Running Scared (38 page)

“Well, boy,” VanHorn had said, cackling. “You’re my gold mine. I’m going to sell you off to the highest bidder. And no doubt that’ll be your auntie. She’s got everything to lose, and I enjoy doing business with her. Thing is, she’s promised me a few perks your old grandfather can’t offer, if you know what I mean.”

And as VanHorn had begun to close the handcuff over Jon’s wrist that night, Jon had caught a glimpse into the man’s dark soul.

“You won’t be safe in Mexico,” Jon had said.

“What?”

“Or Canada, either. You can’t sell me off to a killer and get away with it.”

VanHorn’s mouth had dropped open a second. “How did you know…?” And he’d backed away warily, before he’d had a chance to crank the cuff closed to the tightest notch.

Which was why Jon might have a chance to escape now, despite the throbbing pain in his swollen wrist. As he pulled, it felt like he was going to shave the fingers right off his hands, but he couldn’t stop now, not with the cuff now squeezing the base of his thumb. Bracing himself against the dizzying pain, he pulled hard. With an agonized groan, the cuff slipped off.

At last…he was free.

With no time to lose, he unlocked the door and fled down the rickety steps covered in rock salt, careful to avoid the icy edges. Not sure which way to run, he squeezed between two parked cars and bolted across the small motel parking lot. On the corner a handful of men gathered around a trash can fire, laughing as someone threw something in and stirred sparks in the night. Now that he was outside, the edginess of the neighborhood was more apparent, with its boarded-up windows, doors covered by wrought-iron gates, walls of graffiti, and cracked, peeling paint.

He had to get out of here—fast.

He hit the sidewalk running and didn’t slow when two headlights loomed down the dark street. Just a passing car.

Then why was it screeching to a stop beside him?

The door flew open and Jon gasped as the familiar man emerged, his face red with fury.

VanHorn.

“What the hell are you doing?” VanHorn shouted.

But Jon backed away and raced down the street, his shoes scraping over rock salt, his legs pumping.

Run, run, run!

Adrenaline shot through him as he tore through the dark streets, his sneakers slapping against the wet pavement. His heart pounded so hard he thought it would explode. Piles of dirty slush lined the unfamiliar streets.

This city was so foreign to him…

Except that he’d dreamed of it. He knew this cityscape.

He was living out his worst nightmares, but he had to run. Escape from the killer.

Behind him a siren wailed, and he plunged on, toward the lights, the music.

Christmas music.

“God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay…”

Here the streets were better lit. Buildings gleamed with shiny glass windows, their doors adorned with wreaths and winking Christmas lights. It was the sort of neighborhood Aunt Laura might live in. The door of a pub opened, and laughter and music drifted out with two patrons. Jon had to lunge to the left to cut around them, though the couple didn’t seem to mind.

A man walking his dog looked up and shook his head. “What’s your hurry, kid?”

Running
, Jon panted, the cold air fire in his lungs.

From my killer.

God, help me.

“…to save us all from Satan’s power when we have gone astray…”

Breathless, Jon glanced over his shoulder. No sign of his pursuer. He ducked into the doorway of a shop that was closed, trying to catch his breath and think.

Reality didn’t have to mirror his vision. He could control the outcome, escape VanHorn, get himself back home to Oregon. Right now he had to believe that. He was going to get away.

Hearing only the animated conversation of two passing shoppers, he leaned out of the doorway. No sign of VanHorn.

Feeling relieved but cautious, he stepped out and strode down the street behind the two women. I can do this, he thought, easily falling into step behind them. I can lose him and find the nearest police station…

“Jon…” The voice slammed into his consciousness as a dark figure stepped out of the shadows of a store-front behind him.

Oh, God!

Cold steel pressed into his shoulder blade—the gun.

The cold tip of the weapon stopped Jon in mid-stride as VanHorn’s thoughts flashed into his mind.

He wants to kill me. He’s seriously considering squeezing the trigger.

Just kill the boy now and be done with this…

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jon said aloud. “If you shoot me now, you’ll never be done with this. You’ll be paying the rest of your life.”

“Just shut up,” VanHorn said with a low growl.

Jon felt something clamp on his shoulder—his jacket. VanHorn was using it to hide the gun.

