The Ransom

Kathryn shoved a hand through her hair. “Doing that wouldn’t make sense.”

“You told me Abby would have had a barking fit over being left behind when they took Matthew. The kidnappers couldn’t be sure you’d pour yourself a glass of wine last night or how much you’d drink if you did. So they wouldn’t want any noise that might wake you. The sole threat Abby posed was barking when they left with Matthew. The best way to deal with that would be to give her a shot of a fast-acting sedative. It’d keep her quiet for hours, and cause the limp you saw.”

Guilt descended over Kathryn like clammy heat. “Matthew was virtually unprotected. It would have been nothing for me to have an alarm installed before we arrived here. I could have hired a security company to patrol the ranch—”

“It’s not your fault, Kat.”

“He depended on me to keep him safe. He’s gone because—”

“Some greedy bastard came in here and took him,” Clay said as he gripped her shoulders. “Another thing I learned from Forbes is how committed kidnappers can be. That whomever they plan to take, they take. If you’d had this place secured like Fort Knox, they would have gotten Matthew some other way.”

“Devin has bodyguards,” she tossed back. “I should have hired someone to watch Matthew.”

Clay gave her a firm shake. “Your blaming yourself won’t help your son.”

She gripped his wrists. “I don’t know how to help him.”

“You stay calm, is how.” Clay felt the knots in his gut jerk tighter. Dammit, every hour that went by put Matthew into greater peril. Why hadn’t Forbes called?

Beneath his palms, he felt Kathryn tremble. Her face was chalk-white, her eyes gleamed with a mix of fear and absolute helplessness.

Easing out a breath, he thought about the conclusions he’d come to. If he was right about the wine and the dog, whoever took Matthew had done a lot of research. “Kidnappers,” Forbes had once told Clay, “plan to the last inch.” The articles Clay had read in the Layton Times and People magazine about Devin Mason had mentioned his son’s kidney transplant.

“What type of medicine does Matthew take?”

“An immunosuppressive drug. Transplant patients take them to prevent rejection of their transplanted organ.”

“So, with research, the kidnapper would know that,” Clay reasoned. “This guy came prepared. Maybe he left that way, too.” He looked toward the bathroom. “You said you saw the prescription bottle with Matthew’s medicine. Can you find out if extra pills are missing?”

“I had the prescription refilled two days ago. There should be only two pills gone from the bottle.”

“Count the pills, Kat.”

“You think the kidnapper took some? To give to Matthew?”

“I think we’d be smart to check.” When she started to turn, he held her in place. “Even if all the pills that should be in the bottle are there, it doesn’t mean Matthew won’t get his meds. Not when it’s easy to buy drugs over the Internet.”

“Okay.” Kathryn closed her eyes. “If I could just be sure Matthew’s taking his medicine.”

“It’s my bet he is.” At least Clay hoped so.

His phone rang just as Kathryn stepped into the bathroom. Relief rolled through Clay when he saw Forbes’s name displayed.

That relief lasted only until Forbes advised he was in England, negotiating the release of an earl’s kidnapped wife.

With tension coiling through him, Clay briefed him on Matthew’s abduction. And the conclusions he’d come to.

“I think you’re right about Mrs. Mason and the dog being drugged,” Forbes said in his perpetually calm voice. “And that a check needs to be run on everyone with access to the Cross C.” Clay pictured the gray-haired, scrawny-necked man who never showed emotion, even in the face of impending disaster. Forbes’s air of quiet confidence went a long way to soothing and calming.

For three months, the man had kept Clay sane.

“What about the cell phone the kidnapper left?” Forbes asked. “Can it be traced?”

“No, it’s a brand I’ve never heard of, so I went online and checked it out. The phone’s a disposable one, sold by a company that doesn’t require a purchaser to sign a contract or have a credit card. All someone has to do is walk into any convenience store, lay down cash and they’ve got a phone with a preset amount of calling minutes on it.”

“With no audit trail assigned to the phone there’s no way to trace who bought it. So, that’s a dead end.”

“Right,” Clay agreed.

“The ransom amount puzzles me,” Forbes continued. “Devin Mason is wealthy. Why ask only one million dollars for his son’s safe return?”

“Good question.” Clay tightened his grip on the phone. “Look, I understand why you can’t come to Texas, but I need to get another negotiator fast. Who do you recommend?”

“You.”

Old memories, like the ghost of past sins, knotted Clay’s gut. “No way in hell.” For two years he’d lived with guilt over his parents’ death that gave him night sweats and a dull, skittering sense of panic. The last thing he wanted was to take on the responsibility of Matthew Mason’s life.

“You know the normal goings-on in the community,” Forbes persisted. “Since the kidnapper insists Mrs. Mason maintain her regular schedule, we can assume he’s in a position to watch her. You’re a friend, a neighbor, you can place yourself near her without alarming the person holding Matthew. And perhaps spot someone who seems overcurious about her.”

Clay set his jaw. From the instant Kathryn handed him the phone with the ransom message he’d had the sensation of having stepped in quicksand. Now, he felt himself getting sucked farther into a black hole. How could he help her when he couldn’t trust himself to make the right moves?

“Kathryn is a celebrity,” he said. “Everyone is curious about her, so you’d have Layton’s entire population on your suspect list. The best way I can help her is from a distance.”

“I disagree. Mrs. Mason needs someone she can trust staying close to her to assess the people she interacts with. Someone who will know if a person’s normal body language has changed, if they’re showing signs of nervousness and stress. You’re a former police officer, you’re trained to do that.”

“Are you forgetting my instincts are so screwed I didn’t sense the danger closing in on my parents?”

“What happened in Bogota was not your fault. And even if I were able to come there,” Forbes continued, “I would be dependent on you to advise me on the people, their backgrounds. You already know who, if anyone, on the local police force can be trusted to be approached. I can consult for Mrs. Mason by phone if you’ll agree to work with her there.”

“Dammit.” Clay lowered his voice to a whisper. “I don’t want to be responsible for another person dying.”

“You have never been responsible for that.”

Just then, Clay saw Kathryn step from the bathroom, the pill bottle gripped in one hand. He explained to Forbes about Matthew’s medicine, then held the phone so that the negotiator could hear Kathryn.

“Ten of the pills are gone.”

“You’re sure?” Clay asked.

“I counted them three times.”

“Okay. Is there any chance Matthew could have gotten that bottle out of the cabinet? Taken the missing pills, thinking they were candy? Or maybe to hide them?”

“No. He’s spent weeks in the hospital, years going to various doctors. He understands why he has to take medicine.”

Clay put the phone back to his ear. “You hear that?”

“Yes, ten pills,” Forbes said. “I wonder if that’s the kidnapper’s timetable? Ten days from the snatch to delivery of the ransom. Or do they plan to demand the ransom be paid sooner? They possibly took more pills as a cushion in case something unforeseen requires they hold the boy longer than planned. If that’s the case, why not just take the bottle?”