Kidnapped Hearts (11 page)

The unfamiliar feeling left a tingle in
her belly, yet she stayed relaxed and calm. Minutes before, she wanted to run
away from everything, including herself. An evil man chased her, a mother
figure fought for her life, and she lay in a hospital bed. All this was
happening for reasons that escaped her, and a man she barely knew watched over
her. Nothing made sense.

“I’ll get the nurse.”

Jake’s deep voice followed by the
scraping of his chair against the hard floor penetrated her musings. “No, I’m
okay. Just thinking.”

Jake settled in his seat. “Ask me.”

His statement startled her.

“I’m sure you have questions. Ask them.”

She shrugged. “I’m having a hard time
remembering details.”

“A situation developed. I pulled you
inside the café and shielded you.”

The scene
unfolded in her mind’s eye. Unfortunately, the image of Marge lying on the café
floor materialized. “I remember most of what happened.” She shook her head and
fumbled with the blanket. “I don’t want to, though.” Her eyes flicked closed.
“What caused me to black out?”

“Shock. The EMTs thought it would be
better to bring you to the ER for fluids. Their prediction that you’d be home
within a couple of hours was a tad off. The doctor ordered a CAT scan to check
the bump on your head. The results were negative. It’s not uncommon for people
experiencing trauma to black out, but when you stopped breathing—”

“I stopped breathing?”

“For a moment,” he cleared his throat,
“the EMTs were on the scene quickly.” He studied her a moment. “Do your lips
hurt?”

A flush crept across her cheeks. Had she
really stopped breathing? His voice did hold a hint of mischievousness. She
held her bottom lip between two fingers, remembering the warmth before she
blacked out. Her wayward fingers fell onto the bed. “No.”

With a gleam in his eyes, he winked, then
his face returned to the earnest expression she had seen earlier. “Once you get
out of here, we’ll talk more. With FBI agents posted along the hall and outside
your door, you’ll be safe.”

They were supposed to keep her safe last
night. They didn’t. She rolled to her side. Pain stung her butt. Last night,
she had fallen on a rock. “Where are my clothes?”

Jake opened a closet door, yanked a bag
from its constraints, and placed it on top of the blanket next to her.

Pamela slipped her hands into the pocket
of her dress and pulled out a white piece of paper.

Jake groaned. “You should have given it
to me when you found it.”

Blood rushed to her head, and her palms
sweated. “I found it during the commotion just before I blacked out. How could
I give it to you?” Her voice elevated an octave. “And what the hell do you call
keeping me safe?” She rolled onto her back.

Jake extended his hand. “You need to stay
calm. I figured you had been carrying it around for a while.”

She snorted and lifted her shoulders off
the bed. With narrow eyes, she fumed, “Don’t tell me what to do. FBI agents
were supposed to protect me.” The tears that threatened, escaped. “They were
supposed to protect my café and the people inside it. Where were they?”

Hands on his hips, Jake lowered his head,
but his eyes were glued to hers. “They blindsided us. The Black Scorpions
arrived on the street by motorcycle and on foot. The ones on foot picked out
the agents posted on the South and North sides of the street. They took them
out. They even managed to restrain the agents at the back entrance. The gang
members on motorcycles had free access to the street after that point. No one
knew that a quarter of the gang would show up. We thought we were only dealing
with a couple. How so many snuck into the area undetected is a mystery.”

Her shoulders slumped, and she swiped at
the wetness on her cheeks. “What do you mean took out?”

“Three agents are in the hospital. One
agent didn’t make it. The others were checked and released.”

Her stomach rolled. “Agents were killed?”
she squeaked. The strength in her muscles deserted her, and she fell backwards.
Pain shot through her head and butt. She could do nothing else, but stare at
the ceiling. Her eyes wandered. There were no overhead lights. She scanned the
contents of the room, not much resembled a hospital room. “Where am I? This
isn’t an actual patient room.”

“For obvious reasons, you couldn’t be in
a regular room, not with Sanjar or the Black Scorpions looking for you. This
area is secluded. As soon as we get the okay, I’m taking you to my house where
it’s more secure until this case is over.” He stepped closer and held out his
hand. “I need the note.”

She gave him the wadded papers.

“Two notes?”

“I found the other one in my office’s
bathroom trashcan before Cocktail Hour.”

Jake stuffed them in his pocket. “I’ll…”

A loud commotion reverberated outside the
room.

He raised his hand and said, “Keep
quiet.”

Not again.

Jake snatched a paper towel from the
dispenser near the sink, pressed it against her arm where the IV connected to
her skin, then pulled the IV out. He tugged her hand, and she took over
applying pressure to her arm. She went willingly, despite the throbbing in her
head. Once they were pressed against the wall, he pulled his gun from the waist
of his pants.

She clutched the tail of his shirt and
decided it was more important to hold her gown together. She let the paper
towel drop and clasped the flaps of her gown. She hated that this scene felt
familiar.

Chapter
Eight

Warm air tickled his neck while soft,
feminine curves pressed into his back. At any moment, the door would fly open,
generating a threat toward Pamela, and all Jake could think about was how to
get her lovely body pressed against his front.

Another loud commotion and raised voices.
This time the sound was just outside the door. He stiffened, readying for
action. Even though agents were posted in the hall, he couldn’t be too careful.
Last night taught him that. He leveled his gun shoulder height.

The door opened slowly.

Jake’s trigger finger itched. If a Black
Scorpion revealed his face, he’d pull the trigger and ask questions later.
Consequences be damned. Pamela wouldn’t be a sitting duck again.

Instead of a menacing face, a beady-eyed woman
with hair similar to Pamela’s stared into the barrel of Jake’s gun, her mouth
falling open.

