Special Forces Father (7 page)

“Nope,” Dawson said. He gave Travis the combination to a mailbox on the outside of the building. “The key’s inside the mailbox. Go to the fourth floor. It’s the only door. Wait for me inside.”

Travis drove to the address Dawson had given him and followed his instructions. He agreed
with Dawson’s assertion that
apartment
was not the right word for the large room that appeared to take up the entire top floor of the building. It had a bathroom and an alcove with a double bed that was separated from the rest of the room by a heavy curtain, and it was air-conditioned. The kitchen, however, consisted of nothing but a microwave and a mini-fridge on a countertop.

Travis turned
on the AC and pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge. He sat down in a chair to wait for Dawson.

He’d barely finished the water when Kate’s phone rang. The sound startled him and he dropped the plastic bottle. He cursed his damn jumpiness as he checked the display. The number was her office phone. He could picture her, fuming, ready to rip into him for sneaking her cell phone out of her
purse. He hesitated, looking at the display, his finger hovering over the answer button. Then he shook his head. He didn’t want to talk to her yet, and certainly not over the phone.

She’d probably get back to her house before he did, and find him gone. If she was fuming now, he didn’t want to think about what she’d be like when he walked in tonight. He closed the phone. She’d have to wait.
He needed to get Dawson on the trail of whoever had taken Max. That was the most important thing. He’d face her later. Hopefully he could show some results that would prove that he’d done the right thing in contacting Dawson. At the same instant that Kate’s call went to voice mail, he heard footsteps on the stairs. There was a double rap on the door.

“Trav?” Dawson’s voice came through the
door. Then he heard a key turn in the lock and Dawson burst in, carrying a paper bag that he set on the bookcase just inside the door.

Travis couldn’t help but grin when he saw his cousin. “Dawson,” he said and stepped forward. The two men performed the basic man-hug—quick hand clasp and touch of shoulders, lightning-speed pat on back, then return to their corners. Dawson held on to Travis’s
hand for one extra split second, though, and assessed him. “You don’t look so good, partner,” he said, frowning. “What’s the deal? Everything okay with you?”

Outside a car backfired. Travis jumped, then muttered a curse.

Dawson’s assessing eyes narrowed. “Tell me what’s up.”

Travis gave his head a shake and his mouth quirked up in a smile. “How much time have you got?” he asked
wryly.

“Actually, I’ve got all day. Dad and I had just finished moving the furniture when you called. I was going to run by and see Ryker, but hell, I see him and Reilly all the time. I haven’t seen you in what? Three or four years?”

Travis nodded. “Yeah. And it sounds like a lot has happened while I’ve been gone. Apparently
you
found a ball and chain.”

Dawson laughed, but Travis
saw pride and contentment soften his face. It was an expression he’d never seen on his cousin’s face—ever.

“Right,” Dawson said. “What we need to be talking about right now is what’s up with you. Let’s sit down.” He went over to the bookcase and retrieved the paper bag and brought it to the big oak table that sat near the windows. They each took a wooden hard-backed chair. Dawson pushed the
paper bag toward Travis. “You still like café au lait?”

“Oh, man, thanks,” Travis said, reaching inside the bag and pulling out a hot cup. He lifted the lid. “Sugar?” he asked.

Dawson got up and retrieved a mason jar half-full of sugar and a spoon from the counter where the microwave sat. “Juliana likes a lot of sugar, too.”

Travis spooned sugar into the caramel-colored drink, stirred
it vigorously, then took a long swig. “Mmm. There’s nothing like real Louisiana chicory coffee.”

Dawson took the other cup and sipped it. He didn’t say anything else, just waited.

“What do y’all use this place for?” he asked.

Dawson shrugged. “A hideaway if we need to protect someone. We stay here if we have to be in New Orleans overnight. It’s handy for lots of things. Jules wants
to fix it up.” Dawson shrugged and smiled.

Travis sent him an assessing look. Dawson married was a concept that was going to take some getting used to. Dawson drank his coffee in silence.

Finally, Travis took a deep breath. “I left Walter Reed AMA,” he said.

Dawson nodded. “Against medical advice,” he muttered.

