The Lawman's Christmas Wish (14 page)

“Excuse the interruption, but has anyone seen Dexter? I can't find him. Dexter, if you're out there, come up here to Mama right now.”

A murmur ran through the gathered throng. Heads turned, as if to look for the lost boy. Seconds passed. Seconds in which Amy prayed and hoped and waited. Heavy dread tightened Amy's stomach. He had to be here. Where else could he be?

After a frighteningly long minute, she leaped off the platform and grappled in her pocket for the cell phone.

Voices surrounded her, offering reassurance. “He's here somewhere, Amy.”

“Probably out there throwing snowballs, and didn't hear you calling.”

“He'll show up. Don't worry.”

But she
was
worried. Everyone didn't know what she knew. That someone would do anything to get his or her hands on that treasure. Including harming a small boy.

The last thought shook her to the core. She jabbed at the numbers on the cell phone. Just then, the chief of police came into sight.

“Reed,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank You, Lord.”

With a quick snap, she closed the small phone and hurried toward the one man she trusted most with her children. If anyone could help, Reed could. Fighting tears, she dragged the bewildered, whining Sammy along. From the expression on Reed's face, he'd heard her announcement. She tried to control her emotions, but when Reed was close enough to touch, she fell against him.

“I can't find Dexter,” she said. “They were right beside me. I don't know what happened. You don't think someone—”

His strong hands gripped her arms and slowly set her away from him. Jaw like granite, he said the words that nearly broke her in two.

“Someone did.”

W
ith Amy trembling against him, Reed was so furious he thought his head might explode. How had this happened? How had he failed so miserably in his protection of Amy's son? If he got his hands on whoever did this…

More reluctantly than he'd ever done anything, he showed her a single piece of paper. “Frank Drew's boy handed this to me a minute ago. Some guy in a camo coat gave him five bucks to bring it to me or you.”

Reed watched with churning gut as Amy's fingers trembled against the ransom note. “An even trade. The kid for the treasure. Expect my call.” Her shattered gaze rose to his. “A ransom note. Oh, Reed, someone kidnapped my baby.”

She buckled then, this strong, exuberant woman who could single-handedly turn a town from the brink of financial collapse. Reed yanked her against him, tempted to sweep her into his arms, draw his gun and go blasting through the crowd until someone returned their boy. He resisted the urge, knowing time was of the essence. Instead, he hoisted Sammy into his arms and guided the quaking Amy toward his SUV, nodding curtly to concerned friends who vowed to search for the missing boy.

“We'll find him, Amy,” someone said. “He can't be far.”

Reed didn't bother to stop with the truth—that Dexter was being held hostage.

Once he reached the car and loaded Amy and Sammy inside, he said, “Lock the doors and wait for that call. I'll make the announcement over the PA, get people organized to search, and be back. We'll start driving. If the call comes in, text me an SOS. Got it?”

“I need to look for him.”

“You need to get yourself together first. Take a few minutes to calm down. Talk to Sammy. Get a good description. I'll be right back. Promise.”

“Okay. Okay. You're right.” Face stricken white with fear, she didn't argue.

“No matter what you do, you and Sammy sit tight. Do not unlock the door. Do not get out of this vehicle.”

Amy nodded and pulled Sammy onto her lap, where she hooked one arm tightly around him. The sight tore at him. If he'd been with her… If he'd had his eyes on the kids the way he'd promised, this would not have happened.

“Find my baby, Reed.”

Fury ripped through him like a freight train. He barely ground out the answer. “Count on it.”

With increasing urgency, Reed jogged toward the now lighted Christmas tree and a merry, singing crowd that had no idea of the drama being played out in its midst. The irony was not lost on Reed. He tried to focus as a professional cop, but objectivity had escaped him. This was Dexter. And someone was going to pay.

Lord, help me find him,
he prayed silently. Though he'd never done much for God, and didn't figure he'd earned the right to ask, he figured God would look out for a sweet little kid like Dexter.

Nearing the center of attraction, he spotted Santa. Harry Peterson had dismounted from the fire truck and was ho-ho-
ho-ing to a gang of gathered children. Reed's chest ached to know Sammy and Dexter were not among them. He took the microphone, and in his usual terse manner, announced the kidnapping.

“I need your help. We have a description of a man who threatened the James family and who may have done this.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket. Since the scare at the school yard, he'd kept a copy with him all the time. Just in case. He held it up. “If you think you may have seen him, say so. Better to be wrong than sorry. Otherwise, we need searchers to cover every inch of this town and to block the roads in and out.”

