Ransomed Dreams (10 page)

Jake barked.

The phone’s loud ring made her scurry to silence the noise-maker. Leah’s number. “Aren’t you working today Miss Hotshot District Attorney?”

Her best friend sighed. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to caller ID, no matter how long I live. And yes, I am working.”

“You’re not that old, Leah.”

Gracie pictured Leah brushing that comment away like a fly.
Leah was convinced that thirty was old, and she’d passed that number years ago. Gracie didn’t agree, but she could only fight that battle every so often. Today was not one of those days.

“I’ve done some checking on your private investigator, and he sounds like a handful, Gracie. I’d like to join you when you talk with him.”

Gracie took the cordless downstairs with her and let Jake out into the backyard. “I’m a big girl. I can handle a churlish grouser.”

“I’m sure you can. But Justin Moore’s complaining ways aren’t my biggest concern. He’s respected in DC … for a private eye. I’d just like to make double sure everything he proposes is aboveboard and he’s not getting your hopes up.”

“My appointment’s at ten o’clock. Can you make it to Alexandria in forty-five minutes?”

“See you there.”

Gracie tossed the phone on her spotless breakfast bar. Her current home was nothing like life with little ones. She had considered it a good day when her house looked neat. It had hardly ever been spic-and-span clean. One more thing she had yet to get used to about single living.

Time to clean and more time to clean.

But not this weekend. She let Jake into the kitchen and wiped his paws with one of the towels she kept in the bottom drawer of her old-fashioned coatrack near the door. Coming home to muddy tracks didn’t make the schedule today.

Thirty minutes later, she parked her Jeep in front of the little brick-house-turned-office suites for Justin Moore, Private Investigator. Leah’s silver Lexus pulled in next to hers a few minutes later.

Leah opened her door. “Ready?”

“To take another step forward in putting the past to rest? Yes.” Gracie clutched her black leather business folder to her chest. “But I’m terrified too. What if this is just another expensive dead end?”

“Let’s go find out.” Leah’s curve-hugging soft blue suit was tailor-made for her slim form. With straight, natural blond hair, she turned heads wherever she went. As they entered the reception area, Mr. Moore was no exception to the rule. He extended a hand and covertly assessed Leah’s figure.

Gracie had tried to get used to that in college. But every once in a while, she wished someone would pay her that kind of attention too.

Like Mark always had. From their first encounter, he had eyes only for her.

“Thank you for altering your schedule to meet with us today.” Gracie returned Mr. Moore’s firm handshake and followed him into his sparse office.

“Favors for a friend get top priority Especially when my schedule’s relatively open for the morning anyway.” He leaned his beer-bellied football physique back in his black swivel chair and chuckled at his own joke.

“I have the copies of police reports you asked to see. And the duplicates of pertinent newspaper articles about the accident.” Gracie handed him a manila folder.

Mr. Moore extended his hand across the desk with only a plasma computer screen and a few reference books on it. “Thank you. I’ve been doing some Internet research in preparation for our meeting, but these will help. Any little bit provides possible leads the police overlooked.”

Leah’s brow crinkled. “Exactly what do you intend to do that the Gwinnett County police department didn’t?”

Mr. Moore steepled his fingers and smiled. “I have great respect for local authorities. Many of my close friends are in law enforcement. But they don’t get paid what I do to dig up clues and suggest innovative research techniques.”

“Like what?” Gracie had no idea what he might suggest.

“A forensic sketch to circulate on local college campuses. There might be a few folks in the administration from two years ago who would remember.” He looked at her. “You did say you
saw a college student in the black truck, correct?”

She twisted the hem of her sundress. “I don’t know if I remember enough for a detailed picture. I’m sorry.”

“We could try hypnotism.” He took a drink of black coffee and raised his eyebrows. “Sorry about my lack of manners. Would either of you like a cup?”

She and Leah shook their heads. “No, thank you.”

The private investigator continued. “I’ve read studies done with police investigations where a hypnotized witness remembered facts that turned a case around.”

“Let me pray about that.”

Mr. Moore almost spit out his second sip of coffee.

