Special Forces Father (9 page)

Stamps started to pull against
Travis’s grip.

“Careful,” Travis warned. “You probably should stay still. If you break your own wrist by moving like that, I can’t be responsible for the integrity of the bones. They might shatter and you’d never be able to use that hand again. I, on the other hand, know how to break it cleanly. No shattered bones.”

Stamps’s ruddy face turned a sickly pale purple color. “I demand that
you let me go,” he croaked.

“I will, as soon as you tell me who set up the kidnapping.”

“I told you I—”

Travis moved his forefinger and thumb slightly.

“Aah!” Stamps cried. “Oh my word, oh my word. You broke it.”

“No. I just touched a nerve. Want me to do it again?”

“No!” Stamps bent over the desk in the direction of his hand, obviously hoping to take any strain off
the bones. He was terrified that Travis’s hold would shatter his wrist. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Not a good answer.” Travis glanced toward Stamps’s hand.

“No, wait. Please.” Stamps cleared his throat. Sweat trickled down his temple and ran into the creases of his jowls. “The only one who would do something that stupid is Whitley,” he mumbled.

“Whitley can’t
be doing this alone,” Travis growled. “He doesn’t have the money to hire a pro. Is Sills paying for it, or are you?”

“I’m not! I swear.”

Travis groaned exaggeratedly. “My fingers are getting tired. When they get too tired, they start twitching. If they twitch in the wrong direction—”

Stamps’s mouth dropped open. He looked dumbfounded. “No—” he breathed.

Travis watched him,
thinking if the senator was acting, he was doing a damn good job of it. Could he be telling the truth? Could the whole kidnapping have been dreamed up by Sills or Whitley, or both of them together? “No, what?” Travis asked, scowling at Stamps.

“They
kidnapped
somebody?” Stamps swallowed audibly, then coughed.

“Not just somebody. A child. A four-year-old boy,” Travis said.

What little
color had been in Stamps’s face drained away pale. “I didn’t know.”

Travis studied Stamps closely. His face was still that light purple color. His lips were pinched and white at the corners. And his face and neck were dripping with sweat. His eyes were dilated, and through his fingers on the man’s wrist, Travis could feel his pulse, which was fast and shallow. The man had been a politician
for fifty years, so Travis doubted he’d be this shaken if he were lying.

On the other hand, Travis had seen men react this way when threatened with death. Stamps might be a scumbag. He’d probably shot cousin Paul on purpose. But Travis didn’t think Stamps had known about the kidnapper.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s about three minutes to four. Your golfing buddy is probably here. Who
is he?”

“It’s—” Stamps shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “It’s the mayor. We’re just—just going to work on our putts on my p-putting green for an hour, then head to a dinner meeting.”

“That sounds like fun. Your buddies Sills and Whitley going to that meeting?”

Stamps shook his head so hard his jowls shook. “No. I mean, I don’t know. This is a community thing. Not political
at all.”

Travis squeezed gently with his thumb.

Stamps gasped and winced.

Travis smiled, but the senator didn’t look mollified. “Let’s not mention my visit, okay? Let’s keep this just between us. And remember, I might come to see you again if I don’t find out what I need from your buddies.” He let go of Stamps’s hand and the man rubbed it as if he’d had on tight handcuffs.

“By the way, where would I find your two buddies this afternoon? Do you have any idea?”

Stamps shook his head again. “I—I think Whitley is in Baton Rouge. But Sills? You—you can c-call my secretary. She’ll track him down for you.” He gave Travis the number.

Travis stored it in his phone, pocketed it, then pointed at Stamps’s wrist. The senator stepped backward. “Remember,” Travis said.
“Just between us. Got it?” he asked, smiling.

Stamps nodded, sending his jowls quivering in an entirely new direction.

