Laura Scott - Her Mistletoe Protector

A quick search revealed that Margie was still living in the Chicago area. She wrote down the address, determined to convince Nick that they needed to pay the woman a surprise visit.

THREE

Nick couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel and Joey as he ran a few errands. He understood what Rachel was going through—he’d been inconsolable after his wife and daughter went missing, too. He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get in the way of doing what was right, but seeing the pain etched on Rachel’s face was impossible to ignore.

After picking up some new clothes he’d put a call in to his FBI buddy, Logan Quail, only to find out his friend was out of the country on his honeymoon. No wonder Logan hadn’t returned his calls. The timing was unfortunate, since Logan’s expertise would have been perfect for Rachel’s situation.

But he’d just have to use another way to help Rachel find her son.

As he was picking up some fast food, his phone rang and he was surprised to discover that the caller was his boss, Ryan Walsh. “Hi, Captain.”

“Butler. We have some news from the crash scene you called in earlier.”

“You do?” He juggled the phone as he handed over cash and accepted the bag of food from the bored teen at the window. “What do you have?”

“We got a hit on one of the fingerprints. Perp’s name is Ricky Morales and he’s got a rap sheet, largely for drug busts, but, most recently, he was arrested for armed robbery. He just got out on bail about six months ago.”

Nick pulled away from the drive-through window and parked in the first open slot he saw. “Do you think Morales has found a home working as a thug for the Mafia?”

His boss grunted. “Don’t see why not. It’s a lead worth following since the truck is registered in his name, too. Explains why he dumped his ride as soon as he did. I’ll send his last-known address to you in an email. Where are you right now?”

“Getting something to eat.” Nick didn’t want to say too much. “We also have a possible suspect in Frankie Caruso, who happens to be Anthony Caruso’s uncle. Ms. Simon is convinced that Frankie is back to take over the Mafia.”

“What do you think?” Walsh asked.

“I think she could be right. You might want to see what you can find out about Caruso’s activities. In the meantime, we’ll start looking for leads related to Ricky Morales.”

“Sounds like a plan.” He could hear his boss scribbling notes. “Good work so far, Butler. Keep in touch.”

“I will.” Nick disconnected from the call and stared at his phone for a moment. He debated searching for Morales right now, but then decided he needed to get back to the motel. At least he had some positive news to give Rachel.

The drive didn’t take long. He grabbed the clothes and the bag of food, his mouth watering at the aroma of burgers and fries, and swiped his key card. The moment he closed the motel door behind him, he heard Rachel knocking on the connecting door.

“Coming,” he called as he reached for the door. He smiled at her. “Don’t argue, but I brought food for the both of us.”

“There’s no time to eat,” Rachel said in a rush. “Look what I’ve discovered.” She gestured to the computer screen. “Margie Caruso, Frankie’s ex-wife still lives outside of Chicago. We have to get over there right away.”

Her excitement was palpable. “Good news, but I have something to follow up on, too.” He pushed the laptop out of the way so he could haul the food out of the bag. “I’ll search while we eat.”

Rachel frowned, but he noticed she was staring at the burgers and fries as if her appetite may have returned. He bowed his head and gave a quick prayer of thanks. Rachel didn’t say anything, respecting his silent prayer, until he finished and dug into his food. “What are you following up on?” she asked.

“Sit down and eat,” he suggested.

She grimaced, but came over to sit beside him. As if she couldn’t help herself, she popped a French fry into her mouth. He waited until she surrendered to her inevitable hunger by unwrapping the second sandwich and taking a bite before telling her what his boss had uncovered.

“You think this Ricky Morales is the guy who kidnapped Joey?” she asked, her green eyes filled with hope. “I mean, that seems to be the most logical conclusion. And we should be able to find him, right?”

He nodded, even though he knew tracking Morales down wouldn’t be quite that easy. As he ate, he pulled up his email and jotted down the information his boss had sent. “Here’s his last-known address. It’s on the opposite side of town from Margie Caruso’s place.”

“It’s only eight-thirty...there’s plenty of time yet to head over to see what we can find. I need to keep busy, searching for Joey We have to find him as soon as possible!”

“We’ll check both addresses out tonight,” he assured her.

“Thank you,” she murmured.

He shook his head, not wanting her gratitude. He was beginning to identify with Rachel on a personal level. Her fear tugged at his heart. He knew, only too well, what she was going through. Those hours his wife and daughter were missing had been the longest, darkest hours of his life. And when the news came in that they were both found dead in their mangled SUV at the bottom of a ravine, his grief had been overwhelming. Without his faith, he never would have survived the dark days following their deaths.

Grimly, he hoped and prayed that Rachel’s outcome would be different. Please, Lord, keep Joey safe in Your care and guide us in finding him. Amen.

* * *

Rachel pushed away her half-eaten sandwich and the remaining cold French fries, her patience wearing thin. She couldn’t bear the thought of sitting here another minute. If she didn’t take some sort of action to help find her son, she’d go stark, raving mad.

She tapped her fingers impatiently on the table, as Nick finished his meal. “I bought a dark sweatshirt for you, since that pink one is too easily seen at night, and a new pair of athletic shoes,” he said between bites. “Also hats and gloves. Why don’t you change while I finish up?”

“Okay, thanks,” she said, reaching down for the bag of clothes. The shoes were a welcome sight, and while she loved her pink sweatshirt, she realized Nick was right about how it stood out. The black sweatshirt beneath her jacket would blend far better with the night.

She disappeared into the bathroom and quickly changed. Her left ankle was swollen, but she managed to get that shoe on by loosening the laces. The pain in her foot was nothing compared to the gaping hole in her heart.

When she emerged from the bathroom, she was grateful to see that Nick had finished his meal, disposing of all the garbage in the trash can by the door. He’d pulled on the matching black sweatshirt, too, before zipping up his jacket. He shut down the computer and then turned to her. “Ready?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Yes.” She was more than ready. She tucked her room key into her back pocket and followed Nick out to the car. Once she was buckled in, he set his phone in the cradle where he could easily read the GPS directions.

“Where are we going first?” she asked.

“Morales lives closer,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway. “We’ll go there, first.”

She didn’t argue with his logic. Granted, it wasn’t likely that Morales would abandon his truck and take Joey to his home address listed on the registration, but, then again, criminals weren’t always known for being smart.

The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness as Nick drove through the night. She tensed when she noticed they were heading straight into a seedy part of town. Her stomach roiled at the thought of Joey being kept in a place where he was likely to be assaulted, or worse even, if he managed to escape.