The shocked crowd responded as he knew they would. This was no longer a case of a child lost in a friendly crowd. Someone had one of Amy's boys, and the citizens of Treasure Creek would not stand for such a crime. As soon as the ripple of shock subsided, they called a halt to the festivities.

Every man who'd ever worked for the Jameses stormed the bandstand to join search parties. Jake Rodgers shouted into the microphone, “Five thousand dollars to anyone who finds that child in the next fifteen minutes.”

Satisfied that these rugged men and women would do their part, Reed left Jake in charge and headed back to his SUV to await the promised phone call.

He'd been gone less than ten minutes, but he knew before he ever reached the vehicle.

Amy and Sammy were gone.

 

“Where is it, lady? Tell me where to find the treasure and no one gets hurt.” The sandy-haired man shoved a gun harder against her ribs.

She still couldn't believe this was happening. She'd been sitting in Reed's police SUV, praying for the call that never came, when the barrel of a gun appeared next to her window.

“Open the door or I'll shoot.”

For a moment she'd frozen. Her inaction had infuriated the man.

“Open now or the kid gets it.” He tilted the barrel toward Sammy.

She opened the door.

The cold metal gun pushed against her temple. Threatening to kill Sammy and Dexter if she so much as whispered, he'd ordered her out of the vehicle.

“Leave Sammy. Please,” she begged. “Take me, but leave him here.”

The man's face hardened. He grabbed Sammy and jabbed the gun against his neck. Sammy began to cry.

“Shut him up or he dies.”

Scared out of her mind, Amy stroked Sammy's hair and whispered. “Shh. Quiet, baby. Please be quiet.”

She tried to think, tried to remember what to do in such a terrible situation, but her brain could only see the cold barrel of a pistol pointed at her child. Every fiber of her motherly being wanted to grab the gun and fight for her baby, but she knew the effort could be disastrous.

This was her fault. All of it. If she'd been watching the boys the way she should have. If she hadn't been so busy with the festivities…

“Move it, lady. And be quiet about it. Anyone stops me, and the kid pays.”

Numbly, she nodded. She had to think of some way out of this.

With Sammy in his arms, the gun secreted beneath her baby's coat, the man forced her away from the crowd and through the darkness to a filthy pickup truck. Amy knew better than to get into the vehicle, but what choice did she have? Sammy's life was at stake.

Her cell phone began to ring.

The kidnapper jerked, hard eyes narrowed in warning. “Don't answer that.”

She glanced down at the caller ID. Reed. He must have returned to his SUV by now. Hope bloomed. Reed would find her. He wouldn't stop until he did. She prayed he was on time.

The ringing ceased. Sammy, stiff with fear, cut his eyes in her direction and whimpered.

“Don't cry, Sammy. Mama's here.” That was the only comfort she could offer.

The sandy-haired man had seated Sammy on his lap behind the steering wheel, the gun firmly against his small, pale neck. A blast of heat from the vents stirred the stench of fast-food grease and her stomach roiled. Amy clasped a hand to her mouth, afraid she would throw up.

“Where's the money? The famous treasure?” The kidnapper jerked his head, the action jarring the weapon pointed at Sammy.

Amy had known fear in her life, but never anything like this. These were her children, heart of her heart, flesh of her flesh. If anything happened to one of them she could not go on. Blood roared against her temples and her stomach threatened revolt. She folded her hands in her lap to control the shaking—and to pray.

“Where's Dexter? Take me to my son first. Then I'll tell you where the treasure is.”

The man snarled at her. “I make the rules, lady. You do as I say. Tell me where the treasure is or choose who dies first. The big one or the little one?”

Oh, God in Heaven. Help us.

“Please don't hurt my babies.”

“All we want's the treasure. Tell us, and the kids live.” He pulled the truck to the side of a deserted road, where he wrapped the gun arm around Sammy's waist and then fumbled
in his jacket for a cell phone. “One call and you all go free. A sweet deal for everyone.”

“You can have the treasure. I don't care. Just take me to my son.” Dexter would be terrified by now. He was too smart not to understand what was happening.

The man's eyes flicked from the cell phone to her, and back again, as he texted something. Then, with a hard smirk, he sat back to wait.

The wait was torment.

In the dim glow of dashboard lights, the kidnapper looked cruel and desperate. She had no doubt he would do anything to get his hands on the treasure. If she told him the truth, that no one knew for certain what was inside the box, he wouldn't believe her. He, like the townspeople, thought the chest contained untold riches. She hoped they were right. Her family's lives now depended on it.

