KIDNAPPED, A Romantic Suspense Novel (6 page)

"Don't worry about, Nicky. I'll take care of him."

"You can't take him away. He needs me. You need me.” Tears ran down her cheeks. She couldn't stand being tied again. Especially not with Nicky so sick and helpless. She had to convince Jake not to tie her up. "I'll do anything. Anything you want, just don't tie me up."

"Anything?” He held her arm tight. The bed pressed against the backs of her legs. Slowly, his gaze wandered from her head to her feet, then back again. Heat flooded her face. She refused to flinch. His smoldering look almost broke her resolve.

"Yes. Anything.” She lifted her chin a little. Just a small challenge.

He moved closer. His free hand glided up her hip, over her side, gently across up her arm, to her face. He leaned over. She fought to remain upright. His hand caressed her neck, then went back into her hair. His fingers massaged the firm muscles of her neck, holding her in place.

Slowly his hand caressed her right arm. Shivers of delight ran across Sami's skin. His hand slid to hers, entwining it, pulling it outwards.

He leaned in closer, his body’s heat flowing over hers, his chest touching her breasts with the slightest pressure.

“I’m sorry Samantha. I really am.” He whispered, his breath warm and teasing against her ear. “I really don’t have a choice this time.”

Suddenly her left arm was released. A click sounded. Sami looked down.

She was cuffed to the side rail of her wrought iron bed.

* * *

Jake parked in the drug store lot.

Damn, the woman could cuss!

In fact, while he’d settled Nicky in the bed beside her, she called him every name he’d ever heard and a few inventive ones.

What was a pylonidal cyst on the butt of mankind, anyway?

He made a mental note to look that one up. Whatever it was, he was pretty sure it wasn’t flattering.

Once he had Nicky tucked into bed beside her, Samantha calmed down enough to sooth the boy. He almost envied the kid. Being tucked in with her soft body and soothing voice, would make it almost worth getting wounded.

Memories of her body pressed against his as he awoke this morning, more aroused than he’d been in months, flashed into Jake’s mind. He shook his head, trying to clear his brain. Despite what his body might think, he didn’t have time right now for a repeat performance.

Inside the drug store he located both a thermometer and the children’s Tylenol without too much difficulty. Success!

With any luck this medicine would make Nicky comfortable enough to move. His plans were to get out of Samantha Edgars’ life as quick as possible. She’d become too much of a distraction. Besides, he truly believed the longer he and Nicky stayed with her the more likely she’d become a target for the people hunting them.

Jake carried his supplies to the counter. Trying to avoid making eye contact with the clerk, he stared at the television screen playing behind the check out stand.

Suddenly, his picture flashed on the television, with the words WANTED by the FBI. Thankfully, the clerk had the sound so low, neither he nor Jake could hear the reporter’s commentary. Jake didn’t need to.

The words kidnap victim and Nicky’s immigration photo popped up next.

* * *

With one hand free, Sami switched warm cloths from Nicky’s fevered body for cool ones from the alcohol bath. The boy lay snuggled against her. Through his clothes, and her own, heat radiated from his body. However, the shakes had finally stopped, and seemed less restless now. That meant the fever had stopped climbing. Now if it would only break.

She smoothed strands of his dark hair away from his pale face. Aimee’s hair had been nearly the same deep black shade as Nicky’s before she’d lost it to the ravishing affects of her chemo.

“
Mommy, when I’m all better will my hair grow in long enough to wear piggy tails?” Aimee asked her one day. They’d tied a fancy scarf around her little bald head and let the ends fall down like purple and pink hanks of silken hair.

 “It might.” She’d been torn between trying to give her daughter hope and not lying to her.

“If it does, can I have pretty hair ties like Miss Lucy?” Aimee loved her evening Candy Striper, Lucy and Lucy had felt the same about Aimee.

“We’ll have to ask Lucy where she got hers. Which ones do you like the most?” She’d held Aimee close as they snuggled in her hospital bed among the monitor lines and IV tubes.

“I like the ones that look like glittery butterflies. They sparkle when she comes to see me, like they’re gonna fly right off her hair.”

