Her Stolen Son
Trying to deflect images of her alone in that ugly cell sleeping on that nasty cot—or not sleeping, most likely—he climbed in his Range Rover and drove back to GAI. He had to update the team, see what Ben had found, and start questioning everyone who knew Serena to establish her character references.
They also needed to canvas Rice’s neighborhood for witnesses. Maybe someone spotted another vehicle the night before or heard an altercation that might lead them to the truth.
Late afternoon shadows obliterated the sun as it slipped behind the horizon, and his gut tightened. It would be a long night for Serena.
And for Petey.
Steeling himself as he parked, he strode inside. He paused at his office, but it was empty so he strode to Derrick’s. Brianna’s voice echoed from inside, then he heard baby Ryan babbling.
As he turned the corner, he spotted Petey slumped on the couch watching the baby, his little face riddled with worry. Derrick glanced up as he entered, and so did Petey.
Petey’s face fell. “I thought you was bringing my mommy back.”
Colt swallowed against the knot in his throat, then stooped in front of Petey. “I just came from seeing her, bud, and she’s okay. But it’ll be tomorrow before she’s released.”
“No!” Petey jumped up and bunched his hands into fists. “No, she gots to come get me so we can go home and make hot dogs and read stories and play with my action figures.” He heaved for a breath, a sob escaping at the end.
“I’m sorry, Petey,” Colt said. “I did everything I could. But the judge won’t see us until morning. Then we’ll post bail and your mommy can come home.”
“But I wants her tonight,” Petey wailed.
“Petey,” Brianna said softly. “Remember what I told you about Magnolia Manor? It’s not a bad place. The kids are nice, and they’ll play with you, and Ms. Rosalie will read you stories.”
Petey slammed his fist into Colt’s chest. “No, you lied. You’re sending me back to kid jail. I don’t wanna go to jail!”
Colt’s gut clenched, but he let the little boy purge his anger, accepting his blows until Petey finally collapsed against him in a sobbing fit.
Brianna and Derrick both watched with sympathetic looks. Baby Ryan even stopped playing to look up at Petey, his lip quivering as if he might burst into tears, as well.
“Colt,” Derrick said. “Instead of sending Petey back to the manor, Bri and I will take him home for the night.”
Brianna rubbed Petey’s back where he lay against Colt’s chest, exhausted and spent. “That’s a great idea. Petey, you can spend the night with Ryan.”
Colt gave them a grateful look. Brianna was experienced with kids, and much better equipped to deal with an angry, frightened child than he was. “Thanks. I’m sure his mother would appreciate that.”
Besides, he couldn’t babysit Serena’s little boy and investigate her case at the same time. Yet holding Petey stirred some kind of primal instincts that he didn’t even know he possessed.
“Petey,” he murmured. “You’re not going back to the manor right now. Mr. Derrick and Ms. Brianna want you to spend the night with them and baby Ryan.”
Petey hiccupped on another sob but didn’t respond.
Colt carried him out to Derrick’s car, and Petey slumped into the seat, eyes red and swollen. He glared up at Colt as if he hated him.
“I know you’re mad at me.” Guilt stabbed Colt at Petey’s accusatory look. “But you asked me to get your mommy out of jail, and I’m going to do that, Petey. I promise.” He leaned forward. “But I need your help. Your job is to be nice to Ms. Brianna and Ryan. Then Ryan’s daddy can help me clear your mom.”
Petey’s lower lip trembled. “If my daddy was here, he wouldn’t have let them take mommy or me away.”
Colt gritted his teeth. That might be true. But his dad was gone.
And right now, he was all Petey and Serena had.
Colt reached inside his pocket and withdrew a small shiny whistle. He’d never forgotten the day his father had given it to him. It was the day a police officer had come to school to talk to the children about strangers.
He handed it to Petey. “My father gave this to me when I was about your age. He told me to blow it if I ever needed help. I want you to take it. But remember, only use it if you need it.”
Petey’s hand trembled as he wrapped his fingers around the whistle.
Then Colt watched Derrick drive away, Petey’s face haunting him.
