The Billionaire's Son. Sharon Hartley

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СКАЧАТЬ her left shoulder, which of course now made her right side cold. He placed his hot cheek against her neck and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

      Thinking the kid was too old for thumb-sucking, Kelly unzipped the pouch around her waist and withdrew her cell phone. A quick glance told her she didn’t have service. Likely the signal had been blocked.

      “Damn,” she muttered and stuffed the phone back inside.

      She was a rookie. How much trouble would she be in for missing a shift? She glanced at her watch. Roll call was in thirty minutes.

      Maybe it was time to make some noise, attract some attention. She and the kid had been slowly turning into ice for close to an hour. She knew the drill, and someone watched her through the one-way glass on the far wall. She’d never been good at waiting, but had been extremely patient this morning. She was tempted to give her observers the finger, but knew that wouldn’t help anything. And her lieutenant would definitely hear about it.

      “How old are you, Jason?” she asked to pass the time.

      “Four,” he stated, as if she were very stupid. But of course his mother would know his age.

      “Who were those guys you were with?” she asked.

      He closed his eyes.

      “Did they hurt you?”

      “They hit Maria,” he whispered.

      “Why did they do that?” Kelly asked, encouraged by his response. Who was Maria? Maybe the kid had recovered enough to give her some answers.

      Jason shivered and turned his warm face into her neck.

      “Did you know those men, Jason?”

      He released a giant sigh, but didn’t say another word.

      “Okay, okay,” Kelly said, patting his back. “We don’t have to talk about them.”

      The door burst open and four men entered the room. None of them were in uniform. Short hair. Jackets and ties. Feds. DEA? FBI?

      “Jason,” someone shouted in a relieved tone.

      Kelly focused on the speaker as he rushed toward her, and wondered if her mouth fell open. She stared at a man so impossibly good-looking he belonged on a movie screen or in a magazine. Dark hair, intense dark eyes. His jacket, his slacks—everything about him reeked of money and sophistication. The gold watch on his wrist belonged in a museum.

      This god-come-to-earth squatted before Kelly and held out his arms to the kid. “Jason,” he said in a choked voice.

      The kid lifted his head but didn’t release his hold on her. If anything, he tightened his grip and glared at the man.

      “Jason?” The man shifted his gaze to Kelly, and she felt as if she’d been assaulted by an unseen force. Raw power flowed off him in waves. And arrogance mixed with anger. He didn’t like being denied anything. And who would want to refuse him?

      “Who the hell are you?” the god demanded.

      “Kelly Jenkins. Who the hell are you?”

      His eyes widened in surprise as if she was supposed to know who he was. Maybe he was some big-deal movie star. Maybe she had seen him before, now that she thought about it, but she never had time for movies or TV. His nails were manicured; his leather shoes buffed. His skin was smooth, unlined, as if he’d never experienced a worry in his life.

      “Officer Jenkins, this is Trey Wentworth and you’re holding his son, Jason,” one of the suits said.

      “Thank goodness,” Kelly said, thinking, yeah, the name rang some bell, one associated with stacks of cash. She attempted to pass the kid to Wentworth.

      “No, Mommy,” Jason wailed, and turned his face from his dad.

      Wentworth flinched as if the kid had struck him, and rose in a smooth athletic movement.

      The feds all exchanged alarmed glances.

      Coming to her feet, Kelly asked softly, “Don’t you want to go to your daddy, Jason?”

      “No. I want to stay with you, Mommy.”

      “But you know I’m not your mommy,” Kelly said.

      Jason began to cry again.

      Kelly tried to pry his fingers from her clothing and hand Jason over. This kid had a problem far beyond her limited expertise as a rookie cop. He needed serious help, likely a shrink. She felt for the poor little guy. She’d had plenty of experience with shrink stuff.

      “Jason, come on,” she said. “Let go.”

      “Stop it,” Wentworth ordered.

      The force of Wentworth’s command caused everyone in the room to look at him.

      Kelly met his furious gaze, and again that strange sensation of raw power flowed over her.

      “You’re upsetting him,” Wentworth said. “Leave him alone.”

      “I’m upsetting him?”

      “Just give him a minute, okay?” Wentworth ran a hand through his perfectly cut hair. “He’s confused. He’s been through a lot.”

      Kelly plopped back down in the chair. “Yeah, well, so have I. What’s going on here?”

      One of the suits stepped forward. “Officer Jenkins, I’m Special Agent Walt Ballard.”

      “FBI?”

      “Yes.”

      Kelly nodded. “I knew you were a fed.”

      “Why don’t you fill us in,” Ballard said. “How did you meet Jason?”

      Beginning with her first sight of Jason, Kelly relayed what had occurred in the park.

      “You used martial arts to knock a gun out of the man’s hand?” Wentworth interrupted in a shocked voice.

      Kelly nodded. “Instinct. These guys were amateurs. I mean, come on, they let a kid get away from them.”

      “An amateur could still shoot my son.” Wentworth glared at her as if she were the criminal.

      “You’re upset because I kicked the gun from his hand?” Kelly demanded, glaring right back. “So I should have just handed him over to the bad guys?”

      “Go on, Officer Jenkins,” Ballard said.

      Kelly squared her shoulders and continued, ending with concise descriptions of Caleb and Adam.

      “The last I saw them they were hauling ass toward the marina. The Miami PD sent officers after them. I assume this is a kidnapping?”

      “Yes,” Ballard replied. “Apparently there was a miscommunication on the drop site.”

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