Christmas Kidnapping

Jack stood and walked to the phone on the wall. “What are you doing?” Andrea asked. “Who are you calling?”

“I’m forwarding this number to my cell phone. That way you can come with me and we won’t miss a call from the kidnappers.”

“The note says they have someone watching me,” Andrea said. “Maybe we shouldn’t leave the house.”

“They think I’m your boyfriend. They won’t be alarmed if you come with me.” At least, he hoped that was the case.

Andrea packed an overnight bag and Chelsea retrieved the baby’s car seat from her vehicle. “My husband can bring me by to get my car later,” she said. “I’m too scared to drive home alone right now.”

“I don’t mind taking you home. And I’ll talk to your husband, too. I’ll persuade him to keep quiet.”

Chelsea’s husband turned out to be a burly mechanic who worked for the local Ford dealer. He listened to the story Chelsea told with growing signs of alarm. When she got to the part about needing to keep quiet, he started shaking his head.

Jack stepped forward. “Mr. Green, I’m with the FBI,” he said. He opened his ID folder to show his badge and credentials. “I’m going to be doing everything I can to get Ian back to his mother safely, and for that, I need your cooperation.”

“FBI!” Chelsea gasped. “Andrea, you didn’t tell me he was a fed.”

Andrea said nothing, her face pale and drawn. She looked as if the slightest breeze might make her collapse. Jack resisted the urge to gather her close and hold her tightly. “Will you promise not to contact police and not to say anything to anyone—coworkers, friends, relatives, anyone—until this is resolved?” he asked.

Mr. Green nodded. “Sure. I’ll keep quiet. I didn’t know the FBI was involved.”

Not officially, Jack thought. Not yet.

They drove in silence to his apartment. Andrea made no protest when he took her arm and guided her up the stairs to the furnished unit he had rented when the team relocated to Durango the month before. The television still broadcast the ball game, the sound turned down low, and the harsh overhead light illuminated the wrappings from the sub sandwich and chips that had been his dinner.

“The bedroom is back this way,” he said, steering her toward the short hallway that led to the unit’s single bedroom and adjoining bathroom. “You can sleep here. I’ll take the couch.”

Covers spilled onto the floor, silent testimony to a restless night. The pillow still bore the imprint of his head. He rushed forward to jerk the comforter into place. “I’ll get some clean sheets,” he said, moving past her.

“You don’t have to go to all this trouble,” she said, her hand on his arm. “I can take the sofa.”

“No, it’s okay.”

He found the sheets, and together they made the bed, an ordinary, intimate activity that broke some of the tension between them. “Do you have a washer and dryer?” she asked, gathering up the old linens. “I can wash these.”

“I’ll get them later.” He took the mound of sheets from her and stuffed them into the closet behind him. “Can I get you anything else? Tea? Bourbon?”

A smile flickered across her lips. “The latter is tempting, but I want to keep a clear head.”

“Try to get some sleep.” He hesitated, then reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She leaned her cheek against his hand, her skin silky and warm, and no man with feelings would have been able to resist pulling her to him.

She welcomed the gesture and snuggled against him, her head buried in the hollow of his shoulder. “I’m so afraid,” she whispered. “If they hurt Ian...”

“Shh.” He cradled the back of her head, his fingers threaded through her hair, which was coming loose from the pins that held it atop her head. He removed the pins one by one and combed out her locks with his fingers. She sighed and settled against him more firmly, so that he was aware of the soft weight of her breasts against his chest and the vanilla-and-honey perfume of her hair. He wanted to bury his face in those silky tresses—and bury the rest of himself in her, as well.

She raised her head and tilted her face up to his, her expression questioning. “Why do I feel so safe and comfortable with you?” she asked.

“Because you are safe with me.” He stroked her cheek, silken and warm. “I’m not going to do anything to hurt you.”

“Kiss me.” She whispered the words, but they had the force of a command. One he was all too ready to obey.

Her lips were as soft and supple as he had imagined, and she responded to the gentle pressure of his mouth by rising up on her toes and angling her head to deepen the contact. This was no meek surrender to his will, but the urgent encouragement of a partner who wasn’t afraid to take the lead. She traced her tongue along his bottom lip and he opened to her and shifted to snug her body between his thighs, letting her feel how much he wanted her.

She was the first to break contact, looking up at him with heavy-lidded eyes. “That was as amazing as I thought it might be,” she said. “Thank you.”

