Anything for His Son. Rita Herron
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DeeDee had made the announcement about Jesse being missing, but in fact, it had only been minutes. Precious minutes, though, that counted.
Ethan raced down the steps, pulling Rebecca along behind him. Outside, he scanned the streets for any signs of his son as they climbed in his car and slowly made their way through the traffic to his brownstone.
Rebecca was pale, her eyes glassy, her body rigid with shock. He pulled into his driveway and parked, took her hand and they jumped out, then hurried up the sidewalk. The sight of a note tucked beneath the brass doorknocker made him halt.
“Ethan?”
He yanked the note free and opened the folded piece of paper. His heart slammed against his ribs as he read the message he’d feared.
I have Jesse. You’ll never see him again if you call the cops.
“OH, NO. ETHAN…” Rebecca had tried to hold on to the hope that Jesse had simply wandered off in the crowd. That a Good Samaritan had found him by now and that they had called the police. Or that Jesse had told them where he was staying and that he was on his way back to the Ritz.
But the note confirmed her worst fears.
Ethan made a low sound of pain and frustration, then curved his arm around her and pulled her up against him. “Bec…”
His strangled voice sent another shiver of terror down her spine.
Then he spun around as if scanning the area to see if the person who’d left the note was nearby. The realization hit Rebecca, too. The kidnapper or a conspirator might be watching to make sure they found the message. To see if they phoned the police.
She blinked back tears and studied the passers-by. Due to the blackout, the streets looked grim. People walked in a hurry, shaken and wary of others. Cars still clogged the street, creating a nightmare for drivers. And two uniformed officers tried to direct the mob and clean up the congestion at the intersections. Another one walked the streets as if to announce his presence in case burglars or vandals decided to take advantage of nonfunctioning security systems in the moneyed Beacon Hill section.
But she saw no one who stuck out as watching them. No one with a scared little boy in tow.
“There’s no ransom,” Ethan mumbled. “I don’t understand why there’s no ransom.”
“There will be,” she said, battling terror at the distress in his voice. “They’re going to call, Ethan. They have to.”
He gave a clipped nod, removed his keys and unlocked the door. They rushed inside, and he hurried to check his machine, then cursed. Of course, the blasted thing wasn’t working because of the blackout.
“Let me check the brownstone. Stay put, Rebecca.”
Shaking, she sank onto the living room couch, and twisted her fingers together while he searched the rooms on all three stories. Last night she’d assured Jesse there were no monsters. But today, in broad daylight, one had stolen him.
Ethan returned, shaking his head, but he was already on his cell phone. On the coffee table, she spotted the photo of Ethan with their son at a baseball game, picked it up and traced her finger over Jesse’s smiling face. Disbelief warred with hopelessness, but she fought through it, grappled for strength.
Their baby had to be all right.
She couldn’t survive losing her son.
ETHAN PRAYED SILENTLY AS HE phoned Eclipse teammate Ty Jones, whose day job was as a Secret Service agent. The note had said no cops, and Ethan would comply. But he needed help, and his cohorts from the Eclipse team were the best. He didn’t intend to sit idly by while some maniac stole his son and got away with it.
Fear niggled at the base of his spine. Why hadn’t there been a ransom note or a call yet?
What did the kidnapper want if not money?
Ty sounded winded when he answered the call. “Ethan, I’ve been trying to reach you. Dana phoned me and told me about your son.”
“There was a note warning me not to call the cops,” Ethan said gruffly. “But no ransom. Ty, I don’t understand.”
“Sit tight. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Ethan hung up and moved to the window to study the street, searching the crowd and shadowy corners. He didn’t expect to see Jesse outside, but maybe he’d get a glimpse of someone watching the house. Someone he would chase down and beat into telling him where he had his little boy.
His fingers ached from gripping the cell phone in his hands. He willed it to ring, to be the kidnapper with a message relaying his demands. Where to make the drop.
How to get his son back.
His chest tightened painfully. He had to be strong for Rebecca. For Jesse. Had to hold it together until he found the bastard who’d done this.
Fury raged through his veins like fire ripping through dry kindling. Then he’d kill the maniac with his bare hands, making sure he suffered before he died.
A pounding on the front door jarred him back to motion. He rushed to let Ty in. His friend looked disheveled, rough around the edges as if he hadn’t slept all night.
Ty said hello to Rebecca, then leaned against the fireplace wall with his hands fisted by his sides. “I think I know who kidnapped your son.”
The air froze in Ethan’s lungs. Rebecca started to stand, but Ty gestured for her to remain seated.
“Who?” Ethan asked. “What’s going on, Ty?”
“I tried to reach you earlier, Ethan. To warn you.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Ethan’s patience snapped like a thin wire beneath too much pressure. “I want to know who has Jesse, and I want to know now.”
Ty sighed. “I believe Liam Shea is behind Jesse’s disappearance.”
“Liam?” The name caused a cold ball of dread in Ethan’s stomach. “What? Why?”
“Who is Liam Shea?” Rebecca asked.
Ethan scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Ten years ago, a group of us formed a select coterie of Special Forces servicemen in a high-profile rescue mission. Fifty-eight people had been taken hostage in a civil war-torn Middle Eastern nation, most of them American, including the Secretary of State, Geoffrey Rollins.” Ethan paused. “Commander Tom Bradley recruited seven of us to get them out alive. Liam Shea was the electrical expert, Shane Peters the security expert, engine man Chase Vickers, me and Ty, the demolitions man. Vice-President Grant Davis was the tactical specialist then, and Frederic LeBron, a prince from Beau Pays, was the language expert.”
“I don’t understand what any of this has to do with Jesse,” Rebecca cried.
Ethan sat down beside her and took her hands in his. “It’s a long story, Bec. Suffice to say the mission went awry. The timing was off, and the mission blew up in our faces. Cyanide gas was released. By some miracle, we lost only three hostages. Liam was wounded but Grant saved his life. When all was said and done, Grant was hailed a hero.”
“And Liam?” Rebecca asked.
“He was court-martialed, dishonorably discharged and has spent the past ten years in prison.”
“He’s out of jail now,” Ty cut in. “And he wants revenge.”
Rebecca gasped and dropped her head into her hands, breathing deeply as if she might pass out. Ethan stroked her back, although his own chest ached and his pulse raced with fear.
“The blackout,” Ty said. “We think Liam is responsible.”
“For the entire blackout?” Rebecca asked.
Ty nodded. “Liam has blown up two BP and L power plants in town.” He turned to Ethan. “He’s just beginning. Last night LeBron’s daughter, Princess