Innocent Hostage (5 page)
Preschool teaching suited her just fine. Even so, her parents had made sure that when her training was completed, they’d purchased an elite private preschool for her. In her more uncharitable moments, she wondered if they’d done that so her job did not reflect badly on them. “Our daughter teaches at a preschool” didn’t have quite the same ring as “our daughter owns an élite private preschool.”
“You are an ungrateful, spoilt brat, Ingrid.” She snatched up the attendance register and flipped the pages so fast the paper was in danger of tearing. She marked Kit Marchant absent and typed up a note describing today’s events for future reference. She sighed. She’d put off doing the dreaded monthly accounts as long as she could, but now came the reckoning. Which bills could she manage to pay this month? She might have no mortgage or leasing costs, but the ongoing expenses of running a preschool were horrendous. Taxes and local government fees ate up a chunk of the budget. Keeping up with trends was the killer, but to compete with the opposition she had to have the latest equipment so as to be on top of everything.
Sometimes she wished she’d defied her parents and gone to work for one of the big public centers as an ordinary teacher. It would be glorious to flop down on the sofa after work, slam the door on her responsibilities for a few hours, and curl up with a good book. Or join her buddies for a drink at one of their favorite watering holes. Better yet, have time to spare for a casual date now and again. Someone like Breck Marchant with his damn-you eyes. She didn’t approve of his parenting skills, but he was easy on the eye. Just made for a casual fling.
Yeah? Who was she kidding? She didn’t do casual.
And then there was the black dog hanging over her that would jump up to bite her if anyone inquired into her background.
Glaring at the stack of invoices on her desk, she stuck out her tongue at them.
****
Two days later, Breck took Kit back to preschool. He’d managed to wangle day duty for the next six weeks, which made life easier.
Once Marty had been taken away, the blues had checked through the Kerr home searching for other firearms and clues as to Tania’s whereabouts. They’d dropped off a carton of Kit’s belongings at Breck’s place. “At least we’ve got some of your stuff,” Breck had said to Kit. “We’ll get the rest later when we’re allowed in.”
Kit peered into the box. “It’s all here,” he said, scratching around inside the carton.
Breck opened his mouth, and then shut it again. What the hell had Tania done with all that money?
Screwed up in the bottom of the carton, Breck discovered some preschool notices explaining the school’s policies on clothing and healthy lunches. He checked through his son’s meager possessions to ensure he had the right clothing for the coming week, and then set to work to make a ton of food according to Ms. Rowland’s edicts. He didn’t have a damn clue what ‘cheesy-mites’ and ‘orange pick-ups’ were, so he skipped those.
On Monday morning at 7:25, he and Kit arrived at the Rowland Private Preschool squeaky clean and shining bright. Kit wore his little grey shorts and Rowland brand T-shirt, and in his backpack he carried his Rowland-approved morning snack, lunch and afternoon apple pieces. Breck was pretty sure he had everything licked, but he’d learned before that being too cocky could lead to a gigantic stuff-up, so he approached Ingrid Rowland warily.
“Good morning,” she greeted Kit sunnily, but she turned to Breck with a glare that could have burnt dry grass at the tag end of summer. Oh, brother.
“You go on in and put your lunch in the fridge, honey,” she said to Kit. “I need to speak to your Dad.”
Kit looked anxiously at Breck. “Is that okay, Dad?”
Inwardly Breck sighed. He couldn’t rid Kit of his anxiety to please. Every time the kid wanted to do something, he checked with Breck first. “Sure. That’s what you’re here for, son,” Breck said, then grinned. “Have a good day, Kit. Jace will pick you up at 4:30 and I’ll collect you from her place at 5:30. Okay?” He poked Kit in the chest and Kit grinned back. “Okay!” he yelled and surprised everyone, especially himself judging by the shocked look on his face. Breck laughed and Kit ran inside.