“I’m the one who should be thanking you.”

She gently moved out of his embrace. “That was very selfish of me,” she said. “I was feeling so helpless and lost... I thought if I kissed you then, just for a moment, I could forget how terrible everything is.”

He rubbed his hand up and down her upper arm, as much to avoid breaking contact with her as to comfort her. “Did it help?”

Her eyes met his, the desire he’d seen there only a moment before edged out by sadness. “It did. But it doesn’t change our situation.” She stepped back, putting space between them. “I’m not trying to lead you on. I think I’m so stressed and upset, and I’ve been on my own so long...” She shook her head. “It’s like my emotions have gone all haywire.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” He understood her more than she would probably believe. The combination of stress and many months of living alone had no doubt intensified his desire for her, but that didn’t explain the tenderness beneath the lust, and the fierce desire to make things right for her. He wanted to return her son safely to her, and he wanted to see her smiling and happy again.

“We’re going to find Ian,” he said. “Hold on to that thought.” He turned away. “Try to get some sleep.” All he wanted was to crawl into that bed with her and hold her all night long, but she’d probably misinterpret his actions, think he was taking advantage of her vulnerability. If he was going to help her, she had to trust him, and that meant letting her dictate the pace of their relationship. So, while he wanted to stay, he made himself leave the room and shut the door quietly behind him.

* * *

ANDREA DIDN’T KNOW how long she stood where Jack left her, clinging to the memory of his warmth and strength. How long had it been since a man had touched her with such tenderness? She had savored the feeling, even as shame lurked in the background, mocking her for enjoying even a minute while her son was in danger. But she’d needed those few moments in Jack’s arms to pull herself together and to gather her own strength to keep from breaking down. Though the urge to collapse onto the bed and give in to the sobs that pressed at the back of her throat almost overwhelmed her, doing so wouldn’t bring Ian back to her.

She went into the bathroom and washed her face and brushed her teeth, then returned to the bedroom and contemplated the freshly made bed. No way would she sleep tonight, not with thoughts of her boy, frightened and with strangers, haunting her.

She went into the living room and found Jack seated on the sofa, a laptop opened on the table in front of him. He had turned off the TV and a cup of coffee steamed at his right hand. He looked up when she moved into the light. “I couldn’t sleep,” she said, and sat beside him.

“I figure we’re both in for a long night,” he said. “Would you like some coffee? I just made it.”

“Maybe in a minute.” She nodded to the laptop. “Are you looking for the purse snatcher?”

“Yes.” He shrank the screen and picked up the coffee cup. “No luck so far, but I’m just getting started.”

“I don’t mean to keep you from your work.” She sat back and grabbed a small throw pillow to hug across her stomach. “I promise not to look.”

“I’ll take a break for a few minutes.” He sipped the coffee and neither of them said anything for a long moment. The refrigerator hummed in the small kitchen behind her, and somewhere below, a car door slammed.

“Why did you call me tonight?” he asked.

A reasonable question, but one she wasn’t sure she could answer. “I don’t know. I wasn’t even thinking. I guess...you’re an FBI agent. And you knew Ian. Or at least, you met him and talked to him.” She looked at him, the truth of her next words making her a little shaky. “I believed you could save him.” But why would she believe such a thing about a man she scarcely knew? Still, she couldn’t shake the conviction that if anyone could help her, it was Jack. The stubbornness and commitment and need for control that had struck her as negative traits in her office now stood out as exactly the characteristics needed to fight the evil responsible for her son’s disappearance.

“I’ll do everything I can to get him back to you,” he said.

She forced herself to stand on shaky legs. “I think I’ll have some of that coffee now.”

When she returned from the kitchen, he was focused on the computer once more. She moved around the room, then studied the few books on a shelf by the door—an acclaimed biography of Theodore Roosevelt, a guide to Colorado’s Weminuche Wilderness, a few thriller novels and a thick treatise on the history of terrorism. A single photograph graced the shelf by the books: two men, dressed in hiking gear and standing side by side atop a mountain, beaming at the camera. If she had to guess, she would say the man next to Jack in the photo was his friend Gus, the one whose death tormented him.

“I think I’ve got something,” Jack said.

She hurried to the sofa, scooting close to him to study the picture on the computer screen. A man looked back at her from a grainy black-and-white photo. “It’s from a surveillance camera,” Jack said. “Not the best quality, but good enough I can recognize him. This is the guy in the restaurant—the one who stole your purse.”