COLT SPENT THE EVENING canvassing the homes near Rice’s, but no one seemed to know anything. According to an elderly woman two units down, the man had moved in a month before and kept to himself. Others claimed they’d only seen him coming and going. None had really talked to him.
And no one had heard anything the night before. No cars. No arguments. No screams.
On a positive note, not one of them had seen Serena Stover or her minivan anywhere near the man’s house.
So what the hell had happened to Rice?
And who was framing Serena?
A dozen more questions bombarded him as he wolfed down a pizza. He spent a couple of hours online himself researching Rice, but found very little about the man in cyberspace.
Which raised more questions. An entrepreneur involved in several small businesses should have more of a presence on the internet.
He typed in the link to Serena’s business and accessed her records, then phoned two of her clients. Both gave her raving character descriptions, claiming she was nice, professional and adored her son. All seemed shocked at her arrest.
He tried a different tactic for Rice, searching for more on his background, and was still digging around for information at 2:00 a.m. when the phone trilled.
Colt frowned and grabbed the handset.
“Colt, it’s Derrick.” His voice sounded choppy, strained, upset.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Petey. He finally fell asleep around midnight, and then we went to bed, too. But I heard a noise a few minutes ago and got up, and…dammit, Colt.”
Colt’s heart raced. “What?”
“Petey’s gone.”
Chapter Four
“Petey’s gone?” Colt’s heart hammered.
“Yes,” Derrick said, his voice strained. “We’ve searched the house and outside, but we can’t find him anywhere.”
“Dammit, he could have run away again.”
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to take the car and comb the neighborhood.” Derrick released an explosive breath. “Bri has already called Rosalie at the manor, but I don’t think Petey would go back there.”
“Me neither.” So where would the kid go? “He was furious at me,” Colt said. “Maybe he was coming here.”
“How would he know where you live, man?”
Colt scrubbed his hand over his face. “Right. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe he’s running toward the jail,” Derrick suggested.
Colt contemplated that possibility. “Maybe, but we told him that they won’t allow children there.” He tried to put himself in the head of a six-year-old. “He’d probably go someplace safe.”
“Someplace he felt close to his mother,” Derrick murmured.
“His home.” Colt grabbed his keys and headed toward the door. “I’ll go to Serena’s. You check outside and the neighborhood, and I’ll call the sheriff and tell him Petey is missing in case he does turn up at the jail.”
“Are you going to have him tell Serena?” Derrick asked.
Colt jumped in his Range Rover and started the engine. “No, not yet. She’ll be terrified. Let’s see if we can find him first before we have to put her through that worry.”
Colt disconnected the call, then punched in the sheriff’s number. He answered on the third ring. “Sheriff Gray, this is Colt Mason. We have a problem.”
“Do you know what time it is?” the sheriff barked.
“Petey Stover is missing.”
A tense heartbeat passed. “What the hell happened?”
“He was upset when I didn’t bring his mother back. So Derrick McKinney and his wife took him to their house.”
“I thought he was in foster care.”
“Brianna works for Magnolia Manor. She—we—thought he’d be better off tonight with them. But Derrick just phoned and said the boy is gone. He’s searching the neighborhood, but I thought you should check the jail in case he goes there to be with his mother.”
Sheriff Gray muttered a sound of frustration. “Deputy Alexander is at the jail now. I’ll call him, issue an amber alert and cruise the town.”
Colt sighed. “Thanks. I’m going to Serena’s in case he goes home.”
The men disconnected, and Colt headed toward the Stover house. He just prayed that Petey was there and not out wandering the streets all alone.
SERENA HAD FINALLY fallen asleep, but nightmares haunted her—she was locked away in a hellhole with hardened criminals, with women who called her names and beat her, and guards who used her for their own pleasures.
Jerking awake, she shivered in the cold darkness, the putrid scents of urine and sweat lingering from past prisoners wafting around her as a reminder of the scum who landed in jail.
That she might be one of them if Kay Krantz and Colt Mason didn’t find out who had killed Lyle. That her juvenile record might cost her dearly.