Breck jumped into speech before Dragonlady Rowland got stuck into him about Thursday night’s ‘party.’ “Here is an authorization letter from me, together with a photo of the lady who will occasionally drop off and collect Kit,” he said crisply. He didn’t tell her it was only a temporary measure. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “I’ll deliver him to preschool and collect him most days, but it depends on my shifts,” he explained to the fairytale princess with dragon eyes. If looks could kill…
She relaxed a little. “Good. I’m pleased you’ve got someone responsible lined up.”
His blood boiled. What was she insinuating? That he was irresponsible? That she was surprised he knew a responsible person like Jace?
“Look, Ms. Rowland.” He purposely hissed out the ‘s.’ He was
not
going to call her Ingrid. “I don’t know why you think I’m incapable of caring for my own son, but get this.” For emphasis he prodded a finger against her chest. Oops. He felt his face redden. He’d barely missed a very lush and inviting part of her anatomy. “Sorry. But just because Tania spoon-fed you crap about me, doesn’t give you the right to judge me. Okay, I agree I’m not the world’s best father, but I’m doing the best I can. Now that Tania has disappeared, I’m all Kit’s got. And Jace is the best possible person to take care of him when I can’t be there. Kit likes her. I like her. Hell,
everyone
likes her.”
He threw up his hands in frustration and glared at Ingrid, daring her to disagree. To think he’d thought she looked like a delicate fairy princess. Well, she did actually, but she had the disposition of a Rottweiler. “And I’ve got a question,” he added.
“What’s that,
Mr
. Marchant?” She hissed out the sibilants much better than he had.
“Who are the Wiggles and what the hell is granola?” he growled.
Chapter Five
Breck was beginning to get the hang of this father thing. It wasn’t as difficult as Tania had made it out to be. Kit was still way too anxious to please, rather like a Labrador puppy, but he was getting better. Their household was not what you’d call ‘typical’ but they managed. Fortunately, neither of them was fussy about fancy food or dust bunnies. Just as well. Breck didn’t have time in his schedule to worry about cordon bleu cookery and clean windows. Sometimes he wondered what Natasha, his parents’ old housekeeper, would think about his efforts. She’d probably just laugh.
Gradually Kit began to mention little things about his life with the Kerrs. The Kerrs hadn’t had a ‘typical’ household either. Kit had commented on the arguments between Marty and Tania in a matter-of-fact voice. It sounded as though the making-up sessions after the arguments were as explosive as the arguments. Breck’s face burned when Kit asked him one day, “What did Mommy mean when she said ‘suck me’?”
He shrugged. “Not sure, son. So tell me, what did you do at preschool today?”
But Breck wondered about those arguments. It sounded as though Tania and Marty had not been getting along so well for quite a while. If Tania really had left Marty, why had she taken Marty’s daughter with her? She had no claim whatsoever to Pixie. Ingratiating, precocious Pixie was Marty’s daughter from his first relationship. Breck had only met her a couple of times, but he thought it was a good thing Pixie had taken after her mother in the looks department. Pixie’s mom had just up and disappeared one day, leaving a cryptic message. Left with a two year old, Marty had quit his job to live on a single parent’s benefit and had no doubt been very comfortable until Tania came along and shoved him into taking a job. Not that that was the way Tania had described it. She had warbled on about finally meeting her ‘soul-mate.’
But now Marty had lost that job and Tania had left him, taking his kids with her. Did Tania intend to come back? Perhaps she was teaching Marty a lesson in her own inimitable style. Or was her absence more sinister than that? Had something happened to her and the kids? God, he hoped not. Tania was…Tania, but those kids were so little.
“Where did Marty work?” Breck asked Kit.
But Kit just shrugged and looked away. He was four years old and his life with the Kerrs had consisted of staying out of their way and keeping his eyes and ears closed. Breck gave up trying to get more information out of him. Anyway, it might be better for the boy if he put that time of his life aside and concentrated on his future.
The following day they were sitting at the breakfast table when there was a loud knock on the door.
Kit jumped and stared at the door. “Do you think that’s Marty, Daddy?”
“No. Marty’s in prison, Kit. You know that.”
“What if he got out?”
