She had a son.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He croaked the question past a very dry throat, wanting to head to his dad’s wet bar and the bottle of Jim Bean hidden from view. “When did you get married?”
That guy was lucky. Jane was smart, beautiful and crazy in bed. He couldn’t think of her like that. The hell he couldn’t. She’d been with him first. Her kid was missing on top of being involved with the Brant kidnapping. Pull yourself together, Woods. You made your choice four years ago.
“His father is… He’s… I wanted to call you, Steve.” She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I couldn’t tell you. They said not to involve any police or the FBI. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Wait, slow down. Let’s start at the beginning.”
If he couldn’t have a shot of whiskey, he might as well make it aspirin. Where did his mom keep them? He pushed out of the chair and stretched his stride to its limit, but stopped short of the kitchen.
“The beginning? Rory and I were going to the park.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you had a kid?”
“Why do you think you had the right to know? I thought it was better to just keep things the way you wanted.” She sat on the couch, looking as completely worn-out as he felt, but the words still managed to sting. “You were undercover and couldn’t be reached.”
Undercover for almost three years. A lot had happened to her while his life had been on hold.
“I thought we were friends.” Yeah, he knew the futility of the words as they left his mouth and didn’t need it confirmed by her look of you’re-just-being-stupid. “Don’t you think a significant thing like having a kid warrants a phone call?”
“The phone works both ways, buddy. You never called me, either.”
The truth flicked him like a bullwhip, inflicting small sharp pangs of guilt. Yeah, he could have found her. He had ways, contacts. But he’d avoided admitting his culpability, and then it seemed too late for a relationship.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “I couldn’t call you while I was undercover. You knew that.”
“I tried to write several times, but what could I say? You made your feelings very clear when you asked me to leave.” Sniffing, she draped a worn afghan around her, like a protective wall between them.
“Who’s the father? Could he be involved?” Probably some genius guy she worked with. It had to be. Maybe that Hayden fellow?
His desire to think superseded the need for aspirin so he skimmed the perimeter of the room, pacing as far away from the afghan and what it covered as possible. He didn’t want to recall the disappointment he’d experienced and just how much he’d wanted a letter during that first assignment. If he did admit it, that would mean he’d been wrong. No, his work over the past four years had been important. It wasn’t a waste.
Jane’s hand peeked from under the blanket to brush her hair back. “His dad’s never been involved with him. And he’d be the last person to kidnap a small child.”
So, the guy had been after sex and not the consequences. Jane deserved better.
As if she thought the same, she pushed off the couch, dragging the afghan around her shoulders to the window. “We have to find Rory.”
Lightning glistened off the phone in the chair, beckoning him to do his job. He should call his team. It was important to let McCaffrey know he had the suspect. Or he could get Jane’s story, then make the call since the FBI needed information on her son’s kidnapping.
“When did you get back to Dallas?”
There hadn’t been any evidence of a child living in Jane’s apartment. Could he be wrong? Could all this just be a ruse to throw him off? After all, he hadn’t seen her in years. But why leave a note he was certain to follow?
“Ten days ago.” Jane leaned against the window frame and looked expectantly out toward the lake.
Her landlord had told them six weeks.
“No one else is coming,” he said. At least no one I’m expecting. “Why would someone kidnap your son? What would they gain?”
“I wasn’t looking for anyone.” She seemed more resigned, more somber if that were possible. “The new drugs I’m developing are very valuable. The sedative is what I used on you yesterday.”
“It has a heck of a kick.”
“It’s not fully developed. I wasn’t scheduled to begin at the lab until Monday. Copies of the formula and several vials were still at the apartment. They took everything.”
Wrapped tightly in the afghan, she took small steps back to the couch and perched on the edge.
“How would they know about it?”
“My money’s from the private sector. It came after my paper was published in the Journal of Anesthesiology. Anyone could know about it.”
“What about your dream job at Johns Hopkins? Did they have any right to the research?”
“Actually, that job didn’t work out. I’ve been privately funded with the understanding that my research belongs to me. So I have a lot of control over the development of the drugs. At least for the time being.”
“Was there a bidding war? Did someone get pissed off because you cut them out of the deal? Maybe another partner?”
“I worked alone and approached a friend at Foster Pharmaceuticals. It wasn’t associated with anyone or any company.”
“We’re getting ahead of ourselves,” he said. “Tell me what happened with your son.”
Taking a deep breath, she dropped her head onto the back of his mother’s old couch cushions, closed her eyes and pushed her hair behind her ears. “God, I can’t believe this is really happening.”
Another deep breath and a long pause. He wanted to ask a million questions, but his Bureau training held firm. He slowly sat back in the chair across from her to wait on the story. Waiting was the worst part of his job.
“Mrs. Newinsky, my neighbor on the floor below, greeted us when the movers pulled up to the building last week. She constantly came over and offered to watch Rory. We were going to grill hot dogs at the park July second, but she forgot to buy a package of buns.”
A tear fell from her right eye, and she swiped it away as if it never existed.
“I didn’t think twice. I just thought it would be quicker if I went to the store and she stayed with Rory.” Jane sat forward and picked lint from the afghan with trembling fingers, avoiding his gaze. There was a small sniff. Then her eyes met his, but she quickly looked out the window where the rain continued to pour.
“I…um…” She struggled, swallowing hard. “I got back and they were inside my apartment. At least two of them. With guns. They never spoke, wore masks and shoved typed notes in front of me.”
Steve forced himself not to interrupt and then pried his short nails from the palms of his hands. He stood, needing to relax, keep a clear head and not tear her story apart. Just let her finish.
“Mrs. Newinsky and Rory weren’t there. The note had instructions telling me they had Rory and they’d take me to him if I didn’t make a scene.”
“So that happened two days before I followed you at the fireworks.”
“I didn’t have a choice. I had to do what they said. They had Rory.