“Yeah. I’d been on a mission—a long one.” He shook his head. “I
don’t need to get into all that right now. Suffice it to say, I walked out, bought a car and drove down here.”

“When was that?” Dawson asked, studying the plastic lid of his cup.

“I got here last night. Went to Kate’s. Kate Chalmet is a psychiatrist. She—”

“I know her,” Dawson said.

“You do?” Travis was a little surprised. Although he shouldn’t have been, he supposed. Dawson
worked as an independent investigator, but it made sense that he came into contact with the D.A.’s office and the people who worked there. Kate had already told him she had had dealings with his baby brother Harte, who was a prosecutor.

“Sure. She works for the D.A.’s office. Right now she’s supposed to be making an assessment about whether Myron Stamps was insane when he shot Paul. Did you
know he shot Paul Guillame?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Travis said.

“So I’m guessing you weren’t seeing Dr. Chalmet professionally?” Dawson looked up with a twinkle in his eye.

“Nope,” Travis said. “She and I lived together for a long time while we were in college. It ended badly.” He took a deep breath. “Look. I’ll cut to the chase. Kate has a son—Max. He’s four years old and he’s—” To
his dismay, Travis felt his voice catch. “He’s mine,” he said thickly, then swallowed hard.

Dawson’s gaze went sharp. “Four years old?”

Travis nodded. “I came home on furlough five years ago and we—hooked up,” he finished harshly. “I didn’t know until this morning that Max is my son.” He waved a hand. “So anyway, you know Kate is evaluating Stamps. I don’t know the whole story but apparently
it’s in Stamps’s best interest, or someone’s, anyway, to be acquitted on grounds that he was temporarily insane when he pulled the trigger.”

Dawson stayed quiet.

“Well, yesterday afternoon, somebody abducted Max.”

Travis was surprised again when Dawson didn’t react. But he supposed Dawson had heard it all.

“He disappeared from child care,” he continued. “The child-care personnel
were frantic, so they called Kate. She had just hung up from talking with the abductor. He had warned her that if she said anything to anybody, they’d kill her son—they’d kill Max.” Travis cleared his throat. “She told them that she’d popped in and picked up Max without telling anybody. She said the girl who had called was so desperate to believe that Max was with his mom and okay that she had
accepted Kate’s explanation without question.”

“When was that?”

“Around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t heard anything since.”

Dawson finished his coffee, then looked at Travis. “Did you tell anybody you were coming here?”

“What? Here?”

“New Orleans.”

“No, I didn’t. You think— No. Not a soul. Not even the used-car dealer.”

“Okay, so the kidnapping
is not about Delanceys. That’s good. What can I do?”

Travis laid Kate’s phone on the table. “This is Kate’s phone. The phone the kidnapper called her on. I’m hoping you can trace where his call originated, or figure out where he bought the phone or something.”

“Sure.” Dawson reached for the phone.

“But first,” Travis said. “There was a car outside Kate’s house this morning. I can’t
say how long he’d been there. But he was there when she left for work, and he was still there, taking pictures with his phone, as I was getting into my car. He had a magnetic sign on the side of his car, advertising a real estate agency.”

“Can you describe the car or the man?”

“I was trying to play it casual, so I couldn’t get a good look at the man, and the license plate was obscured
by mud. But I got the first two numbers and the last. Also, the sticker on the windshield was pretty distinctive. It had three stacked emblems on the left half, with two light blue stripes down either side.”

“Good eyes,” Dawson said.

“I was trained to notice everything and remember it.”

Dawson nodded as Travis handed him a piece of paper where he’d written the car’s make, model
and what he’d seen of the license plate number. He’d sketched his description of the left half of the sticker.

“So he’s from out of town. He’s a pro.”

“A pro?”

Dawson nodded as he tucked the note into his pocket. “A professional. They imported him. He must be awfully good at what he does. What did he do when you drove away?”

“He pulled out behind me, but he made a left when
I turned right. Left is the way Kate goes to her office. I’m guessing that his instructions are to watch Kate. But he wanted to see who owned the Maryland car. Once he got a good look at me and took some pictures with his phone, I’m guessing he headed for Kate’s office to keep watch on her.”

