Cowboy's Secret Son. Robin Perini

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      “Dylan, where are you?”

      She begged for a jabber a laugh, even a cry, but nothing. Within minutes she’d searched the rest of the apartment. Only one room left. Her room.

      She slammed through the door and froze. In the center of the perfectly pristine bed lay her nine-month old son, pillows penning him in a makeshift crib on the bed.

      He wasn’t moving.

      Courtney’s heart stopped. She raced over to her heart and soul, terrified of what she might find. She leaned over the peaceful countenance and her body went limp.

      “Dylan?” Courtney’s hand shook. The fireplace iron thudded to the floor. She reached out to touch her baby boy’s face.

      Her son’s chest rose and fell. He was alive.

      Choking back a sob of relief, Courtney scooped up her son with noodle-like arms. The movement caused Dylan to screw up his face and let out a loud yell.

      “What happened, baby?” She glanced around the room, but nothing else appeared to be out of place.

      Her gaze landed on Dylan’s stuffed lamb sitting on one pillow. A sheet of paper was pinned to the toy. She scanned the words in horror.

      If we wanted to kidnap him, your son would be gone.

      If we wanted to kill him, your son would be dead.

      When we come back, we WILL take him. We WILL kill him.

      Unless we receive $3,680,312.00.

      We will call you with instructions.

      If you contact the police or FBI, he will die.

      If you don’t get us the money within 72 hours, he will die.

      Don’t try to be smart. You can’t hide from us.

      With a shuddering breath, Courtney tried to comprehend what she was reading. The strange amount of money, the taunting threats. Nothing made sense.

      She gazed into Dylan’s one brown eye and one green eye, trying to smile with reassurance, all the while backing toward the door. “We have to get you out of here.”

      Bundling up the diaper bag, Courtney raced out of the apartment with one last sorrowful glance at Marilyn. What kind of monster would kill the sweet woman who loved Dylan so much?

      She hugged her child close. “I’ll keep you safe, Jelly Bean. I promise.”

      * * *

      ALMOST TWO HOURS LATER, the car service’s Mercedes pulled up in front of her father’s Greenwich, Connecticut, mansion. Courtney turned her cell phone over and over in her hand. Her thumb hovered over the emergency key. For the thousandth time on the ride there, she considered calling law enforcement.

      Something had stopped her once again. Maybe it was all those television programs that showed how easy it was to hack a phone call. She couldn’t take the risk. Not with Jelly Bean. The kidnapper had come into her home. Had touched her baby boy. Had killed Marilyn.

      A shiver vibrated down her arms. Part of her kept telling herself this couldn’t be happening. Threats like this were the stuff of crime novels and television shows, and yet every time she reread the note and pictured poor Marilyn lying on the floor of her penthouse, she knew it was her reality.

      Which was why she was about to make an unprecedented request. Courtney rubbed her eyes. She’d never gone to her father with an open hand, but she didn’t know where else to turn. Her job, the penthouse, everything but her salary was part of her grandmother’s trust specifically created to fund the museum. She didn’t have the money to pay the murderer what he wanted.

      She had to believe her father would give her what she needed. He had to. Even though he’d been furious—not to mention disappointed—when she’d found herself pregnant and had refused to name the father.

      She’d been too embarrassed to tell him she didn’t know the man’s name.

      “You getting out or what?” the driver asked from the front seat.

      Courtney nodded and unbuckled the car seat. She rounded the vehicle to retrieve Dylan, and the driver met her at the door. He opened it and she grabbed the carrier, careful not to jar the baby.

      “How much do I owe you—?”

      The man shook his head. “It’s been taken care of. I was asked to give you this when we arrived.” He handed her a padded envelope. Before she could open it, he jumped into the Mercedes and screeched out of the driveway.

      One look and her gut sank. She recognized the handwriting on the label. She lowered Dylan to the ground and gently tore open the envelope. She pulled out a phone with a sticky note attached.

      Keep the phone with you.

      Keep your silence. Especially from your father.

      And don’t forget, you can’t hide from us. We’ll always find you.

      The note crinkled in her grasp. How did he know so much? The words blurred on the paper. Her knees shook; her legs quivered. She nearly sank to the ground. Her gaze whipped to the now empty driveway. Was the driver blackmailing her? She shook her head. Somehow she doubted it. He wouldn’t have wanted to show his face. Besides, he’d said someone else had paid him.

      The blackmailers had made their point clear, though. She’d better follow his instructions exactly. No police, no law enforcement. She couldn’t imagine what the cops would think when they found Marilyn. She’d considered phoning in an anonymous tip, but she couldn’t risk being arrested. Not before she was certain Dylan was safe.

      “Okay, you can do this. You can do anything for Dylan.” She shoved the phone into her pocket and stumbled through the front door of the mansion. The eight-thousand-square-foot home had been in the family for four generations, the money originated from more than a few deals with Andrew Carnegie.

      Courtney had never ruminated on her family’s money much. It had always just been there. She’d never been more thankful for the privilege than she was today.

      She glanced at her son. Today the money she’d always taken for granted would save Dylan.

      She refused to consider that the first payment wouldn’t be enough to get rid of the blackmailer. One step at a time.

      The foyer’s Baccarat chandelier glittered high above her, though the butler didn’t appear out of nowhere like he usually did.

      “Fitz?” she called.

      No response. How strange.

      “Clarissa? Burbank? Anyone here?”

      Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor. Where was the rest of the staff?

      A horrific possibility hit her squarely in the chest. What if the killer had come here. Oh God.

      She started to run from room to room. No. This wasn’t СКАЧАТЬ