Maggie Price - The Ransom

“Right,” Clay agreed.

“The ransom amount puzzles me,” Forbes continued. “Devin Mason is wealthy. Why ask only one million dollars for his son’s safe return?”

“Good question.” Clay tightened his grip on the phone. “Look, I understand why you can’t come to Texas, but I need to get another negotiator fast. Who do you recommend?”

“You.”

Old memories, like the ghost of past sins, knotted Clay’s gut. “No way in hell.” For two years he’d lived with guilt over his parents’ death that gave him night sweats and a dull, skittering sense of panic. The last thing he wanted was to take on the responsibility of Matthew Mason’s life.

“You know the normal goings-on in the community,” Forbes persisted. “Since the kidnapper insists Mrs. Mason maintain her regular schedule, we can assume he’s in a position to watch her. You’re a friend, a neighbor, you can place yourself near her without alarming the person holding Matthew. And perhaps spot someone who seems overcurious about her.”

Clay set his jaw. From the instant Kathryn handed him the phone with the ransom message he’d had the sensation of having stepped in quicksand. Now, he felt himself getting sucked farther into a black hole. How could he help her when he couldn’t trust himself to make the right moves?

“Kathryn is a celebrity,” he said. “Everyone is curious about her, so you’d have Layton’s entire population on your suspect list. The best way I can help her is from a distance.”

“I disagree. Mrs. Mason needs someone she can trust staying close to her to assess the people she interacts with. Someone who will know if a person’s normal body language has changed, if they’re showing signs of nervousness and stress. You’re a former police officer, you’re trained to do that.”

“Are you forgetting my instincts are so screwed I didn’t sense the danger closing in on my parents?”

“What happened in Bogota was not your fault. And even if I were able to come there,” Forbes continued, “I would be dependent on you to advise me on the people, their backgrounds. You already know who, if anyone, on the local police force can be trusted to be approached. I can consult for Mrs. Mason by phone if you’ll agree to work with her there.”

“Dammit.” Clay lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to be responsible for another person dying.”

“You have never been responsible for that.”

Just then, Clay saw Kathryn step from the bathroom, the pill bottle gripped in one hand. He explained to Forbes about Matthew’s medicine, then held the phone so that the negotiator could hear Kathryn.

“Ten of the pills are gone.”

“You’re sure?” Clay asked.

“I counted them three times.”

“Okay. Is there any chance Matthew could have gotten that bottle out of the cabinet? Taken the missing pills, thinking they were candy? Or maybe to hide them?”

“No. He’s spent weeks in the hospital, years going to various doctors. He understands why he has to take medicine.”

Clay put the phone back to his ear. “You hear that?”

“Yes, ten pills,” Forbes said. “I wonder if that’s the kidnapper’s timetable? Ten days from the snatch to delivery of the ransom. Or do they plan to demand the ransom be paid sooner? They possibly took more pills as a cushion in case something unforeseen requires they hold the boy longer than planned. If that’s the case, why not just take the bottle?”

“Would have made more sense,” Clay said.

“You said Matthew’s father is in Tibet?”

“Yes. He insisted on coming here to deal with the kidnappers. I talked him into staying put, at least for now.”

“And you claim you can’t handle things?” Without waiting for a response, Forbes added, “Let me speak to Mrs. Mason.”

Clay handed Kathryn the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

“He’s coming, right?” she asked. “Mr. Forbes is coming?”

He met her desperate gaze. “No, Kat, he can’t come.”

AFTER TALKING to Forbes, Kathryn handed the phone back to Clay, then clenched her hands to keep from burying her face in them and weeping. Because her legs had turned to water, she lowered herself onto the edge of her son’s bed.

“We can bring in another negotiator,” Clay said.

“How long will that take? Another day? Two? Three?”

“There’s no way to know until I make a few calls.”

Kathryn pleated the rumpled sheet. The bed was in the same condition as when she stumbled into the room that morning. She thought of the stories she’d read about parents who left the bedrooms of their missing children unchanged. Her heart had ached for those people. Now, she was one of them.

She looked at the phone she’d placed on the nightstand. “Why don’t they call? God, why don’t they just call?”

“They will,” Clay said. “When they do, remember what we went over.”

“No matter what they…threaten, stand firm,” she said, her voice raspy. “Insist they get the ransom only after I have proof Matthew is alive.”

“Staying calm while they swear they’ll kill your child will be the hardest thing you’ll ever do.”

She met Clay’s grim gaze. “You know that, because of when your parents were taken, right? You had to stay calm while talking to the people who…” Killed them.

Kathryn’s throat tightened when she saw the pain in Clay’s eyes a second before his expression hardened. Now that the stunning shock that had held her in its grip was subsiding, she realized how difficult her situation must be for him.

“When Reece and Johnny said you could help me, I didn’t think twice. I just found you. It didn’t occur to me how dredging all this up would be for you. I don’t guess I cared. But it has to hurt, remembering what happened to your family.”

Clay stared down at her. There was no way for her to know that his pain was twofold, that his parents might never have been kidnapped if only he’d made a different choice where she was concerned. So many regrets, he thought. So much pain.

Pain that he was going to have to shove back into the dark pit inside him since the weight of responsibility for Matthew’s life had dropped like lead onto his shoulders. Though he’d wanted to avoid that, Clay knew this wasn’t about what had happened to his parents, or himself. This was about a five-year-old boy whose life was at stake.

And the ashen-faced woman staring up at him.

He crouched beside the bed, bringing his face level with hers. “Matthew’s situation is different,” he said evenly. “My parents were grabbed by rebels who wanted to force the Colombian government to release their imprisoned pals. A Colombian general lost patience and ordered an attack on the rebel camp. My parents got caught in the crossfire.”

Reaching out, Clay tucked a wisp of dark hair behind Kathryn’s ear. When heat arrowed straight to his gut, he nearly jerked his hand away. He knew the only way Matthew would stay alive was for everyone involved to keep emotion out of the mix. For him, that wasn’t going to be easy.

“Matthew doesn’t have opposing groups warring over him,” he continued. “His kidnappers want money. You’re willing to pay. We’ll get him back safe if we’re careful.”

Kathryn pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. The man crouched before her bore only a vague resemblance to her lover from a decade ago. Then, there’d been no furrows creasing his forehead. No crinkles at the corners of those dark brown eyes. No lines fanning from the mouth that had so often curved into a cocky grin that had added to the instant, sexual punch. No scar slashing a diagonal line across his right cheek and temple.

She had given him her heart and he’d shattered it. Her own fault, she conceded, since Clay had never pretended his feelings mirrored hers. Nor had he lied about his intentions, or anything else. Knowing that, she now pulled his words to her heart, clinging to them like a safety line to her child.