“You left without your jacket, son.” VanHorn’s voice oozed with paternal concern. Two women in hooded jackets and boots passed by unfazed, unable to smell Jon’s panic as they ducked into the door of a boutique strung with tiny white lights. “You can’t run around here without a coat,” VanHorn reiterated in a cheerful, booming voice. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“It’s not a bad way to go,” Jon muttered under his breath as the pistol jabbed into his ribcage. Caught. Deflated. And running out of time.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” Kate demanded, spying Daegan in the hallway of her sister’s apartment. Laura had answered the door and Daegan had barged in, looking as out of place as spurs on tennis shoes. Wearing a rawhide jacket, jeans, boots, and a faded blue work shirt, he looked the part of a cowboy in the city. His flinty eyes when they connected with hers were just as sexy and throat-catching as ever. God, she was a fool!

“I came to find my son.”

“Your
son,” she repeated, disbelieving. “Other than being involved in his conception, you’ve had nothing to do with him—”

“Because I didn’t know about him.”

“Your problem. If you’re so careless as to…” Her words faded as she realized what she was saying. As if he could read her thoughts, his gaze strayed to her flat abdomen, where there could be another life—their child’s—beginning to grow.

“Whoa,” Laura said, “I think I’d better disappear for a while.”

“That’s a good idea,” Daegan said.

“Stay put. You’re the only family I have, the only family Jon has.”

“Not true,” Daegan asserted, his lips flattening over his teeth and his nostrils flaring, “but we can argue about this later. Right now we’re wasting time.”

She couldn’t argue with his logic, and if the truth were known, she was grateful that he’d be with her when she faced Robert Sullivan. Not that she needed any kind of support or prodding; she’d fight the man tooth and nail all by herself, but it was still fortifying to know that he was there, whatever his motives.

Laura fluttered her fingers nervously. “What do you want me to do?”

“Stay here,” Kate said. “If Jon’s in Boston and he can get away from VanHorn or whoever it is who’s got him, then he might come here. He knows your address even if he’s never been to the city before.”

“Okay, I can do that,” Laura said, nodding, her gaze straying to Daegan again before landing hard on Kate. “Will you be all right?”

Kate understood her sister’s silent message and she waved off her fears. No matter what she thought of Daegan, she didn’t believe that he would hurt her or her son, at least not physically. Though he’d put them through emotional hell, he wouldn’t intentionally let any harm come to them. That much she still believed. Despite his faults, there was still some smidgen of honor in the man. There had to be. “I’ll be fine,” she said as she grabbed her coat and gloves.

“We’ll be at Robert Sullivan’s house if the police or the FBI calls.”

She stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

“Believe me, I’ve never been all that fond of the law, but in this case, it’s important that all the state, local, and national agencies are notified.” His lips twisted. “I spent the last day being grilled by the authorities, I think it’s someone else’s turn. What if VanHorn didn’t hightail it back here? What if he took Jon to Canada? Or has him holed up somewhere in the Black Hills? Or locked away on a boat in the Pacific Ocean? Unfortunately, we’re going to need all the help we can get. I’ve got my own private investigator on it, too. My friend Sandy Kavenaugh. He’s watching the Sullivans and has his ear to the ground for VanHorn.”

Kate shivered. “Do you really believe that he’s somewhere else?”

“No,” he said as they waited for the elevator in the hallway outside Laura’s apartment. “My gut feeling is that VanHorn brought him here for Robert and that dear old Uncle Bob has been working at trumping up charges against me and finding flaws in the paperwork surrounding Jon’s adoption. According to Bibi, Robert’s become obsessed with his grandson.” The elevator doors opened and they stepped inside.

“But she isn’t?” Kate asked, wanting to hate the woman who gave Jon up when deep inside she was thankful for the chance to become his mother.

“Bibi still thinks he’s better off with you or me or anyone but her.”

“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, dying a little inside. The adoption hadn’t been legal. She’d known it for years but assumed that the legality of all the documents would never be questioned. Outside the ground was covered in snow, but paths had been cleared on the sidewalks and streets. The noise of the city hit her full force as Daegan hailed a taxi.

He spouted off an address and the cab took off, blending into the uneven flow of traffic. Kate leaned her head against the cool glass of a back window and silently prayed that her son was all right. Christmas lights blazed on buildings, and wreaths with huge bows hung on doors. Pedestrians in wool scarves and hats ducked their heads against the wind and snow while cars, trucks, and buses vied for space on the busy, narrow streets.