Though only seconds passed, they felt like years before he said, “My partner says he'll meet us.”

“Where?”

His grin was evil. “Wherever you keep the treasure.”

At this point, she'd have told him anything he asked. Money meant nothing without her babies. “It's at the police station.”

“Police station?” The thug blinked, clearly not expecting this turn of events. “You call the cops off, you hear? Tell them to stay clear or all of you die.”

“The police chief has the combination to the safe. No one else.” She didn't know if that was true, but it was the only way she could think of to contact Reed. “You'll have to get it from him.”

Amy shuddered, afraid she'd just put Reed in danger, too. But her only hope of help rested with the police chief.

The man cursed as he texted something else into his phone.
Then he started the truck, stirring the stench and heat once more as he drove through the falling snow back into town.

 

The cheerful twinkle of red and green Christmas lights was lost on Reed as he and Cy roared past storefronts toward his office. He glanced in his rearview mirror, relieved that no one followed. He had enough hostages to deal with as it was.

“We got trouble, Cy,” he told the dog, ruminating out loud to keep his emotions under check. Amy's brief phone call had just about done him in. The kidnappers had her. He had about two more minutes to formulate a plan to save the three people he loved most on the planet.

There it was, and no time to deal with it. He loved Amy James and he loved Dexter and Sammy. This was no longer about duty. This was about love.

As he approached his office, he turned down the back alley and cut his lights, easing into his parking space as unobtrusively as possible. He had no idea what he'd find inside the station. He'd tried radioing his deputy, but there was no response. Not that unusual. Ken could be on a call out of range. But Reed had a bad feeling. He'd better be ready for anything.

As he eased out of the truck, he slid his service revolver from the shoulder holster. “Cy. Stay.”

Cy whined, but stayed put. He wasn't a police dog. He was a friend. No use getting him shot.

With only the moon for illumination, Reed picked his way carefully across the piles of shoveled snow, hoping to see something through the back window. He saw only darkness.

Holding back a sigh, he slowly turned the doorknob, then waited. No sound came. He pushed the door open. When nothing and no one moved, he stepped inside the back room, an area he used for storage. If he moved quickly and quietly, he just might get the drop on them.

He took three silent steps through the darkness before a voice stopped him.

“I know you're there, Truscott. Put the gun on the floor before someone gets hurt.”

The overhead light flipped on. Reed went cold all over. The sandy-haired man in Casey's drawing stood in front of him holding a gun. On Dexter.

“Dex. Where's your mom? Are you okay?” He moved toward the shivering boy, trying to keep his fury in check for Dexter's safety. The child's eyes were red-rimmed, his nose ran and tears stained his cheeks. Whatever he'd been through had terrified him. Reed wanted five minutes on even footing with this man. Five minutes to teach him not to threaten small children.

“Chief.” Dexter's little voice quavered.

“Shut up, kid. And no funny stuff from you, Truscott,” the man warned, as he backed out of the room with Dexter in front of him.

“Let the boy go. Take me instead.”

“You're not near as valuable as the kid.” The sandy-haired man motioned with the gun. A 9-mm Smith & Wesson. Reed owned one just like it. A deadly, deadly weapon. “Open the safe.”

Reed stepped into the brightly lit office. Amy sat in a folding chair, her hands taped in front of her around Sammy. Behind them stood yet another man. Thirties, pockmarked, greedy eyes. Cigarette smoke circled around him. But it was the pistol pointed at Amy's skull that held Reed's attention.

“Chief Weed, I scared.” Sammy sniffled, his little body jerking as though he'd been crying for a while. The sound pierced Reed's heart.

And in that tiny sound lay a truth he didn't want to face. He would never be the man Amy needed. He could never be a father to these boys. He was a failure. Pure and simple. When
they'd needed him most, he'd let them down. All of them. Just like he'd done with Ben.

“You okay?” he asked Amy, his teeth gritting.

She nodded. “Just give them the treasure, Reed.”

“Gladly. First, let the woman and kids leave,” he said to pockmarks, gauging him to be the leader.

“Nope. Treasure first. Then they go free.” Tone eerily chipper, the man offered an evil grin as he raised one hand and quirked a finger. “Pinky promise.”

Reed controlled the urge to punch his leering face. Three lives depended on him. The wrong move now could cost more than he could afford to lose. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“You don't.” Pockmarks waved the gun. “Quit stalling, before my finger gets itchy.”

“Where's my deputy?”

The man's grin widened. “I think he may have met with a little problem. Seems to be tied up in one of your jail cells. Don't worry. He'll live—as long as we get what we want.”