Her Stolen Son

He rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe he was making a wild jump, but it might be worth looking into.

He glanced at the room that opened to the right and realized it was Serena’s office. A neat desk, filing cabinet, computer.

But no Petey.

Across the other side a small hallway led to two bedrooms. He flipped on a hall light and veered into the first one. The room was painted a warm red with a white comforter and red-and-white striped curtains. Obviously Serena’s room. “Petey, are you here, bud? If you are, please come out and talk to me. I want to help you.”

The floor squeaked as he knelt and checked under the bed, then he searched the closet and bathroom. All empty.

Damn. One more room.

Petey’s. Maybe the kid was hiding in there. He entered it, his eyes quickly scanning the room. Bunk bed with a superhero bedspread, toy chest, action figures, a soccer ball.

“Petey?”

But he knew instinctively Petey was not there. Still, he threw open the closet door. Toys and clothes overflowed the shelves and a red fire engine sat on the floor.

He closed the door, but as he started to leave the room, another picture of Petey and his dad caught his eye. Petey’s father was tall with brown hair and had his arm slung around the boy, but in this photo he wasn’t as clean-cut. His hair looked scraggly and long, and he sported a beard. Something about the look in the man’s eyes and his appearance seemed familiar.

Like an undercover cop.

He should know. He’d let his hair grow long and used beards, mustaches, tattoos, anything necessary to fit in with the scum he was supposed to be part of.

Curious about Parker Stover, he hurried into Serena’s office to look for more information on him, then dug through her file cabinet, but everything inside pertained to her business.

Had she thrown her husband’s things away?

He had noticed a door in the hallway and wondered where it led. Maybe an attic.

A great hiding place for a little boy.

Spurned by adrenaline now, he flipped on the light and climbed the stairs. A few old pieces of furniture were stored in a corner, an antique chair, another bed, boxes of clothes and toys Petey had probably outgrown were crammed against another wall.

On the opposite side beneath the window sat an old trunk. Just big enough for Petey to crawl inside.

He crossed the room and opened it, hoping Petey was inside. Two worn blankets covered the top, then a lump.

“Petey?”

He felt beneath it, but his hand connected with a duffel bag instead of a child.

Frowning, he yanked it out with a curse and unzipped it. The damn bag was filled with cash.

All in hundred dollar packs.

His stomach knotted. Why in the hell did Stover have this much money hidden in his attic? Did Serena know about it?

And where had the money come from?

He counted the first stack, and worry crawled up his spine as cop instincts filled in the blanks.

A large sum of cash like this suggested that Stover had been dirty.

UNABLE TO SLEEP, Serena’s anger festered. She had been a cop’s wife. She’d heard Parker talk about cases, had seen his methodical mind working to figure out the puzzles of a crime.

She had to help herself and do the same.

She called the deputy’s name, and a moment later he surfaced. “You oughta get some sleep,” he grunted.

Serena gripped the bars. “I can’t. Would you mind giving me a pen and a piece of paper?”

His eyes narrowed. “What you gonna do? Try to break out with a pen?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. I couldn’t overpower you if I tried.” She forced a feminine smile. “But I would like to figure out who framed me. I thought I’d make a list of everyone who’s been in my house the last few weeks and see if anything suspicious jumps out at me.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I guess that’d be all right.” He strode back to the front office and returned a minute later with a small yellow legal pad and a pen.

“Thanks.”

He gave her a clipped nod, although she also felt his gaze sliding over her as if he was judging her himself. A sense of how alone they were bolted through her, and perspiration broke out on her neck. The damn man might be handsome, but she would never use sex to obtain what she wanted.