Chapter Six

Travis got to Kate’s house at fourteen minutes until seven. He’d called Stamps’s secretary and found out that Darby Sills was scheduled to attend the same dinner Stamps and the mayor were attending. He wasn’t above confronting the senior senator there, but by the time he found out where Sills was, it was after five-thirty and he was facing driving across the Lake Pontchartrain
Causeway during rush hour. Just as he’d figured, it had taken over an hour to get back to Kate’s house.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the front door behind him. Then he saw Kate. At the same time, she saw him and cried his name. She was barefoot and she’d obviously been pacing the living room.

He met her gaze as her expression, frantic with fear, turned to anger and her pale
cheeks flushed. Then the anger morphed into a cold stare that could have flash-frozen hot coffee. “Give me my phone,” she snapped.

“Kate, listen to me. We don’t have much time.”

“Give—me—my—phone. How dare you take it from me?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t have your phone,” he said quietly. He rose to the balls of his feet, bracing himself for her to explode, fully expecting
her to come flying at him with her fists doubled. But she surprised him.

She stood perfectly still, her back ramrod straight, her expression eerily calm and composed. But Travis saw the tracks of tears on her cheeks. More than that, he saw the brittle tension that was holding her together. One tiny crack in that fragile facade and she would shatter. Sadly, he knew that his next words would
be like a sledgehammer to her very frail shell of calm.

“I left it with my cousin Dawson.” He held up his hands, palms out. “He’s not a cop. He’s a private investigator.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her face turned pale and her hand fluttered to her chest. “Your—cousin?” she said, swaying slightly. “Why did you do that? You promised me.”

Travis watched her carefully. Was she
going to faint? He stepped close to her and placed a hand on her elbow. She went rigid at his touch. “I’m going to explain. Okay?”

She didn’t answer, but she let him lead her to the couch and urge her to sit. He sat beside her. Her gaze was so full of betrayal and desperate fear that it made his heart hurt.

“I didn’t go to the police,” he said. “I promised you I wouldn’t.”

She looked
at him for a long moment, then down at her hands. “Now I can’t talk to the kidnapper. He’s going to hurt Max.”

Travis reached for her hands but she clenched them together in her lap. “It’s okay,” he said. “Dawson’s got a computer guy that can hack into your phone. He’s going to trace the kidnapper’s call. Figure out where the signal originated, where the guy bought it—everything he can.”

“He’ll know, the kidnapper will know—and then he’ll—” Her breath caught on a sob.

“No, hon. No. He probably won’t find out, but even if he does—he’s not going to hurt Max. Dawson said the same thing I did. These people need Max. He’s the only hold they have over you. If something happens to him, they’ll have nothing. They’ve got to keep him safe and healthy.”

“But—”

Travis put
a finger against her lips. “Shh. Let me tell you what Dawson said.”

She turned her head away from his fingertip and clenched her hands in her lap again.

Travis hated what he was doing to her. He’d known that going to Dawson was a good idea. He’d also known it would be difficult to explain it to Kate. But this was harder than he’d expected. The bewildered, betrayed expression on her face
nearly broke his heart. He could only pray that he’d done the right thing.

“Dawson gave me a phone for you to use. As soon as he finished talking with the kidnapper, he programmed your phone to forward all calls to this one.” Travis reached into his pocket and retrieved the burner phone.

Kate reached for the small black device. Travis gave it to her and she held on to it with both hands,
as if she were afraid it would disappear.

“So any calls you receive—” he continued.

“Will transfer to this one?”

“That’s right,” he said, relieved that she wasn’t too distraught to understand. He smiled at her.

But suddenly, her eyes grew wide and her face went completely white. “You said— Oh my God!” Kate’s hand went to her mouth. “Your cousin—he talked to the kidnapper? What
did he say? What did he do? Is Max all right?” Tears sprang to her eyes.

Travis caught her hands. “Listen to me, hon. I know you’re scared. I am, too. But Dawson knew just exactly how to handle him. The kidnapper’s going to call back—” he glanced at his watch “—any minute now. The call will come through this phone. We think he’s going to let you talk to Max.”

“Talk to Max?” Kate’s ravaged
expression brightened a little. “Really? I can talk to him?”