“I don’t want to implicate an innocent man because my memory wasn’t as good as I thought.” Gracie bit her lower lip. “I’m not entirely certain it was a college student either.”

The muscles working overtime in his jaw could have ripped through steel.

Twenty minutes and a slew of standard questions later, she and Leah exited Mr. Moore’s office. “So what do you think? Will he be able to help me?” Gracie fingered her gold locket. She hadn’t seen the pictures of her babies in a long time, but knowing they were close brought comfort.

“What is his retainer?”

Gracie unlocked her Jeep. “Enough. But it’s coming from the insurance money collecting dust in my savings. If it’ll help put that man in jail, it’s worth it, right?”

Leah hugged her. “If it’ll help you make this last step and move into the future, I’m all for it. Especially if that means you’ll be dating again.”

Gracie held up her hands. “Uncle. I’ve heard it all from Beth a thousand times over already Don’t you start too.” She smiled. “If things go well Friday maybe we can double-date sometime. Like we did in college.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Leah checked her sleek silver-and-gold watch. “I need to get back. I have court in an hour, and
I’d like to review the defenses case one more time.”

“Go get ’em.” Gracie hugged her best friend one more time. “I’ll call you Friday night.” She climbed into her Jeep. “If I’m not out too late, that is.”

Steven ran his hands through his hair.

Roadblocks all morning had his shoulders in knots. The British Secret Intelligence Service continued to give him the runaround. The men he did speak with knew little of Sir Walter Kensington. That they’d share. Even less about black market arms dealing. Scrolling through pages of investigative leads and searching databases yielded even fewer results.

But nothing that validated or refuted Ambassador Kensington’s claims. So Michael Parker volunteered to shadow Sir Walter while following some Internet trails today. The young agent and his laptop were seldom parted.

Steven glanced at his desk clock. Noon. This afternoon’s security meeting should be interesting. Convincing Sir Walter to play by FBI and Secret Service rules would be a monumental task. But if it were James’s life at stake, Steven would have a hard time following the rules too.

He’d do anything to have his son returned alive.

Steven went back to his computer search. Clint remained at the command center at the embassy in case any phone calls required immediate tracking. They wouldn’t lose another opportunity.

His cell phone buzzed. “Kessler.”

“Well, Romeo, you didn’t tell me Gracie was a knockout.” Justin’s words slammed against his eardrums. The man talked with the same gusto he’d shown when he played Cardinal football. “Her best friend is quite the looker too. It has been a good day.”

Steven walked out of the Crimes Against Children offices. “Tell me you didn’t drool. I’m trusting you to help Gracie. She has a worthy case.”

“An impossible one, if you ask me.”

He took a deep breath. “That’s not what I wanted to hear. You can do better than that. It’s why I recommended you in the first place.”

“Tell me you’re at least getting some while I bust my tail and turn over every imaginable rock to unearth something useable.”

Steven leaned against a wall in the hallway “No.”

“No, what? You’ve been batching it too long to play the saint. ’Fess up, Kessler. Make my day a little more interesting.”

Telling Justin about Christian values didn’t seem appropriate now. Steven had known God, and according to his old college pal, he played the saint part well. But it didn’t set right. Still, Justin had asked …

“I have no plans to sleep with Gracie, Justin. Or anyone else. One jumped-the-gun marriage is enough for me, thanks.”

“Hey, but Angela was more than any man could handle on his own.”

Steven’s heart thudded. He’d known this conversation was likely when he contacted Justin. All his college friends had the same opinion of Angela. Surprised he ever got a ring on her finger. Not surprised she ditched him a few short years later.

“Tell me about the case.”

“Nice non sequitur there, choirboy, but there’s not much to tell.”

“Try me.”

“Cops in Georgia concur that Gracie’s family could have been killed by a drunk college student and that she probably did get a glimpse of his face. But the paint slivers on the van, the yaw marks showing the truck slammed on the brakes too late, and more recently a partial plate that Gracie gave Detective Calhoun, have turned up nada.” Justin paused. “This is about as dead a case as I’ve run into in a long time. Thanks a ton, pal.”

“Did you ask Gracie about circulating a sketch?”

