The Billionaire's Son. Sharon Hartley

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СКАЧАТЬ shrieked and refused to let go of Kelly. “No, no, no!” he wailed.

      “Shhh, Jason,” Kelly soothed, rubbing his head. “It’s okay.”

      The male officer, standing a few feet away taking statements from bystanders, frowned and joined Kelly and Rodriguez. “What’s wrong with the kid?”

      “He doesn’t want to let go of Ms. Jenkins,” Rodriguez said.

      “Officer Jenkins,” Kelly said, to the male officer, whose name was P. Nordan.

      “Don’t you want to go find your mommy?” Nordan asked.

      Jason raised his head and looked at Kelly. She noted he had bright blue eyes and blond hair, the same coloring as hers. Were the officers beginning to doubt her story? She didn’t have anything on her to prove she was a cop.

      Jason raised a hand and lightly stroked her cheek. “I found my mommy.”

      “I’m not anyone’s mother,” Kelly told Nordan. “Didn’t the other joggers confirm my story?”

      At Kelly’s words, Jason began sobbing again, and turned his face into her shoulder.

      Nordan released a long breath. “The kid is traumatized. I think the best thing is for all of us to go to the station and notify DCF.”

      “I’m on duty in two hours,” Kelly said.

      “Better call in,” Nordan said.

      Rodriguez placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, urging her to move toward the police vehicle. “You can do that on the way to the station.”

      * * *

      AT THE MIAMI-DADE headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Trey Wentworth paced. The depressing utilitarian room they’d stashed him in contained everything they thought he might want—chairs, a recliner, coffee, tea, soft drinks, bagels—even a plate of frosted fruit pastry. As if he could eat. Three so-called special agents continuously observed him, trying to pretend otherwise, definitely waiting for him to lose it. Expecting him to.

      He wouldn’t give them the pleasure.

      Even though everyone in this room knew something had gone very wrong.

      He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. The ransom exchange should have been completed two hours ago. He should have heard something by now. He should have been assured his son was alive. But Agent Ballard had returned without Jason, saying the kidnappers didn’t show at the drop site. Trey shook his head. He knew the agents had gone to the wrong park in Coconut Grove, but the idiots wouldn’t believe him.

      His mistake was trusting law enforcement. He shouldn’t have involved the FBI. The kidnappers had instructed him not to, but his attorney had counseled the feds were his best option. He trusted Brian, who’d been a friend longer than he’d been his lawyer, but he sure didn’t trust the yokels sitting in this room watching him slowly disintegrate.

      Soon there’d be nothing solid left of him to hug his son when—if he ever saw him again.

      The FBI didn’t know what the hell they were doing. He should have insisted on accompanying Ballard on the exchange. He shouldn’t have given in to their vaunted expertise. He shouldn’t have listened to Brian. Of course the kidnappers said not to contact the cops or they’d kill Jason. Wasn’t that what they always said?

      Trey shot a glance at Walt Ballard, the thirtyish but already balding agent in charge of Jason’s case. Since returning with the bad news, the man worked his phone in a chair by the door, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, wearing a grim expression. Texting? Checking email? Was he receiving information about Jason from the agents still in the field? Was it bad news?

      Trey stopped moving and took a deep breath. Not here. He’d fall apart later, away from the public eye. That was the Wentworth way. Trey heard his father’s clipped voice inside his head and pushed away the sound. The bastard couldn’t be bothered to fly in even though his only grandson had been abducted.

      Where was his attorney? Shit. Why hadn’t they heard something?

      Trey glanced at his watch. How much longer? Jason had been through so much in the last year. Would he ever see his son again? Would they even find Jason’s body?

      Kids disappeared without a trace all the time.

      Ballard’s phone rang, the sound startling in the quiet of the room. Everyone turned.

      “Ballard,” the agent barked into the phone. A few beats of silence. “What?”

      The shock in Ballard’s voice forced Trey into a chair. Oh, God. No. Jason.

      “Where?” Ballard demanded. Then, “Got it. We’re on our way.”

      Ballard disconnected and looked directly at Trey. “We’ve got him. We’ve got your boy.”

      “Alive?” Trey stood on shaky legs, not trusting his hearing. “Is he hurt?”

      “He’s fine. He’s in the custody of the City of Miami Police.”

      “No mistake this time?” he demanded.

      “No mistake,” Ballard said.

      Choking back a sob, Trey sagged into the chair again, unable to formulate a response.

      “City of Miami arrested the kidnappers?” This question came from another agent, a female. Trey couldn’t remember her name. All he could focus on was the knowledge that Jason was alive and unharmed.

      “No,” Ballard said. “Apparently the kidnappers remain at large.”

      “What the hell happened?” asked another agent.

      Ballard shook his head. “I don’t have all the details yet, and they can wait.” He nodded at Trey and grinned. “Let’s go get your son.”

      * * *

      INSIDE A FRIGID interview room at the Coconut Grove police substation, Kelly couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so cold. The AC had to be set at about forty degrees, and she might as well be naked since all she had on was flimsy nylon running shorts and a cotton jog bra. Making things worse, her flesh and her clothing were sweaty.

      Officer Rodriguez had wrapped a towel around the shivering Jason, and that helped, but Kelly’s legs were freezing. They’d given her a cup of vile lukewarm coffee, but that had cooled and was of no help.

      There was a reason for the chill of course. The police didn’t want their suspects or interviewees comfortable. She had a bad feeling they considered her a suspect—of what she wasn’t sure, but something. She’d heard chatter of a statewide BOLO as they’d snapped photos of the kid, so maybe they knew who he was. For his sake, she hoped so. The misunderstanding would all be straightened out eventually, but she was going to be late for her shift.

      She’d called her sergeant on the way in to explain, but he hadn’t sounded happy. Shit. She’d been number one in her rookie class and intended to be the highest-performing rookie that had ever entered the Miami-Dade County PD. Missing roll call this СКАЧАТЬ