“Open up!” a voice yelled.
Breck crouched down next to Kit and whispered, “I don’t know who this is. Why don’t you grab your breakfast and take it to the bedroom? Keep the door closed.”
His face twisted in fear, Kit scuttled away.
Breck cursed under his breath. The boy was just coming out of his shell and this had to happen.
“Who is it?” he asked, his face pressed against the door.
Someone shoved an ID up against the fish-eye lens. Detective someone. He opened the door and was pushed aside as two detectives strolled in, followed by a uniformed cop. Without another word they set about searching his apartment. The lead detective’s arrogance had Breck grinding his teeth. The guy indicated the first room to be searched with a careless flick of his wrist.
“Show me that ID again,” Breck said to him. “When I lay a complaint, I want to know who I’m talking about.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed and he tugged the ID out of his top pocket. He was shorter than Breck and Breck purposely looked down his nose at him. “Detective Sergeant Alan Moffat,” he read aloud. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and jammed the card back in Moffat’s pocket. Startled, Moffat jumped back out of reach.
Breck turned his back on Moffat and went to sit beside Kit who was huddled on his bed, his eyes big with fear.
Was this search anything to do with work? Not likely. That would be handled by Harley Max. So it must be to do with the Kerrs. He kept quiet to see how the scene would play out, forcing himself to keep cool and holding tight to Kit who was tensed as taut as a bowstring.
Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t found whatever it was they were looking for.
“I’m gonna be late,” Kit wept.
“Miss Rowland will understand, Kit. Don’t worry.”
Kit being late for preschool was the least of their worries. What the hell was this about? If Kit hadn’t been here, he’d have had that rat Moffat in a headlock. Cops had rights just the same as ordinary citizens and this guy had no search warrant and no manners. He needed to be taught a lesson. His 2IC and the uniformed cop kept casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they searched. They were uncomfortable with the proceedings.
“Okay. You’ll have to come with us,” Moffat said.
“What? What about my son?” Panicked, Breck glared at the detective.
Moffat shrugged. “Surely you’ve got someone who can look after him.”
The detective constable looked a little more sympathetic. Breck figured he had kids of his own. “Is there someone you can call to come get him?” he asked.
Jace. Had to phone Jace. With Kit watching anxiously, he dialed Jace and Abe’s number. No answer. Oh, shit.
Kit tugged at his sleeve. “Miss Rowland. Phone Miss Rowland. She could collect me. She won’t mind.”
Breck chewed his lip. “She has to teach, son. She can’t just up and leave school at the drop of a hat.”
“Yes she can. There’s Mrs. Lennox and Miss Martin there too.”
Oh. He hadn’t given any thought to the fact that the princess had assistants. Of course she did. Would she help him out? Probably not. But she’d help Kit out. He dialed.
“Be there in ten minutes,” she said crisply after he’d explained the situation. And she was as good as her word. “What’s all this about?” she demanded of Moffat, the second she put her foot in the door. “What do you think you’re doing, terrorizing Kit? This boy has been through a traumatic experience recently.
What
did you say your name was?”
Breck stood back. The fairy princess had spine to spare. Good on her. He had to be careful what he said at this stage, not knowing what was going on. But as a disinterested member of the public, Ingrid could say what she liked. She looked at the bedroom closet where the cops had tossed clothes aside and pulled out every drawer in the big chest of drawers. “I take it your housework isn’t usually this slack?” she said, raising her eyebrows at Breck.
“You take it right,” he answered.
“What the hell are you looking for?” she snapped at Moffat.
Moffat opened his mouth and closed it again like a goldfish. Before he could say a word, she was off again. “Must be mighty small if you expect to find it in Breck Marchant’s drawers.” Then she realized what she’d said and blushed an unbecoming scarlet.
Moffat didn’t even get it because he was so startled at her outburst. But the uniformed cop smirked and looked down at his boots.
“I’ll take Kit to school with me now,” she promised Breck. “Do you want legal representation or is that something you cops sort out among yourselves?” The way she said ‘you cops’ reminded Breck of the day she’d bailed him up while Kit was a hostage. She sure hated cops. But he was grateful she’d come to his aid.
