Call-forwarding. She was thinking—a good sign, Chad thought. He glanced at the tape recorder. There were still a great many questions he had to ask her. Invasive, personal questions designed to enable him to get a better picture of who Veronica Lancaster was and why this had happened. Why her child and not someone else’s, if, in reality, she had actually been singled out. He wondered how she was going to bear up.
The agency dealt with every sort of missing-child scenario. Kidnapping cases fell under a variety of headings, this one being the kind that attracted the most attention, piquing the interest of news reporters. A child held for ransom rather than snatched by a social deviate or taken to fill an emotional hole left by a child who had been lost or perhaps never even conceived. The stuff headlines were made of.
A kidnapping for money meant, at the very least, that the kidnapper was in some way familiar with his chosen target, with the family’s lifestyle, as well as their comings and goings. That it might be someone that Veronica was at least slightly acquainted with might make this case easier.
Or more difficult, he thought, depending on the circumstances.
It was his experience that familiar surroundings helped clients. “There’re still a great many questions I have to ask you,” he said. “Would you be more comfortable at home?”
“I’m not going to be comfortable anywhere, Mr. Andreini, until I get Casey safely back.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
The way he said it, she had the impression that he actually did. But how could he? How could he know what it felt like, having a son just snatched away? There one moment, gone the next without a trace. She bit her lower lip to keep from accusing him of being patronizing. He was trying to be nice. But she didn’t want nice, she wanted results. Now. Before she lost her mind.
“But I still do have more questions to ask you, Ms. Lancaster,” he was saying. “You might feel better answering them at home. And seeing Casey’s room might give me a better sense of your son.”
She didn’t want to go home. Didn’t want to walk in and know that Casey wasn’t going to be there somewhere, bedeviling Angela, her housekeeper, with his antics, winning a free and clear pardon with nothing more than his infectious laugh and a smile that lit up a room.
But he was right, this tall, solemn-eyed blond detective. She should be home. And if there was something there that helped him find Casey even a minute sooner, then it was worth the agony she knew she was going to go through.
With a nod of her head, Veronica began steeling herself for the ordeal.
The emptiness assaulted her the second she closed the door behind her. She’d never thought she’d go through anything worse than having Robert die. She was wrong. Though every part of her tried feverishly to hang on to the hope that Casey would be home soon, fear was attempting to beat her down into a deep, slick-walled pit of despair.
Turning when she didn’t follow him, Chad saw the look in her eyes. Knew the dangerous state her mind was in. Instinct had him taking her hand, as if the physical act could pull her out.
“We’ll get him back,” Chad said again, this time with more feeling than he generally employed. “You have to believe that. We are going to get him back, and whoever took him is going to pay.”
“I’m not interested in revenge.”
“Then you’re a rare woman, indeed, Ms. Lancaster. But the kidnapper is playing a dangerous game and he has to be made to pay for it.” He squeezed her hand, surprising himself with the intimate action. He usually stood on the perimeter, gathering information and doing what he was paid to do. “It’ll be all right,” he promised. “Now, why don’t you show me Casey’s room?”
With a single nod of her head, she led the way up the stairs. Without thinking, Veronica left her hand in his. It helped.
The door to Casey’s room was open. Facing west, it received the afternoon sun, which was even now spilling out into the hall. It gave the room a warmth Chad instinctively knew was part and parcel of the boy.
He took a step inside and looked around slowly. It wasn’t a huge room, but there was a great deal to take in.
Veronica hung back in the doorway, warning herself not to cry again. She’d done all the self-indulging she intended to do. Her eyes came to rest on the drawings on his bulletin board.
“He’s just a normal little boy.”
A smile in reaction to her words played on Chad’s lips despite the gravity of the situation. There was a regular computer, not a child’s version of one, on one side of the room. Stacked around it in neat piles were boxes of educational software. A fifteen-inch television set was directly across from it. The set was hooked up to, not one, but two different gaming units, one on each side. In between were hip-level bookcases with either books, games or action figures occupying every available space.
For all its paraphernalia, he had to admit that the room was the neatest child’s room he’d ever seen.
“Not hardly,” he commented under his breath. “It looks like a toy store exploded in here.”
It was a valid observation. Veronica lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I suppose I’ve spoiled him a little since his father died, but Casey doesn’t take anything for granted,” she said proudly. “I was more self-centered as a child than Casey is. There was as much joy in his eyes when he got a new action figure as when I gave him that game set.” She indicated the one closest to Chad.
He’d taken note of that one first. It was all the rage these days, according to Rusty. His younger brother had the heart of a boy and kept him abreast of what was in and what wasn’t. The gaming unit was definitely the hot item of the moment.
“I never have anything to complain about with Casey. I couldn’t have asked for a better son than if I’d ordered him directly from heaven.” Veronica found herself before the bulletin board, staring at the drawing he’d done just the other day. It was of the two of them. She had gangly legs and wayward curls, courtesy of a yellow crayon. She was holding what passed for flowers in her elongated hands. Like the flowers Casey had picked for her out of the garden, much to the gardener’s dismay. Veronica’s eyes filled with tears again. Blinking them back, she turned away before she trusted herself to look up at Chad again. “In a way, I guess I did.”
Was the boy adopted? That brought in a complete set of new possibilities if he was. A natural mother, suffering the pangs of delayed regret, could have taken Veronica’s son. The ransom aspect might be a ruse. “Come again?”
It wasn’t something she talked about, but if this man was going to find Casey, maybe he needed to know all the details. At least he needed to know how precious the boy was to her.
Taking out the thumbtack, she held the drawing to her chest. “It took me a long time to get pregnant with Casey. Five years.” Looking back, it seemed a great deal longer than that. “There were endless tests, exploratory surgery…” Her voice trailed off. Everything she’d been subjected to faded the instant she’d held her baby in her arms for the first time.
A fresh volley of panic shot through her. Veronica gripped Chad’s arm. “I can’t lose him now. I’ll give you anything you want—”
He cut her short. She had to understand that for him, for all of them at the agency, it wasn’t about money. “Standard rates, Ms. Lancaster. I put in the same amount of effort—one hundred and ten percent—into finding a lost child whether there’s a family crest or not.”
She would have traded in every last cent if it meant that Casey would never have had to go through this. It was because of who he was, who she was, that he’d been kidnapped. Children from poor families didn’t get kidnapped for ransoms.
Veronica shook her head. “No family crest.” A hint of a bittersweet smile whispered