wanted. Reassurance. She wanted him to promise that her son was safe and would be returned to her. He’d already broken one promise to her. He didn’t intend to make another, one he had no control over keeping.

  He dragged in a quick breath then spoke into the eerie silence of his father’s den. “I’m going.”

  She jumped, nearly toppling from the edge of the sofa where she’d settled after her erratic pacing. “What? Where?”

  “You called to have the money wired, right?”

  She nodded. “My parents would be happy to know how much good their life insurance has done and will do.”

  “What?”

  “The money I had in the company. It was their life insurance.”

  She hadn’t married Robert Hutchins for his money; he’d married her for hers. Despite the rumors, his instincts and his heart had been right about Sarah. She had too soft a heart, one she needed to protect from pain. He couldn’t imagine how much she felt now.

  “Where are you going, Royce?”

  “I don’t know.” But he did. He’d been running Jeremy’s words through his mind, deciphering what he was sure the smart kid had intended as a secret message. Mr. Graham. He’d told him not to call him that, and then the gate…

  The officers on patrol swore there was no way Jeremy had gone through the gate. He must have scaled the wall, and since Royce had discovered his climbing rope missing, he had no doubt how the kid had accomplished that.

  The gate had to be at the company, the gate with the name Graham on it. Why hadn’t he figured it out right away? Because he’d let the guilt and his concern for Sarah eat at him.

  It might be too late. He didn’t say it, but the words hung in the heavy air between them. He’d been trained that if you didn’t find the child within the first twenty-four hours, chances dimmed that he’d be found alive.

  She nodded, red hair falling into her tear-streaked face. “Go then.”

  “Did you call Dylan, too?”

  She nodded again, twisting her hands together in her lap. “Yes, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he lied to me.”

  Royce paused near the doorway, eager to take action but reluctant to leave her. “He lied?”

  “He promised everything would be all right.” A sob broke free of her restraint and tore at his aching heart. “Thank you, Royce.”

  “For what?”

  “For not making that promise.”

  SARAH’S TREMBLING LEGS carried her to the door-frame. She couldn’t sit around and wait for someone else to find her son. Not even Royce.

  “Girl…” Royce’s father caught her in the hall, his hands on her shoulders. He’d arrived, as Royce had asked him, to sit with her. “Settle down now. He’ll find the kid. That’s what he does.” Tears shone in his pale eyes. “Trust him.”

  “No! I have to go!” She hurried past the old man, catching sight of Royce on the stairs. His long legs took them two at a time.

  She rushed up after him, glad she had foregone her usual pumps for slip-on loafers. He didn’t stop at the second floor but continued up the narrower flight to his rooms.

  Guilt clawed at her throat. While she had romped with him in those rooms, her child had sneaked out and fallen into the clutches of a killer. Her hand clasping the railing with a white-knuckled grip, she managed that last flight despite the dizziness causing her head to swim.

  Before she passed the last step, a loud curse reverberated off the rafters of the attic. Royce, on his hands and knees by the bed, bent and retrieved a metal box. “Why are you following me?” He never turned from his task, sliding a key into the lock and opening the box.

  She jumped. “I—I have to go with you.”

  His shoulders moved as if he took a deep breath. Then he lifted something out of the box, cradling it in shaking hands. Stepping closer and peering around his broad shoulder, she blinked against the glare of the track lights reflecting off a gun.

  “What—” But she knew what he needed it for. To protect himself. Whoever had taken her son had already said that Royce would not get in their way. He’d need it to protect himself, and if it wasn’t too late, to save her son. Panic danced in a kaleidoscope of black spots across her vision. She squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them, he had lifted his rumpled jean jacket to tuck the gun into the back of his jeans.

  Sweat beaded on his upper lip, and pain passed through his eyes. To save her son, Royce was willing to conquer the demons from his past. She had no doubt that that was the gun that had killed Samantha’s mother. And he’d locked it away, hoping never to see it, let alone use it, again.