And then he watched helplessly as she crumbled like one of those buildings that implodes in on itself.

She collapsed against the couch cushions, covered her face with her hands and cried. This wasn’t a stoic, silent weeping, characterized only by the tears that coursed down her face. This was a full-on breakdown, with heart-wrenching
sobs that seemed to be torn from her soul.

Travis fell mute. He’d feared she would break down, but this was more awful than he’d imagined. There was nothing to do but offer his comfort. He put his arm around her tentatively, giving her the choice of rejecting or accepting his embrace. She stiffened. But he remained still, barely touching her, giving her the option of pulling away. Finally,
she leaned into him, burying her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder, her delicate back shaking, her tears soaking his shirt.

He held her and murmured meaningless words. He wasn’t sure what all he said. Meaningless things like
it’s going to be okay,
and
don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.
He didn’t know where he’d learned how to comfort, but he remembered holding
Harte and Cara Lynn and whispering to them while their dad had shouted and cursed at their mother or Lucas.

It seemed like a long time later when Kate finally stopped sobbing and merely sniffled occasionally. Her breath cooled his tear-soaked shirt. As she quieted, he turned his face toward her hair and breathed in the strawberry scent that he remembered. She still used the same shampoo.

Lifting his arm carefully so as not to startle her, Travis looked at his watch again. Four minutes after seven. Why hadn’t the kidnapper called? He blew out a frustrated breath.

Kate stirred, then pulled away. When she lifted her head, her face was splotchy and tear-streaked. She blinked, then looked at him wide-eyed, her wet, matted lashes surrounding her blue-green eyes like dark starbursts.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, and sniffled.

“Nothing,” he said automatically.

She narrowed her gaze. “Yes. Something’s wrong.” She scowled. “You said the man would call any minute.” Her breath hitched. “He’s— Oh, God, he should have called by now. He’s not going to, is he?”

“He’s only a couple minutes late,” he murmured as he pushed a damp strand of hair away from her cheek and brushed
it back at her temple. Then he looked solemnly into her eyes. “Listen to me. Dawson’s going to be recording every word both of you say. You need to get the guy to talk, to be as specific as possible about what he’s doing and why.”

Kate’s tongue slipped out to moisten her lips and Travis’s body, to his disgust and dismay, reacted immediately. After holding her close for those long moments,
he was so in tune with her, so filled with the sight and scent and feel of her, that he was already half turned on. Now the sight of her tongue stirred him and made him long to taste it and the inside of her mouth. To kiss her and feel her kissing him back, like they’d done in college, when they were still in love.

But this wasn’t the time. Hell, it might never be the right time for that
again. This was about Kate and her son, and his attempts to help her get her little boy back. It wasn’t about anything else. Certainly nothing to do with him.

He pulled her closer, willing to do nothing but hold her as long as she needed holding. But she kept her gaze on his for a second, then, to his surprise, she looked at his lips. He swallowed.

“Travis,” she said softly, her eyes
glittering with dampness.

“I know,” he said. “I’m here. I’ll be here as long as you need me.”

She brought a hand up and touched his neck, then pressed her lips to the place she’d touched, the place where his pulse hammered.

He closed his eyes. He’d never in his life felt anything softer and sweeter than her lips on him. Even now, just that soft brush of skin against skin. Nothing
more than Kate’s attempt to make a connection with another person when she was missing her child so desperately.

But her lips stayed there, at his pulse point, then they slid up to his jaw and farther, until she could reach no higher. He bent his head, still passive, still not presuming that she actually wanted to kiss him.

A small moan of distress—or longing—escaped her lips and her
hand, pressed against his chest, clenched around the material of his shirt.

The phone rang.

Kate jumped at the harsh jangle. For an instant, she didn’t realize she had grabbed a fistful of his shirt. His arm tightened briefly around her shoulders. He bent his head and touched his forehead to hers.

“That’s him,” he whispered. “Go ahead, you’ll do great.”