“I’m so sorry, Parker,” she whispered. She’d promised to take care of their son but she’d failed miserably, all because of her own selfish needs. She’d been lonely and had invited Rice into their lives.
She would never put her own needs ahead of her son’s again.
The image of Petey’s terror-stricken, tear-stained face pressed against the window as he was torn away from her taunted her. Who was taking care of her son tonight? Had someone read him a story? Made sure he brushed his teeth?
Who had tucked him in bed and tickled his belly and kissed him good-night?
Shaking with renewed anger, she shoved the ratty blanket away, unable to stand the vile smell any longer.
But she was too tired to sit up or do anything but stare at the nasty words carved on the walls.
A spider wove a tangled web in the corner of the cell, and she watched it work, thinking how elaborately the spider planned its trap.
She was the fly caught in the web now.
Because someone had orchestrated an elaborate plan to frame her for Lyle’s murder.
Her head hurt from trying to figure out the puzzle. Who had killed Lyle? And why frame her?
How could she prove that the evidence the sheriff had against her had been planted?
AS COLT DROVE TOWARD Serena’s, he scanned the streets and alleys, hoping to spot Petey. But the darkness made it almost impossible to see, and intensified his worries. The mountains were massive, filled with dangers and places to hide.
Would Petey even know how to find his way from Derrick’s house to his own?
What if he was lost? Or what if some driver couldn’t see him and accidentally hit the poor kid?
He never should have put Petey in that car. He should have brought him home with him.
He was the one Petey had asked for help, and he had betrayed the boy by allowing the social worker to cart him away, and then by sending him to Derrick’s. But he’d honestly thought Petey would feel comfortable with Brianna.
The streets were quiet, and except for an occasional car, traffic was virtually nonexistent. He veered onto Sycamore, keeping his eyes peeled for Petey, but all he spotted was a stray dog wandering through one of the yards. A catfight broke out somewhere behind one of the houses, the shrill screeching unnerving in the night.
A lone light glowed in a room in a neighbor’s house, but most of the houses were dark, attesting to the fact that everyone was in bed.
Where Petey belonged.
He eased into Serena’s driveway, scanning the property. A nice white little bungalow with a fenced backyard. A porch swing on the front porch and the scooter and football in the yard gave the place a homey feel, another reminder that this house belonged to a single mother and her son.
Ones who’d had their lives uprooted today. The question was, why?
He cut the engine, then moved quietly toward the front door, checking windows and locks. All shut down. The house was shrouded in darkness, as well.
If Petey had come home, would he hide out in the dark like this?
He circled around the side to the back again, checking windows, but they were all locked, and so was the back door. He wanted inside.
But he hated to break a window or lock. Rational thought kicked in, and he pivoted, searching the back patio for a place Serena might have hidden a backup key.
A fort for Petey had been erected in the backyard, a bicycle lay on its side, and flowerpots filled with geraniums and impatiens flanked both sides of the patio.
He stooped and dug beneath the first one but found nothing. Three more pots and his hand closed around the key. Using it to let himself in, he paused to listen for sounds. Any indication that Petey was inside.
The ticktock of a clock somewhere in the house echoed in the silence along with the low hum of the refrigerator and air conditioner.
“Petey, it’s Colt.”
Not wanting to frighten the kid if he was here, he inched his way inside, then moved slowly across the room and flipped on a light. “Petey, if you’re here, please come out. I promise I’m not going to take you back to the manor.”
Nothing.
He crept into the den and switched on a lamp, blinking at the sudden brightness. The room was painted a pale yellow with a dark green couch and comfy chairs situated around a fireplace. Children’s books and toys occupied one corner. Family photographs decorated a far wall. He paused to study one of Petey and his dad, and his gut tightened. Serena had said her husband was killed in the line of duty.
Old instincts kicked in. Police work was dangerous. Had her husband’s killer been arrested? Had his killer decided to come after Serena and Petey for some reason?
If so, could it be related to Rice’s murder, and the fact that Serena had been conveniently framed?
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.
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