“You are an ungrateful, spoilt brat, Ingrid.” She snatched up the attendance register and flipped the pages so fast the paper was in danger of tearing. She marked Kit Marchant absent and typed up a note describing today’s events for future reference. She sighed. She’d put off doing the dreaded monthly accounts as long as she could, but now came the reckoning. Which bills could she manage to pay this month? She might have no mortgage or leasing costs, but the ongoing expenses of running a preschool were horrendous. Taxes and local government fees ate up a chunk of the budget. Keeping up with trends was the killer, but to compete with the opposition she had to have the latest equipment so as to be on top of everything.
Sometimes she wished she’d defied her parents and gone to work for one of the big public centers as an ordinary teacher. It would be glorious to flop down on the sofa after work, slam the door on her responsibilities for a few hours, and curl up with a good book. Or join her buddies for a drink at one of their favorite watering holes. Better yet, have time to spare for a casual date now and again. Someone like Breck Marchant with his damn-you eyes. She didn’t approve of his parenting skills, but he was easy on the eye. Just made for a casual fling.
Yeah? Who was she kidding? She didn’t do casual.
And then there was the black dog hanging over her that would jump up to bite her if anyone inquired into her background.
Glaring at the stack of invoices on her desk, she stuck out her tongue at them.
****
Two days later, Breck took Kit back to preschool. He’d managed to wangle day duty for the next six weeks, which made life easier.
Once Marty had been taken away, the blues had checked through the Kerr home searching for other firearms and clues as to Tania’s whereabouts. They’d dropped off a carton of Kit’s belongings at Breck’s place. “At least we’ve got some of your stuff,” Breck had said to Kit. “We’ll get the rest later when we’re allowed in.”
Kit peered into the box. “It’s all here,” he said, scratching around inside the carton.
Breck opened his mouth, and then shut it again. What the hell had Tania done with all that money?
Screwed up in the bottom of the carton, Breck discovered some preschool notices explaining the school’s policies on clothing and healthy lunches. He checked through his son’s meager possessions to ensure he had the right clothing for the coming week, and then set to work to make a ton of food according to Ms. Rowland’s edicts. He didn’t have a damn clue what ‘cheesy-mites’ and ‘orange pick-ups’ were, so he skipped those.
On Monday morning at 7:25, he and Kit arrived at the Rowland Private Preschool squeaky clean and shining bright. Kit wore his little grey shorts and Rowland brand T-shirt, and in his backpack he carried his Rowland-approved morning snack, lunch and afternoon apple pieces. Breck was pretty sure he had everything licked, but he’d learned before that being too cocky could lead to a gigantic stuff-up, so he approached Ingrid Rowland warily.
“Good morning,” she greeted Kit sunnily, but she turned to Breck with a glare that could have burnt dry grass at the tag end of summer. Oh, brother.
“You go on in and put your lunch in the fridge, honey,” she said to Kit. “I need to speak to your Dad.”
Kit looked anxiously at Breck. “Is that okay, Dad?”
Inwardly Breck sighed. He couldn’t rid Kit of his anxiety to please. Every time the kid wanted to do something, he checked with Breck first. “Sure. That’s what you’re here for, son,” Breck said, then grinned. “Have a good day, Kit. Jace will pick you up at 4:30 and I’ll collect you from her place at 5:30. Okay?” He poked Kit in the chest and Kit grinned back. “Okay!” he yelled and surprised everyone, especially himself judging by the shocked look on his face. Breck laughed and Kit ran inside.
Breck jumped into speech before Dragonlady Rowland got stuck into him about Thursday night’s ‘party.’ “Here is an authorization letter from me, together with a photo of the lady who will occasionally drop off and collect Kit,” he said crisply. He didn’t tell her it was only a temporary measure. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. “I’ll deliver him to preschool and collect him most days, but it depends on my shifts,” he explained to the fairytale princess with dragon eyes. If looks could kill…
She relaxed a little. “Good. I’m pleased you’ve got someone responsible lined up.”