From the case folder he had received, he
now had an image of all possible suspects and known allies of Pamela’s. This
woman was Vivian Lynx, Pamela’s mother. Even if he hadn’t seen a picture of
her, he would have known she was her mother. They looked a great deal alike.

Jake motioned with the gun for Vivian to
step aside. The voice he heard in the hall was an unidentifiable male.
Vivian could be a decoy
. Pamela started
to move away. His hand on her thigh held her against him.

The door opened wider, and a pudgy man,
standing the same height as him, glared at the gun.

“Sorry, Sir, the couple came out of the
elevator, appearing suspicious. They ignored my order to freeze. My partner and
I tackled the male to the floor and searched him. The female showed us ID, and
we quickly helped the man to his feet. The package is clean.”

“Thanks, agent.”

The agent gave a brusque nod, then closed
the door behind him.

Jake inspected Pamela’s stepfather,
Nicholas Wine, from top to bottom. Wine’s suit was impeccable, but his gelled
hair, gold pinky ring, and sparkling teeth shouted scumbag. A package shaped
like a book stuck in his right hand, most of the paper missing. “What’s in the
package?” Jake demanded.

As if Wine hadn’t been knocked to the
ground and a gun wasn’t aimed at him, he lifted the gift a few inches, then
dropped it back to his side, calmly saying, “It’s a gift for Pamela.”

“Pamela, why is this man asking us
questions? And why is he pointing a gun at Nicholas?”

Pamela winced.

The hospital door snapped closed. Jake
lowered his gun and released Pamela’s leg. Without saying a word, she climbed
into bed.

“Pamela, what’s going on here? Who is
this man?” And before Vivian took a breath, she ordered, “Answer me.”

Pamela pulled the covers over her thin
gown and thought for a second. “Hmm, no.”

Jake stuck his gun in the waistband of
his pants, letting his shirttail hide it. “Pamela, push the button to call the
nurse. She needs to reattach your IV.”

She did.

Vivian marched to the side of the bed,
her emotions wound tight making her petite body shake. Vivian Lynx stood at
five-two. Her heels she wore were four to five inches high, making her a tad
shorter than Pamela bare foot.

“Pamela, answer me,” Vivian demanded
again.

“Vivian, my head hurts. I don’t want to
deal with you today.”

Vivian touched Pamela’s hand.
“Sweetheart,” her bitter voice now mellowed, “I left a long time ago. Don’t you
think it’s time for you to let go of the anger? It’s not good for you.”

“This is the nurse,” a woman’s voice
announced over the intercom.

“Ms. Young’s IV came out,” Jake informed
her.

“I’ll be there in just a moment,” the
nurse advised.

“Maybe I should, but I can’t. Vivian, you
left dad and me to become a model. Our role in your life was nonexistent.”
Pamela touched her forehead, causing her mother’s hand to drop to the mattress.
“It was more important for you to become a
Victoria
’s
Secret model than to stay in
Fredericksburg
and be my mother.”

Jake’s eyebrows
arched. He knew this about Vivian Lynx, knew the woman had no family values,
but to hear Pamela state it matter-of-factly made him feel a twinge of
compassion for the young teen whose mother abandoned her. An emotion he
shouldn’t have, not in this line of work.

“Pamela, I had to do it for me. At the
time, I was so consumed with making something more out of myself than just
being a mother and a wife.”

A nurse arrived with supplies and
examined Pamela’s arm. “What happened?”

“I took it out,” Jake said.

The nurse didn’t comment. She moved to
the other side of the bed, reattached the IV, and headed toward the door.
“Don’t do it again,” she told Jake as she exited the room.

He nodded.

Pamela’s eyes were closed, and when they
opened, a play of emotions crossed her face, pain, anger, and something he knew
all too well, disgust. This last sentiment had only been directed at himself.
Her eyes narrowed, her mouth flattened, and her face turned a deep red.

Moving to the safety of the opposite side
of the room, he waited for steam to come out of her ears.

“Vivian, you have no right demanding
answers from me.”

“Pamela, you may be mad, but you will
respect me,” Vivian said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You have never
respected me.”

Jake stretched his legs in front of him
and leaned his back against the wall. “This should be good.”

Wine cut his eye at him, then looked back
at his wife and stepdaughter.

“You lost all rights as a mother the day
you left.”

“Pamela,” Nicholas began, “we just want
to get along. I’ve brought you a gift.”

“And you, how could you be okay with her
not taking your last name?” The outburst was followed by Pamela making a
strange noise and clasping the sides of her face. “You haven’t tried to visit
me in years. Why now?”

Her headache must be getting worse. Jake
straightened and crossed his arms. “I think it’s time you two left.”

Vivian’s suspicious eyes inspected Jake
before drooping.

He felt a tinge of sympathy. Whatever had
transpired over the years, Pamela had no plans of letting her mother off the
hook. He’d give anything to have his biological mom back, even if her body did
shake when she talked.

“I know you.”

Jake went rigid as he braced himself for
Vivian’s verbal attack. He didn’t need to be reminded of the person he used to be.
“We’ve met.”

She lifted her finger and pointed at his
face. “You’re that … that boy.” Her disgust was tangible.

“Not anymore.”

An objection from the bed, and a second
later Pamela stood in front of her mother, holding her IV pole, and her heart-shaped
butt staring at him. “Don’t.”

“I can handle this,” Jake informed.

Pamela squinted over her shoulder at him,
released the pole, and gathered her gown. Her free hand held her head. “She is
my mother. If anyone’s going to handle her, it’ll be me.” Jake respected that.

Before he had a chance to utter a word,
Pamela faced her mother. “I want you Nicholas and you to leave.”

Vivian took in a deep breath, twisted her
hands, then exhaled. “I told you when you were an impressionable teenager that
a man like him was dangerous. He may have cut his hair, but he is still the
same. A man like him will never amount to anything.”