She gently caressed her daughter’s thin, bony shoulders and arms, marveling how such courage and hope could live in such a frail body. She’d blinked back her tears. “Then that’s what we’ll get you.”

Two days later, Aimee had died. She’d told Lucy about Aimee’s wish and Lucy had stood next to her tiny coffin, took her own barrettes out of her hair and tucked them into Aimee’s tiny hands.

Grief so strong she thought she’d faint from it, filled her. Sami fought her tears, hugging Nicky closer, as much for her own comfort as his.

Aimee had been five years old the last time Sami held her. Had her daughter lived, she would’ve been Nicky’s age now. The pneumonia that finally ended her battle with leukemia came upon her quickly. Aimee’s poor, weakened immune system, just couldn’t fight the strain of bacteria resistant to most antibiotics.

Sami had held her throughout the night, alternately soothing her child, praying to god, then railing at him for putting her tiny daughter through such hell. The priest, her mother and father had all tried to comfort her. In her anger and pain, Sami pushed them away. No one understood the despair she suffered for Aimee.

The one person who should have been there—Michael, her husband—could not find the courage to look at his dying daughter, or his desperate wife.

So she’d stayed with Aimee throughout that last long day. Never leaving her side. Not eating. Not drinking. Not sleeping. She bathed her daughter in the same alcohol bath she was using now on little Nicky. But nothing had helped her Aimee. Nothing. The fever just raged harder and hotter.

Sami slipped her hand behind Nicky’s neck. He seemed a little cooler. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. She couldn’t tell if the alcohol bath was doing him any good without a thermometer. She never replaced the one Michael had thrown at her the week after Aimee died. Then he’d stomped out of the house, suitcase in hand, sending her divorce papers the next day by courier.

That was the last day a man other than her father and brothers had been in her house. Until Jake.

”Sergei...Lexus...don’t hit me...nyet, nyet...pujyalsta”

“Shh, shh, Nicky.” Sami smoothed her hand over his cheek, shoulder and down his back. “It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you. Jake and I will protect you.”

“Jake...police come now...must tell Jake...Petrov,
Madson... He thrashed a little in the bed.

Sami pulled him closer, gently rocking him back and forth with her one free arm. She wished she knew some words of comfort in his native tongue. “Hush now, Nicholai. Go to sleep. You are safe. I’ll protect you.”

“Andropov…three hundred. Baranov…four-fifty…,” Nicky whispered more calmly.

“Nicky? What are you talking about?” She pulled back slightly to look at him.

His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be quoting a list in his sleep. “…Chernitsky…two-seventy-five. Dorogoi…three hundred. Dyakov…five hundred…Grachev…” His words started to slur off. “…three-fifty.”

The little boy curled into her body. Finally his body relaxed, his breathing became less labored. What in the world did Nicky know? Jake called him a witness. His list sounded more like a financial ledger. Was that it? Did he have a list somewhere with all the Kreshnins’ business listed? Had he memorized it? Just when she thought she knew what was going on, the puzzle changed.

Sami continued to rock his small body even after he’d fallen asleep. It felt good to hold a child once more. For so many years she’d avoided treating any children who came to the ER. Her coworkers, who understood how painful it was for her, always managed to volunteer to take them when it was her turn.

A heavy sigh escaped her. It wouldn’t do to let herself get too attached to Nicky.

Her heart swelled with need. The need of a mother who has lost a child.

She called herself a fool. Already, she was attached.

With great determination, Sami forced herself to concentrate on something other than the small boy lying at her side. Sexy, kidnapper Jake popped up as first and foremost on her list of things to think about.

First, stop thinking of the man as sexy.

Well, he is.

You keep thinking like that and you’re gonna have that Amsterdam syndrome.

Stockholm. It’s called Stockholm Syndrome. It was named for a case where a hostage began to sympathize with her captors. It took place in Stockholm.

Okay, whatever. You keep thinking about how blue his eyes are, how sexy his voice is, the slightly off kilter way his nose looks, his big solid body pressed against yours and how great a kisser he is, you’re gonna be one of those Stockholm syndrome people.

Sami gave herself a mental shake. This arguing with her inner self wasn’t a good sign. Besides, that little voice just listed all the reasons why she was having trouble thinking of Jake as a big dangerous kidnapper anymore and more like the sexy man of her deepest dreams.