His blood boiled. What was she insinuating? That he was irresponsible? That she was surprised he knew a responsible person like Jace?
“Look, Ms. Rowland.” He purposely hissed out the ‘s.’ He was
not
going to call her Ingrid. “I don’t know why you think I’m incapable of caring for my own son, but get this.” For emphasis he prodded a finger against her chest. Oops. He felt his face redden. He’d barely missed a very lush and inviting part of her anatomy. “Sorry. But just because Tania spoon-fed you crap about me, doesn’t give you the right to judge me. Okay, I agree I’m not the world’s best father, but I’m doing the best I can. Now that Tania has disappeared, I’m all Kit’s got. And Jace is the best possible person to take care of him when I can’t be there. Kit likes her. I like her. Hell,
everyone
likes her.”
He threw up his hands in frustration and glared at Ingrid, daring her to disagree. To think he’d thought she looked like a delicate fairy princess. Well, she did actually, but she had the disposition of a Rottweiler. “And I’ve got a question,” he added.
“What’s that,
Mr
. Marchant?” She hissed out the sibilants much better than he had.
“Who are the Wiggles and what the hell is granola?” he growled.
Chapter Five
Breck was beginning to get the hang of this father thing. It wasn’t as difficult as Tania had made it out to be. Kit was still way too anxious to please, rather like a Labrador puppy, but he was getting better. Their household was not what you’d call ‘typical’ but they managed. Fortunately, neither of them was fussy about fancy food or dust bunnies. Just as well. Breck didn’t have time in his schedule to worry about cordon bleu cookery and clean windows. Sometimes he wondered what Natasha, his parents’ old housekeeper, would think about his efforts. She’d probably just laugh.
Gradually Kit began to mention little things about his life with the Kerrs. The Kerrs hadn’t had a ‘typical’ household either. Kit had commented on the arguments between Marty and Tania in a matter-of-fact voice. It sounded as though the making-up sessions after the arguments were as explosive as the arguments. Breck’s face burned when Kit asked him one day, “What did Mommy mean when she said ‘suck me’?”
He shrugged. “Not sure, son. So tell me, what did you do at preschool today?”
But Breck wondered about those arguments. It sounded as though Tania and Marty had not been getting along so well for quite a while. If Tania really had left Marty, why had she taken Marty’s daughter with her? She had no claim whatsoever to Pixie. Ingratiating, precocious Pixie was Marty’s daughter from his first relationship. Breck had only met her a couple of times, but he thought it was a good thing Pixie had taken after her mother in the looks department. Pixie’s mom had just up and disappeared one day, leaving a cryptic message. Left with a two year old, Marty had quit his job to live on a single parent’s benefit and had no doubt been very comfortable until Tania came along and shoved him into taking a job. Not that that was the way Tania had described it. She had warbled on about finally meeting her ‘soul-mate.’
But now Marty had lost that job and Tania had left him, taking his kids with her. Did Tania intend to come back? Perhaps she was teaching Marty a lesson in her own inimitable style. Or was her absence more sinister than that? Had something happened to her and the kids? God, he hoped not. Tania was…Tania, but those kids were so little.
“Where did Marty work?” Breck asked Kit.
But Kit just shrugged and looked away. He was four years old and his life with the Kerrs had consisted of staying out of their way and keeping his eyes and ears closed. Breck gave up trying to get more information out of him. Anyway, it might be better for the boy if he put that time of his life aside and concentrated on his future.
The following day they were sitting at the breakfast table when there was a loud knock on the door.
Kit jumped and stared at the door. “Do you think that’s Marty, Daddy?”
“No. Marty’s in prison, Kit. You know that.”
“What if he got out?”
“Open up!” a voice yelled.
Breck crouched down next to Kit and whispered, “I don’t know who this is. Why don’t you grab your breakfast and take it to the bedroom? Keep the door closed.”
His face twisted in fear, Kit scuttled away.
