The Ransom

Thinking of Matthew in a kidnapper’s clutches, Clay set his jaw, reined the mare around and moved off.

After reaching Cross C property, they left the mare to graze and approached the house from the rear where a flagstone terrace spilled out of tall French doors. Yellow mums sat amid the wrought-iron furniture; the clear water in the swimming pool glittered like diamonds beneath the bright sun.

“Did you notice if any doors were unlocked this morning?” Clay asked while studying the house. “Any windows open?”

“I didn’t check the doors.” Kathryn dragged her fingers across her damp forehead. “If a window had been open, I probably would have noticed, but I’m not sure.”

“What about Willa? Did she hear anything last night or early this morning?”

“She’s not home. Willa spends every Wednesday night at her daughter’s house in Dallas.”

“Every Wednesday?”

“Yes. She’s done that for as long as I can remember.”

“Is there any other live-in help?”

“No. Pilar Graciano comes in daily and helps Willa.” Kathryn met his gaze. “You might remember her or her husband, Nilo. Matthew went with Nilo and his son, Antonio, to string fence.” She pressed her fingertips to her lips. “Yesterday. It was just yesterday morning.”

When her world was still on an even keel, Clay thought. “Did Pilar come to work this morning?”

“No. She had to take Antonio to the dentist.”

Interesting, Clay thought, that the kidnapper struck the one night of the week Willa was gone. He wondered if the kidnapper knew the maid wouldn’t show this morning. Forbes would want to give everyone privy to that kind of info a hard look.

Thinking of the negotiator reminded Clay how out of his league he was. But until Forbes returned his call, he could at least look around and at the same time keep Kathryn busy. Giving her as little time as possible to think about the uncertain fate of her child was the best thing he could do for her.

“Kat, I need you to walk me through everything you did this morning, starting from when you woke up. Retrace your steps.”

“I looked for Matthew everywhere. Even the outlaw tunnel.” She closed her eyes. “I didn’t find anything.”

Clay gripped her elbow, turned her to face him. She looked afraid. Vulnerable. “You were searching for Matthew. We need to see if we can find a trace of himself the kidnapper might have left. Something that may lead us to him. To Matthew.”

“All right.” Her lips trembled. “He needs his medicine. We have to find him, Clay. We have to.”

“We will,” he said. And hoped to hell that when they did, Matthew was still alive.

BY THE TIME Kathryn finished walking Clay through the house, it was late afternoon. Now, she stood in Matthew’s bedroom, her arms wrapped around her waist while she stared out the window at the distant stables and barn. Beyond them sat two houses. Nilo and Pilar Graciano and their son resided in the larger of the two. Johnny Sullivan lived next door to them.

Behind the houses land stretched toward the horizon. Matthew was out there. Somewhere. Scared. Wanting her. Needing her. Crying for her.

She closed her eyes. The helplessness—the awful knowing she could do nothing to lessen her child’s terror—wrapped around her like a suffocating strait-jacket. She felt ill from the fear burning inside her. A horrible, all-consuming fear that she was destined to stand at this window for the rest of her life, wondering what had happened to her child.

“So, after you talked to Reece Silver and Johnny, you changed clothes,” Clay said. “Then rode over to find me.”

“Yes.” Kathryn turned. Clay stood across the room, studying the cork board on the wall above Matthew’s desk. Pinned to the board were drawings of odd-shaped horses sketched in a rainbow of crayons. A snapshot of Matthew, grinning ear to ear while propped in the crook of Devin’s arm, was pinned in the board’s center.

She studied Clay, his profile tough, contained, grim. Being with him, having him here when he’d been gone from her life for so long made everything seem even more surreal. Yet she knew his presence was the only thing keeping her sane.

“Do you think Mr. Forbes will call soon?” she asked.

“If he doesn’t, I’ll try him again.” Clay moved to the braided rug beside the bed, crouched and rubbed Abby’s head. The dachshund’s tail worked like a metronome set on high.

“Kat, when did Willa leave for Dallas?”

“Before supper. Matthew and I made pizza….” Her voice caught as she pictured her son’s mischievous grin while he formed pepperoni slices into a happy face. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might never see him grin again. Laugh again.

“After that?” Clay prodded.

She clamped down on emotion. “We watched TV. Later I put Matthew to bed.”

“Then what?”

“I checked the doors.” She paused, thinking. “Poured my glass of wine, then went to bed and read. I couldn’t keep my eyes open so I turned off the light after about ten minutes.”

Clay cocked his head. “You said, ‘I poured my glass of wine.’ Do you always have wine before you go to bed?”

“Yes.” She’d needed something to help her relax when she learned Devin was having an affair with his then leading lady.

“Who knows you always have a glass of wine before bed?”

“I guess Willa. Before we arrived, I asked her to add a couple of bottles of Merlot to her shopping list. She said it was too bad Sam got sick before he had time to stock the wine cellar he’d had built in the basement.”

“Where’s the bottle you filled your glass with last night?”

“The living room. In the cooler behind the bar.”

“Was last night the first time you’d drank from that bottle?”

“No, I opened it the first night I was here.”

“Since you’ve been back, have you woken up sick any other morning?”

“No. Clay, why do you want to know about the wine?”

“Because you said you felt sick this morning and overslept.” He gave Abby a final rub of her ears, then rose. “I don’t think you picked up a bug. More like someone laced your wine.”

Kathryn’s mouth went dry. “That would mean whoever took Matthew knows my habits.”

“And a lot more. If I’m right, the kidnapper knew Willa would be gone. With you drugged, the threat of exposure was minimal. Then there’s Abby.”

Kathryn looked down at the doxie. “What about her?”

“You said she was limping, like she’d been kicked.”

“Yes. You don’t think she was?”

“No. One reason is how she greeted me when I got here. She’d never seen me before, but she trotted over and licked my hand. It’s logical to think she acted the same way when the kidnapper showed up. If Abby knew him, she would have been more welcoming. And if they wanted to keep her quiet, why kick her?”