Marie Ferrarella - Hero for Hire

She nodded her thanks, then sighed as she set down the untouched cup. “You know what they say about streaks.”

Yes, he knew what they said. That streaks ended. It was inevitable. Everything ended eventually. But she needed hope, not reality, with its pessimistic bent.

Chad placed his hand on her wrist, drawing her eyes to his. “This one won’t end here.” He needed to get her mind occupied. “Can you give me a list of people who were at the party?”

She blew out a breath, struggling to lift the fog from her brain. “A partial one.”

He turned his pad to a clean page. “Go ahead.” She gave him six names, then hit a wall. “No problem,” he assured her. “I can get the rest from Mrs. Sullivan.”

Terror leaped into her eyes. He couldn’t say anything to arouse suspicion. Common sense warred with fear. “He said not to tell anyone.”

“He meant anyone official. Police, FBI. That’s all kidnappers ever worry about.” He saw she was unconvinced. “We can start out by telling your friend that you want to hire the same caterers and entertainers for a party for Casey.” That had a drawback. “But if she knows your son dislikes clowns…”

Veronica nodded, understanding. “Do whatever you think is best. Just get me my son back.”

He made a couple of more notes to himself, ideas that had just occurred to him. “That goes without saying.”

“But I want you to keep saying it. Keep saying it until he’s here.” Maybe if she kept repeating it, if he kept repeating it, then it would happen.

She realized that she’d reverted back to one of her old childish beliefs. If you believed hard enough in something, it would happen.

“I’m sorry. You probably feel like you’re baby-sitting an overgrown child.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You’re going through hell and you need to believe that heaven’s waiting for you.”

That was one way to put it, she thought.

The doorbell rang, cutting off her breath. On her feet so quickly that she upset both her coffee cup and her chair, Veronica left both where they fell. She ran to the front door with Chad only half a step behind her.

He knew what she was thinking. That somehow Casey had eluded his kidnapper and found his way back home. Hadn’t that been what had actually happened with him? The only difference was that he hadn’t known it at the time. He hadn’t realized that he was leaving his kidnapper behind. All he’d known was that he’d walked out on his father when the man had been too drunk to realize what was happening.

But cases like his were not common. This kidnapping was entirely different from his own. There was no mentally unbalanced ex-husband in the wings waiting for his chance.

The motive was ransom, he reminded himself, pure and simple.

Except that there was never anything pure or simple about kidnapping.

Chad reached the door ahead of her, his legs being longer. She looked at him in surprise when he placed his hand over the doorknob. “I’ll take it from here,” he told her. Just in case.

Hand near the weapon he always carried on his person, Chad opened the door. He saw a casually dressed, dark-haired man of medium build slouching more than standing on the doorstep. Beside the man was a woman who looked far too flashy for him. She was half a head taller than he was, wearing jeans and a tight aqua sweater, and his hand around her waist.

The man’s expression turned from openly genial to confused as he looked up at Chad, who was a good five inches taller.

A very faint whiff of alcohol floated in. The man peered through the doorway. “Veronica?”

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