She turned her head
toward the phone, sitting on the coffee table. As she reached for it, the ringer jangled again, and she had the impression that it moved. She stared at the display that read
Private Number.

Travis touched her shoulder and nodded at her. “Get specifics,” he whispered. “And try to take control of the conversation.”

Kate leaned forward and picked up the phone with a shaking hand. She had
no idea what she was going to say. No idea whether she could talk. Her throat was quivering. She pressed her hand against it. She had to stay calm. All she wanted to do was talk to Max. But she had to talk to the kidnapper first, and she was not going to let him hear her crying.

“Max needs you to be calm,” Travis muttered in her ear as she pressed the answer button with her finger. For some
reason, his words helped.

“Hello,” she said.

“Dr. Chalmet, it’s good to finally hear
your
voice,” the man drawled. “A man answered your phone earlier. Didn’t I tell you not to tell anybody?”

His voice was low and threatening. Kate had an overwhelming urge to beg him to forgive her and please not hurt her baby, but Travis had warned her to take control of the conversation, so she
did her best to picture the man as one of her patients, a delusional schizophrenic.

“I want to speak to my son,” she said as firmly as she could. Beside her, Travis leaned in to listen, his hand still on her shoulder, squeezing gently.

“You don’t get to say what you want, Doctor. I’m in charge, and I’ll let you know when you can talk to him.”

A lump rose in Kate’s throat. She didn’t
think she could live another second without hearing her baby’s voice. She swallowed against the lump and took a fortifying breath.

“I want to talk to him now!” she said in her
doctor-in-charge
voice. It didn’t sound quite as commanding as she’d hoped it would. She wondered how much of her desperate fear the man could detect.

“Shut the hell up and listen to me,” the man yelled. “Do you
think I care about what you want? Well, I don’t. We need to talk business. Then, if you’re good,
maybe
I’ll be generous. But only if you keep your mouth shut and listen to me.”

Next to her, Travis put his finger to his lips.

She nodded. “Okay,” she said into the phone. She took a deep breath and pressed her knuckles against her teeth for a brief instant. “Okay.”

“Good. It always
helps to have a sensible parent.”

Always helps?
“You’ve kidnapped children before,” she whispered.

A brief pause told her that he hadn’t meant to reveal that. “That’s right, Doctor. Very good. I’m a professional. So be very clear—I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you think that makes me feel better?” Kate said. “Do you think I’m
happy
that you’ve got lots of experience with abducting
children and torturing their parents?”

“To tell you the truth, Doc, I don’t think anything about you. I don’t
care
about you. All I care about is getting the job done that I was hired to do. Now I need you to listen...to...me! Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“Now.” The man took a long breath and let it out. “The trial date has been moved up—”

“What?” Kate vaulted to
her feet. “When? When did that happen? Nobody told me anything about—”

“Shut! Up!”

Travis stood beside her, but she waved him off. “I’m okay,” she mouthed silently. She wasn’t okay, not by a long shot. But the more she interrupted, the more she protested, the longer it would be before she could speak to Max. And if she made the man angry enough, he might hang up without letting her talk
to her little boy at all.

“The trial date has been moved up to Monday,” he said. “That’s only five days from now. Are you ready?”

Five days from now. That meant if she did everything that this awful man wanted her to, she’d be able to get her son back five days sooner than she’d thought. “No,” she said, as calmly and professionally as she could. “I’m not ready yet. I haven’t finished
going through the case file. And I need to talk to Senator Stamps and the witnesses.”

“Come on, Doc. How hard is it to stipulate that he was temporarily insane when he shot that guy? You don’t need to read all the witness statements and reports. You sure don’t have to talk to them.”

Kate frowned at Travis. The man sounded like an attorney. Or maybe someone in law enforcement. He was
comfortable with the correct terminology.

“I like to have all the facts before I present my findings,” she said.

“That’s admirable. But really, is there any question about what your findings are going to be in this case? After all, if you testify that Stamps was sane, then we no longer have an agreement, right?”