She slid a glance in Daegan’s direction, noting the stubborn set of his jaw, the determination glinting in his eyes, the tough, obstinate seam of his lips. Silently he seethed and she felt that same bone-chilling aura of danger that she’d sensed when she first met him. His hands gripped his knees, knuckles bleached white, fingers clenched in a death grip.

The cab slid to a stop at an address on Louisburg Square. Daegan paid the driver, then helped Kate out of the car. “Let me handle this,” he said.

“No way. He’s my son.”

“And mine. We’ve been over this before. Just let me have a first crack at Robert, then you’re on.” She wanted to argue but the fire in his eyes convinced her to agree. For now.

“I can’t promise I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“You might not have to.” Together they walked up a brick path that had been shoveled clear of snow. The red brick town house rose four stories to a gabled roof. Black shutters guarded tall windows and lamplight fell through the paned glass. A garland of cedar boughs was woven with thick red ribbon and tiny lights, then draped around the door frame. Everywhere there was the spirit of Christmas. Except in Kate’s heart.

“I wish this were over,” she whispered.

“I wish things were different.” His voice was so quiet, she barely heard it.

Daegan lifted the knocker three times. Kate’s stomach plummeted to the frozen ground as a butler, tall and thin and pale, opened the door.

“We’re here to see Robert.”

“May I ask who’s cal—”

“Just tell him Daegan wants to see him and won’t take no for an answer,” Daegan said and shoved his foot across the threshold to prevent the door from being slammed shut. Robert wasn’t going to weasel out of this.

With a disgruntled frown, the man let them into the tiled foyer, and it was all Daegan could do to stay calm. His hands were fisted in his pockets, his muscles tight and rigid from restraint. He heard the butler’s clipped steps as he retreated, noted the gilded mirrors and elaborate chandelier with hundreds of lights sparkling over his head. In the center of the room stood a table with a cut-crystal bowl full of floating jasmine, and poinsettias spread their red and white splendor up a sweeping staircase.

The butler, his face expressionless, returned. “This way,” he said. “Mr. Sullivan will see you now.”

“No shit,” Daegan muttered.

Taking Kate’s hand in his, Daegan followed the stiff-spined employee through wide double doors and into Robert’s den. To Daegan’s way of thinking, he was striding through the gates of hell.

Although Neils kept telling himself the woman was poison, that he ought to take his money and run far away from her, every time he saw her, he weakened. He tossed back his scotch and let his eyes run down her body, trying to soak up her slick beauty. Composed and sophisticated in her own bitter way, she definitely possessed the talons to scratch his itch.

“So the boy is here?” she asked, tapping a manicured nail on the bare table top of the quiet little bar where they’d agreed to meet. She wore shaded glasses and a scarf to protect herself from being recognized, creating an air of mystery that he found sexy as hell.

“Got him here in Boston,” he replied. “I’m just weighing in on final offers.” Twin lines of frustration appeared above the bridge of her nose. How he’d love to rip those sunglasses off—along with her cashmere coat and everything underneath. “Your offer tops Robert’s,” he said. “Both in money and other areas.”

“I’ll bet.”

He watched as she crossed her legs, letting one high heel suspend from her toes, showing off the arch of a delicate foot. Neils’s manhood sprang to attention.

“So what’s the holdup?” she asked.

“I like your offer,” he admitted, shifting against the pistol between his legs, “but I’m not cool with what you want me to do with him. Let’s just say it’s beyond the range of my specialty.”

“Too bad.” She lifted a shoulder and her smile turned pouty and damned seductive. “But I still want the bastard. I’ll just have to switch to plan B. Which means I’ll accept delivery as soon as you can arrange it, out at my family’s place on the lake.”

He nodded, images of the two of them cozying up by a warm fire at the Sullivans’ lake house. “And my money?” he asked, finishing his scotch and signaling for another round. Her glass of wine remained untouched.

“Half on delivery, half a month later, when the dust settles.”

Neils ran his tongue around his teeth, thinking of the many things they could do in a month’s time. Normally he demanded his money on a more timely basis, but he would enjoy stretching things out with Alicia. And it would be a huge relief to dump the boy off with her, get that bit of walking, talking trouble out of his hands. The kid worried him, with his weird visions. Not to mention the fact that Jon had almost run off yesterday, which would have left Neils royally screwed. All that work and he would end up with jackshit. Which was why he’d left the boy with his wrists and ankles cuffed this time. That would hold him.

