Protecting Her Secret Son. Regan Black

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      Quickly veering away from that line of thought, he watched her leave her car, relieved when she walked down the drive toward his truck. At least he wouldn’t have to chase her down and haul her bodily into the vehicle. He couldn’t fault her reasoning behind cooperating with the kidnapper and yet he couldn’t step back and let her deal with it alone. Just wasn’t wired that way.

      She didn’t say anything when she climbed into the truck, buckled up. He didn’t know what to say, so he let the silence fill the cab, the situation percolating in his head while they drove out to the Escape Club.

      The club owner, Grant Sullivan, had created a hot spot for local bands and music lovers at the pier on the Delaware River. While business boomed, so did the side work. As a retired cop, Grant persistently and quietly built up a reputation for using the club to help people in the community.

      It had started with giving short-term jobs at the club to cops and other first responders, and little by little, the concept had grown into something bigger and yet more flexible.

      When a case slipped through the cracks of normal law enforcement, often Grant and his connections proved effective and helpful. Daniel knew of several instances of Escape Club staff helping locals out of tough spots, large and small. He’d been peripherally involved on recent cases involving two of his friends from the fire department, Mitch and Carson. With Mitch’s assistance, a murderous stalker had been stopped, and for Carson, a drug-dealing scam had been exposed and justice served.

      He didn’t expect Shannon to believe him about Grant’s effectiveness, and he’d leave the sales pitch to Grant. At this point, he could only pray Shannon would listen and give Grant a chance to try.

      Shannon leaned forward as he parked in the delivery lot near the kitchen. “Escape Club?”

      “You’ve heard of it?”

      “Rachel and her husband have had date nights out here.” She didn’t look at him, her face turned toward the river rolling by. “They say the music is always great.”

      “They’d be right.” He released his seat belt and shifted to face her. “The owner, Grant Sullivan, is a former cop. Hang on.” He held up a hand to stop her protest when fear flooded her big brown eyes. “Former,” Daniel repeated. “He has connections and resources on and off the force. Believe me, I understand why you want to cooperate with the kidnapper.”

      “You have children?”

      “No.” He couldn’t quite laugh it off. He wanted kids, had always assumed he’d be a husband and father. At thirty-two, he’d expected to be on that path by now. He had a foggy picture in the back of his head of noisy family dinners with his parents doting on grandkids and a strong, caring wife to help him navigate life. He just hadn’t met her yet, the woman who could love him and stand by him despite his career as a firefighter. “That doesn’t mean I can’t see that this is hell for you.”

      She swiped a tear from her cheek and rubbed her hands on her torn and paint-stained work jeans. “What can Grant do?”

      “It’s always a surprise,” Daniel replied, hopeful. “Come on.” He eyed the traffic on the street, but didn’t see cars circling the block or people paying specific attention to them. The club, usually bustling by noon on a Saturday, wouldn’t open until four tonight in anticipation of a special concert. Daniel was on the schedule to arrive by seven to help at the bar through closing.

      Opening the back door, the hard thump and kick of the drums poured out. More than likely, that was Grant enjoying a jam session before the band arrived for the final sound check. The man loved to sit in with the bands whenever possible.

      Guiding Shannon down the hall and into the club, Daniel paused at the end of the bar. “That’s Grant up on stage,” he said to Shannon.

      “All right.” Doubt clouded her features as she watched him work the drums.

      Daniel tried to see the club owner through her eyes. With his dark hair going gray at the temples, his stocky build and perfect rhythm, Grant looked more like a rock star defying the years than a savvy club owner with a gift for private investigations.

      “He knows how to be discreet.” Daniel forced himself to stop talking. She’d held up remarkably well considering strangers had snatched her son and threatened his life, but no one had adequate words to ease her distress.

      Her lips pressed into a tight line, she wrapped her arms around her midsection and glanced around the space while they waited. Grant had transformed the rundown warehouse into a gleaming, popular night club. Daniel couldn’t help wishing he’d been on hand for some of the build.

      Grant finished the song and pushed his headphones off his ears, waved when he spotted them. “Be right there.” He stepped away from the drums and tucked the sticks into his back pocket. He ducked out of sight for a moment, then reappeared from backstage, hurrying forward, his limp barely noticeable.

      “Daniel.” Grant reached out and the men clasped hands with a comfortable familiarity. “You’re early.” His astute brown eyes swept over Shannon. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

      “No, it’s not,” Daniel said. “This is Shannon Nolan. She’s had some trouble today and we could use some advice.”

      Grant’s thick salt-and-pepper eyebrows arched up and he reached out, shook her hand. “What kind of trouble?”

      She started to answer and stopped herself with a quick shake of her head. “I should go.”

      “Not alone,” Daniel said. He waited until she lifted her despondent brown eyes to his. “Not alone,” he repeated. She did too much on her own and this wasn’t a situation anyone could be expected to handle without help, regardless of the kidnapper’s demands.

      “Come on back and fill me in,” Grant said in a friendly tone that softened what could easily have been an outright order.

      He led the way down the hall, gesturing for Daniel and Shannon to enter the office first. “Have a seat,” he said, closing the door.

      Daniel appreciated the consideration as they sat down in the mismatched guest chairs in front of Grant’s desk. Though the club was deserted right now, the prep crews would be coming in soon, along with the featured band and the warm-up acts. He didn’t want anyone overhearing what Shannon had to say.

      Grant’s chair squeaked as he settled in, and he gave Shannon a cautious smile. “What happened?”

      “My son was kidnapped from the sitter’s house this morning.” Tears welled in her eyes, but her voice was clear and steady as she relayed the story.

      Daniel made mental notes, only chiming in when Grant asked a question about the damage, the timing. While she explained it all, Grant looked over the first text messages on Shannon’s phone, reviewed the less-than-helpful incoming call log.

      “Nasty work using kids as pawns,” he grumbled. Grant’s famous scowl was edging toward the ferocious end of the spectrum as he handed Shannon’s phone back to her across the desk. “Who is the boy’s father?”

      She fidgeted in her chair, shoulders hunched and her palms pressed between her knees. “I don’t have any influence over him. The only time he cooperated with me was when he granted me the divorce. I haven’t even been back to New York.”

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