“I did. Maybe you could talk her into it. She said something about needing to pray first.” Justin blew a puff of air into the
phone. “Don’t see how that’s gonna help things, but whatever.”

Steven grimaced. That comment hit too close to his conscience for comfort. “If I can make our date on Friday, I’ll ask her. But no promises. I don’t mess with people’s faith convictions.” Steven stepped back into the bustling CAC offices. “Besides, maybe her praying will help you nail this case. From what I understand, you need another good win sometime soon.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll keep you in the know.”

Steven flipped his phone closed. The way his entire life stood now, only God could make his and Gracie’s situations resolve well.

Maybe he should try that praying thing again.

Tonight would probably be a good time to start.

T
onight he wouldn’t be too late.

Steven flashed his credentials and entered the ghostly silent embassy residence. Tonight Olivia and Jordan would come home. The main Hostage Rescue Team was in place at Huntley Meadows Park, and Sir Walter had agreed to stay at the embassy and keep his ten million.

That he had such a healthy private account sent up red flags for Steven—until Sir Peter Barnstable verified all of the ambassador’s information. He provided little additional information, though. Except that Sir Walter had descended from money and he appeared to invest with great wisdom.

Michael Parker emerged from the command center. “Hey, boss. Does Sir Walter really require a babysitter tonight?” The young agent locked eyes with Steven and held his typical military at-ease stance.

“Absolutely.” Steven chuckled at the rookie’s bored expression. He’d learn in time. Only about 10 percent of an agent’s life consisted of heart-pounding excitement.

Unless it was Steven’s year.

He’d trade with Parker. Especially tonight.

“Is Sir Walter in his study?” Steven gestured right with his chin.

Michael shrugged. “Snug and boring if you ask me.” Then he disappeared into the control room to watch the monitors with the Secret Service.

Steven looked up to the ceiling, thankful he’d miss all the smack talk and female conquest stories. Some things still stung his conscience.

As he walked through the decorated halls, the past invaded his thoughts. When the guys he caught lunch with talked about dates, memories of his ex-wife haunted him. Their passionate arguments and little emotion elsewhere. Even with all of Angela’s seductive beauty, it still surprised him that they ever had a child together.

Turning the corner, Steven stopped in front of Sir Walter’s study Most agents ribbed Clint about his perfect life, but they didn’t breathe a word of Steven’s past or his dateless present. Except to call him a saint behind his back and tell the female agents he was too good for them.

He should face that music soon and put an end to the “saint” and “snob” rumors. Maybe dating Gracie would help. For now, he had to get his head in the case.

Steven checked his watch. Eleven o’clock. The drop would happen in an hour.

A quick knock and he entered the study Given Sir Walter Kensington’s questionable behavior to date, Steven needed the element of surprise his fast entrance offered. Plus, like any good cop, he needed to maintain who was in charge.

He was.

“Must you invade my residence with your American lack of decorum?” Sir Walter motioned to the small mounted camera that moved to catch every inch of the room. “Your obnoxious cameras are intrusion enough.”

“You did withhold evidence. Sir Walter.” Steven settled into a leather chair. “Even with British Secret Intelligence Service backing, that doesn’t set well with me. Our primary objective is to bring Olivia and Jordan home alive.”

The man’s suit showed a life’s worth of worry in every wrinkle. “What I did hasn’t hampered that at all. They will be home within the hour.”

“What have you done. Ambassador?”

The man jutted his chin upward and tossed a nondescript
note card on the desk. “My daughter should be with a personal friend as we speak.”

Steven stood and swore in tandem. Then he invaded Sir Walter’s personal space. “Tell me exactly what you have done, or God help me, your diplomatic immunity will mean nothing.” Steven opened his cell phone and hit Clint’s speed dial while he skimmed the plain white card.

The man’s ashen face sent Steven’s stomach roiling.

“I … I simply followed the instructions on the note. I couldn’t risk Olivia’s life. The instructions specified another park, no intelligence officers, or Olivia would be dead upon sighting. That’s what I was told happened to an intelligence officer with the arms dealing situation referenced in the e-mail. I had to do as they said.”