Breck cursed under his breath. The boy was just coming out of his shell and this had to happen.
“Who is it?” he asked, his face pressed against the door.
Someone shoved an ID up against the fish-eye lens. Detective someone. He opened the door and was pushed aside as two detectives strolled in, followed by a uniformed cop. Without another word they set about searching his apartment. The lead detective’s arrogance had Breck grinding his teeth. The guy indicated the first room to be searched with a careless flick of his wrist.
“Show me that ID again,” Breck said to him. “When I lay a complaint, I want to know who I’m talking about.”
The guy’s eyes narrowed and he tugged the ID out of his top pocket. He was shorter than Breck and Breck purposely looked down his nose at him. “Detective Sergeant Alan Moffat,” he read aloud. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and jammed the card back in Moffat’s pocket. Startled, Moffat jumped back out of reach.
Breck turned his back on Moffat and went to sit beside Kit who was huddled on his bed, his eyes big with fear.
Was this search anything to do with work? Not likely. That would be handled by Harley Max. So it must be to do with the Kerrs. He kept quiet to see how the scene would play out, forcing himself to keep cool and holding tight to Kit who was tensed as taut as a bowstring.
Twenty minutes later, they still hadn’t found whatever it was they were looking for.
“I’m gonna be late,” Kit wept.
“Miss Rowland will understand, Kit. Don’t worry.”
Kit being late for preschool was the least of their worries. What the hell was this about? If Kit hadn’t been here, he’d have had that rat Moffat in a headlock. Cops had rights just the same as ordinary citizens and this guy had no search warrant and no manners. He needed to be taught a lesson. His 2IC and the uniformed cop kept casting anxious glances over their shoulders as they searched. They were uncomfortable with the proceedings.
“Okay. You’ll have to come with us,” Moffat said.
“What? What about my son?” Panicked, Breck glared at the detective.
Moffat shrugged. “Surely you’ve got someone who can look after him.”
The detective constable looked a little more sympathetic. Breck figured he had kids of his own. “Is there someone you can call to come get him?” he asked.
Jace. Had to phone Jace. With Kit watching anxiously, he dialed Jace and Abe’s number. No answer. Oh, shit.
Kit tugged at his sleeve. “Miss Rowland. Phone Miss Rowland. She could collect me. She won’t mind.”
Breck chewed his lip. “She has to teach, son. She can’t just up and leave school at the drop of a hat.”
“Yes she can. There’s Mrs. Lennox and Miss Martin there too.”
Oh. He hadn’t given any thought to the fact that the princess had assistants. Of course she did. Would she help him out? Probably not. But she’d help Kit out. He dialed.
“Be there in ten minutes,” she said crisply after he’d explained the situation. And she was as good as her word. “What’s all this about?” she demanded of Moffat, the second she put her foot in the door. “What do you think you’re doing, terrorizing Kit? This boy has been through a traumatic experience recently.
What
did you say your name was?”
Breck stood back. The fairy princess had spine to spare. Good on her. He had to be careful what he said at this stage, not knowing what was going on. But as a disinterested member of the public, Ingrid could say what she liked. She looked at the bedroom closet where the cops had tossed clothes aside and pulled out every drawer in the big chest of drawers. “I take it your housework isn’t usually this slack?” she said, raising her eyebrows at Breck.
“You take it right,” he answered.
“What the hell are you looking for?” she snapped at Moffat.
Moffat opened his mouth and closed it again like a goldfish. Before he could say a word, she was off again. “Must be mighty small if you expect to find it in Breck Marchant’s drawers.” Then she realized what she’d said and blushed an unbecoming scarlet.
Moffat didn’t even get it because he was so startled at her outburst. But the uniformed cop smirked and looked down at his boots.
“I’ll take Kit to school with me now,” she promised Breck. “Do you want legal representation or is that something you cops sort out among yourselves?” The way she said ‘you cops’ reminded Breck of the day she’d bailed him up while Kit was a hostage. She sure hated cops. But he was grateful she’d come to his aid.
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