“I’ve got a computer whiz who can do anything. I’ll get Dusty on this as soon as I get back to the
office. Now let’s look at Kate’s phone.” Dawson picked up the phone and pressed a couple buttons, studying the display. He pressed another one, then another. Then he nodded and pocketed the phone. “I’ll get Dusty started on this, too. We’ll have some information soon. I don’t know how much. What else?”

“How can I find Stamps? Do you know?”

“I know where his office is and Juliana can
get his home address for you. Why?”

“I have to confront him and find out who took my son!”

“Hang on, Travis. It won’t do you any good to go throwing your weight around. I’d hate for Stamps to hang a harassment charge—or worse—on you. Why don’t I take care of it? I can send someone to watch his office and home, to see who comes and goes. Right now he’s taking time off from his legislative
duties, from what I understand, and is working with his attorney to prepare his defense in his upcoming trial.”

Travis rubbed his face. “You can put somebody on him if you want to, but I’m still going to talk to him.”

“I thought you didn’t want anybody to know you’re here. If you piss off Stamps, it’s going to get around.”

“It’ll probably get around anyhow, since the Chicago guy
took my picture, and it’s a cinch he’s reporting to someone Stamps knows if not to Stamps himself.”

“What’s the deal with hiding out from everybody? You haven’t even talked to your mom?”

“No, and I’m not going to until I get all this sorted out.” Travis heard his voice. He sounded stubborn, almost petulant.

Dawson assessed him for a moment. “So the only reason you checked yourself
out of Walter Reed and drove all the way down here was to see Kate Chalmet? Did you want her to help you find a therapist here in town?”

“A therapist? What are you talking about?” Travis asked defensively.

Dawson shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious, kid. You’re suffering from PTSD.”

Travis laughed, but not with amusement. “No, I’m not,” he snapped, glaring at Dawson. “You think I need
a shrink? I can assure you I don’t.”

“Hey.” Dawson held his hands up. “I wasn’t making a judgment. Just asking. So why’d you go to see her? You said you didn’t know about the boy.”

“That’s right,” Travis retorted. He grimaced, then unclenched his jaw. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little on edge right now.” He sighed. “I went to see her because—” He stopped. He didn’t speak for several
moments. To his relief, Dawson sat quietly.

Finally Travis took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk about himself, but he figured if Dawson was going to help him, he needed to know everything.

“I wasn’t just on a long mission. I was captured,” he said finally. “It’s not important, got nothing to do with Kate and my—our—son. But the reason I drove straight to her house—” He stopped
again.

Dawson picked up the tiny plastic triangle that he’d twisted off his coffee lid. He twirled it in his fingers, watching it.

“I was held captive for five months. It was beyond hell, and the only thing that kept me alive was thinking about the people I loved. My family—and Kate. Hell, Dawson. I don’t want to talk about all that. I’ll deal with it later. Now my priority is finding
Max.”

Dawson nodded and smiled. “Not a problem, Trav. I’ll get right on it. Is that everything?” he asked.

“If you think it might help to tail Stamps, I’d like to know who all he sees and talks to.”

“I’ll put somebody on it.”

“Just bill me,” Travis said, and pushed back from the table.

“Hang on a minute. What do you know about Myron Stamps?”

“Me? Not a thing. Why?”

Dawson shook his head. “I’ll fill you in so you’ll know what you’re dealing with. Myron Stamps is a long-time state senator. He’s probably only ten years younger than our granddad. You probably never heard him talk about the
Good Ole Boys,
did you?”

Travis shook his head. “Good old boys as in racist and bigoted with a pre–Civil War mentality?”

“Yeah, in general,” Dawson acceded,
smiling. “But specifically, the
Good Ole Boys
are a group of elder senators and congressmen who are following in the footsteps of Con Delancey. And Con, of course, patterned his entire political career after Huey Long. In their heyday, Long in the 1930s and Con in the sixties and seventies, they each courted the rural folks by such programs as Long’s
Share the Wealth
and Con’s
Work and Receive
initiative while pushing more and more power into the governor’s hands and out of the legislature. Did you know Con ran for governor three times and lost? Grandmother was sure that he’d have been elected in 1990 if he hadn’t been killed.”

“I’ve heard some of those stories about Granddad. Not about him running for governor, though. What’s all this got to do with Stamps?” Travis asked.