He picked up his refreshed drink and, feeling rather suave, toasted her. “I think we have ourselves a deal.”

Daegan didn’t believe in pussyfooting around and so he confronted Robert head-on. “You can’t have Jon,” he said, striding into the room and watching the smaller, older man try to get his bearings. Robert’s mouth worked and he glanced several times at Kate as he tried to push himself out of a tufted leather chair. A cigar burned in an ashtray at his side. A snifter of brandy had been placed on the folded pages of the
Wall Street Journal.
A fire played in the hearth and cast cheery golden shadows around this ancient, paneled room.

“Who are you to say who will have custody of—”

“He’s my son, damn it!
Mine.”
Daegan hooked a possessive thumb at his chest. “You’re not getting him! Not now. Not ever!”

“You think the courts would give you custody after you nearly shot Frank and beat Stuart to death?” Robert demanded, his white face contorting in a fuming, silent rage as he settled back into his chair. Behind rimless reading glasses his eyes narrowed in anger.

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Still unable to face the truth.”

“The truth, Robert, is that you’re going to give up any custody fight for Jon, and if you don’t, I’ll personally see that the old Sullivan scandals along with the new ones come scampering out of their little locked closets to parade before all the newspapers in town. Your clients, Frank’s business associates, Collin’s friends, Bibi’s fiancé, everyone will know. If that isn’t enough, I’ll call the police and demand my own investigations and I’ll see to it that you’ll never raise your head socially again. All this blue-blooded sophisticated act will be over. It’s all bullshit anyway.”

He leaned over Robert’s chair, his face menacing, his voice the barest of whispers. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks. Where’s Jon?”

Robert’s Adam’s apple worked up and down. “I don’t know.”

“Bull!”

“I don’t!”

“We know VanHorn has him. The police have been informed, so things will be better if you tell us the truth.”

“I don’t know,” he repeated and Kate almost felt sorry for him. So old and ill. And yet so conniving.

“I want my boy, Mr. Sullivan,” she said with a quiet calm that she didn’t feel. Her muscles ached from tension, her hands were curled into hard fists.

“He’s not yours. He never was, Ms. Summers,” Robert said, his watery eyes fixed on Kate. “The adoption was not a legal proceeding, as I’m sure you know. So in fact, it is I who should be demanding the boy back from you.”

“When hell freezes over.” Daegan crossed the room, snagged the receiver from the phone, and began punching in numbers.

“Now wait a minute,” Robert groused. “You can’t just barge in here and start bullying me and using my things and—”

“Like you did to me?” Kate demanded. “For God’s sake, you had your own grandson kidnapped!”

“Correction: Jon was not kidnapped. He’s simply being returned to his family.”

“No,” Kate said, her voice deadly. “You will never be his family. Not really.”

“You’re deluded,” Robert said.

“I took your grandson when no one else would have him,” Kate said, over thickness in her throat. “When you wanted to be rid of him without a trace. I followed Tyrell’s orders, took him far away from here, and raised Jon as my own son. He
is
my son. I love him, and no court of law can change that.”

“We’re at Robert’s house,” Daegan said into the mouthpiece. “I’m here with Jon’s mother, and you better get over here. It’s time we all had a family meeting.”

“What?” Robert cried. “Who are you calling? Put down that phone or I’ll have you arrested.”

“Go on and try.” Daegan slammed the receiver back into the cradle. “The police are probably already in the area, the FBI, too. Keeping an eye on you. They’re concerned about Jon, and you should be, too.”

Raising a shaking finger to his upper lip, Robert scowled down his patrician nose. He wasn’t accustomed to losing, and his thin lips pursed in frustration.

“Is VanHorn coming here?” Daegan asked.

“No,” Robert answered, staring down at the Persian rug. “He most certainly is not.”

“Where is Jon?” Kate asked, sure she would go mad with worry.

“I don’t know.” Robert leaned back in the oversized leather chair. “VanHorn was giving me information about the boy. However, he hasn’t phoned in a few days and has not had the decency to return my calls. At first I thought he was holding out for more money, but now I can only deduce that the scoundrel is double-crossing me. I suspect he’s going to sell Jon to a higher bidder.”