  She reached for his hand, her fingers sliding over his. “Royce…” She wanted to ask, wanted to comfort, wanted to be comforted, but time was against them. As was everything else. “I want to go along.”

  “I’m just going to the company—”

  “You don’t need a gun for that!”

  “It’s past time I was prepared.” He brushed her hand off and headed for the stairs.

  She wanted to be with him, wanted to borrow his strength. Then realization struck, and she ran after him. “That’s what he meant. The Mr. Graham. The gate. He meant the gate at the company!”

  “I don’t know…”

  “I’m going with you!”

  He shook his head, the dark-golden hair brushing over the collar of his jean jacket. “No, you’re not going. You’re needed here, Sarah. They’ll call with directions for the ransom drop, and you need to be here.”

  Her heart squeezed into a tight ball of pain. “But if he’s there…”

  He shook his head. “It’d be crazy for them to keep him there. It’s a long shot.”

  But she surmised he’d rather be there chasing a long shot than with her, dealing with her fears. Royce couldn’t hold her hand and make her empty promises.

  He didn’t turn back to her, didn’t offer any final reassurances as his footsteps echoed on the stairs. The front door slammed behind him. He’d left her.

  Her knees shook, and she crumpled onto the stairs. Jeremy was gone, too. Where? Images of him bound and gagged slid through her mind. Trapped. Hurt. Scared. Except for a night here and there spent with a friend, Jeremy had never really been separated from her. She had to find him.

  Royce had a lead. She couldn’t let him follow it alone.

  “So the boy left?”

  Sarah glanced up and into the pale eyes of Donald Graham. Concern creased the wrinkles at his temples. “Royce left. Yes.”

  “You okay? You need anything?” That was why he’d come, to help her. That was why he’d left his home in the first place. And for a brief while, she’d considered him a suspect.

  Tears flooded in over his concern, but she blinked them back. “I need my son.”

  “They’ll call.”

  “And I’m supposed to wait here until they do? I’m supposed to stay calm and relaxed
when my child’s out there somewhere…alone…? I can’t.” Where despair had weakened her, anger surged through now, lending strength. “Royce thinks he could be at your company. I need a car. Give me your car!”

  “Now, girl, he wants you to stay here. The police officer downstairs said an agent will be arriving soon.”

  “Let them arrive. Let them connect their machines. Let them dust every inch of this house. None of that or any of them is going to find my son. Royce is.”

  Heat scorched across her throat and face. She’d distracted Royce. She had thrown herself at him. She hadn’t even stopped to ask herself why, and there was no time now. Regrets were all she had.

  LIGHT FROM the street lamps burned small holes into the blanket of night and fog surrounding the black Lincoln Sarah drove. She glanced at the directions Royce’s father had written out for her, his letters on white stationery standing out in bold, black print. Like the kidnapping note someone had slipped into her car. But the letters weren’t blocked.

  And this stationery bore the address for Donald Graham’s company. She hadn’t paid attention when they’d been there earlier for the reading of the will. But with his help, she’d found it again.

  The chain-link fence rose twelve feet above the sidewalk and encircled the grounds of the Graham Company, making it as impenetrable as a prison. No one could get in or out unless they passed through the gate next to the guard shack.

  Royce’s father had told her that since some recent breakins the guard shack was always manned, but a control in his car opened the gate at the company just like at home. Sarah shivered against the cold leather seats of the Lincoln. Warm air blew through the vents, but nothing could dispel her chill.

  With a trembling finger, she tripped the switch in the console. Fog swirled around the opening gate. The lights shining through the wide windows of the empty guard shack barely dispelled a small patch.

  The old man was wrong. Nobody manned the shack tonight. Were Royce and the guard together? Searching the grounds? But for what? Royce had to be wrong, because who would bring her child here where people might find him? But then she remembered Dylan’s advice to trust Royce’s instincts. They’d already saved her life once.