Face it. You need to have hot, hard sex and get it out of your system.

Shut up!

“Okay, what do I know about Jake?” Sami spoke aloud, hoping to keep the crazy voice from answering her. “First he’s in trouble up to his sexy blue eyes. Second, he cares very much about what happens to Nicky. Nicky is Russian. Third, Jake knows police weapons and procedure. Either he’s a rogue cop, ex-military or maybe even a federal agent. From his clothes, I’d guess undercover at least. Fourth, he’s convinced the police are out to get him.”

Considering he had a bullet hole in his shoulder, the man is proabably right.

Intent on ignoring the sarcasm in her own head, she shifted Nicky, then adjusted her own position. Her arm ached terribly even though Jake hadn’t cuffed it over her head. Her face flushed when she thought about the kiss they’d shared today. Quickly, her anger flared to life.

How dare he use kisses to get me to cooperate? What a Neanderthal. Hadn’t he heard of sexual harassment?

You didn’t have to respond. And workplace etiquette is not in the kidnapper’s handbook, babe.

This little voice was beginning to scare her. Any first year psych major knew hearing voices wasn’t the sign of a stable person.

She looked at Nicky. “Somehow Jake either used Nicky in his surveillance or the kid got into trouble on his own. Either way, Jake rescued him after some really bad guys tortured him. Is Petrov a good guy to Nicky or a bad guy, or even family?”

Again, she pushed Nicky’s dark damp hair off his face. “Where are your parents, Nicky?” she whispered to his unconscious body. “Is your mother worrying about where you are? Is she even in this country?”

If the woman was alive, Sami’s heart went out to her. The anquish she must be feeling not knowing where her child was. No mother should have to do without her baby. She blinked back the stinging tears. And no mother should have to out live her child.   

Sami pulled on the cuffs once more. The metal clanged against the wrought iron post. The clock on the mantel chimed one.

Where the hell was Jake with the Tylenol?

* * *

Jake slipped into the Chevy’s driver’s side. He let out a deep breath. Luckily, he’d managed to distract the kid at the check out with idle talk about the football game long enough to keep him from seeing the news report. Hopefully, the kid would forget about him by the time it flashed on there again. The picture they’d flashed on the screen was from the fake arrest records his boss had planted in the local police files. He’d had a full beard. If he was lucky the kid wouldn’t even figure out it was him.

He ran his hand over the three day-old growth of his beard. He’d need to get rid of it soon. Each time he’d been near the Kreshnins he’d had some sort of beard growing. Maybe now was the time to keep his face clean-shaven.

Fighting the urge to peel out and speed to Samantha’s as fast he could, Jake headed to the gas station on the corner. There was a pay phone in the parking lot. He needed to get in touch with Captain Bridges again. No way could he wait until four to meet. If the Feds were looking for him, he needed to get Nicky hidden in protective custody until he could find out who was on the Kreshnin brothers’ payroll.

He pulled up next to the pay phone. Stepping out to stand by the car, he dialed Bridges’ private office number once more.

“Bridges here.”

Jake looked at his watch. “Captain?”

“Jake? Have you seen the news?”

“Yeah, Tom. Someone pretty powerful wants my ass.”

“Who?”

Twenty seconds.

“I don’t know, Captain. But once I turn my witness over to you, I plan to find out. I need to meet you in an hour, not at four like we planned.”

Forty seconds.

“An hour?” Jake heard the hesitation in his boss’ voice. “Sure, sure. Same place?”

“Same place. And Captain?”

Fifty seconds.

“Yeah?”

“I would appreciate it if you can find out who sic’d the local authorities and the reporters on my ass so quickly.”

“Have a seat, Sir,” Tom said to someone in his office. “Will do, honey. No, I have to go, sweetheart. The DA is here.”

Sixty seconds.

Jake hung up, chuckling softly. The captain had used “honey” and “sweetheart” to cover the call and warn him about the district attorney walking in on the conversation. Years ago Bridgers had run into a brick wall with a local DA’s office in another town. The case full of political implications and media attention had blown up in his face. Now he never trusted the local prosecution team, almost to the point of paranoia