“Jack, they’ve taken Ian. You’ve got to help me. Please. They’ve taken my baby.”
He didn’t recognize the voice of the hysterical woman on the other end of the line, but the name Ian meant it had to be Andrea. “Andrea? Is that you?”
“Yes. Oh, God—Jack. Ian will be terrified. You have to help me find him.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.” He was already moving toward the door. “Can you sit tight until then?”
“Yes. But hurry, please.”
He broke several traffic laws on the way to Andrea’s house, but traffic was light off the highway this time of evening, and in less than five minutes he roared into her driveway. Every light in the house was illuminated. He raced onto the porch and knocked. “Andrea! It’s me, Jack.”
“Come in. We’re in the kitchen.”
He found her at the back of the house, applying a cold washcloth to a nasty-looking bruise near the babysitter’s temple. Chelsea held her baby close, tears pouring from her eyes as she rocked and cooed at the infant. Andrea had been crying, too, her eyes red and swollen, cheeks streaked with tears. “What’s going on?” Jack asked.
“Ian and I were watching a movie and eating pizza and these two men dressed in black and carrying big guns burst in and grabbed him,” Chelsea said. “I tried to stop them, but one of them hit me in the head with the butt of the gun. When I woke up, I was tied up and gagged in a back bedroom and Ian was gone.” She gulped and swallowed hard. “I was so afraid they’d taken Charlotte, too, but they left her sleeping in her crib.”
“Have you called the police?” Jack asked.
“They said not to,” Andrea said. “They said they would kill Ian if I contacted any law enforcement.” Her voice wobbled at the word kill and she looked ready to collapse.
Jack put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. “Who told you not to?” he asked.
“I don’t know who. They left a note.”
She handed him a piece of paper, the message on it typed in block letters.
YOUR BOY WILL BE SAFE AS LONG AS YOU COOPERATE. YOU AND YOUR BOYFRIEND BRING TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS TO THE ADDRESS WE’LL GIVE YOU TOMORROW AND WE WILL TALK THEN. DO NOT GO TO THE POLICE OR TELL ANYONE ELSE. WE HAVE PEOPLE WATCHING YOU AND WE WILL KNOW. MAKE ONE WRONG MOVE AND YOUR BOY WILL DIE A HORRIBLE DEATH.
Andrea sank into a chair, her hand over her mouth, stifling a sob. Chelsea leaned over and squeezed her hand.
Jack read the note again. “Who is this boyfriend they’re talking about?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not dating anyone. I haven’t since before my marriage.”
“I think they mean you,” Chelsea said.
“Me?”
“Jack isn’t my boyfriend,” Andrea protested.
“If the kidnappers saw the two of you together this afternoon, they might think so,” Chelsea said. “I mean, I did.”
Andrea moaned and covered her mouth again.
Jack sat across from her. His leg throbbed, but he ignored it. “The only person watching us this afternoon was that guy in the restaurant,” he said.
“Did you find out who he is?” Andrea asked.
He shook his head. “I’m still looking into it.” He glanced around the room. “He probably got your address from your license in your purse. And he has your keys, too.” Why hadn’t he thought of that before? He should have made Andrea change her locks. Or he should have insisted on staying here at her house tonight. He turned to Chelsea. She looked as wrecked as Andrea, clutching the child in her arms so tightly it was a wonder the infant didn’t wail. “What did these two look like?” he asked.
She shook her head. “They were wearing masks, dressed all in black. They carried big guns. Everything happened so fast...”
“How tall were they? How much did they weigh? Did they have accents? Could you see their hands, get an idea of race?” He knew he sounded like a bully, firing questions at the upset woman, but he couldn’t help himself. In situations like this, gathering as much evidence as possible as quickly as possible could make the difference between life and death.
Fresh tears spilled from Chelsea’s eyes and she shook her head again. “I’m sorry. I don’t know. I was so focused on Ian and the guns. And then they hit me.” She began to sob, and Andrea pulled her close.
“Why would someone do something like this?” Andrea asked. “How did they know I had a child? Have they been following me for a while now?”
Jack considered the questions. “This doesn’t make sense as a kidnapping.” He tapped the note. “For one thing, the ransom is too low. Kidnappers ask for millions of dollars, not a few thousand.”
“They must have known I don’t have millions,” Andrea said.
“Maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Chelsea said. “Maybe they got their houses mixed up. You see that on TV sometimes. What do they call them—home invasions.”
“Maybe.” Jack reread the note. “But I don’t think so. How long would you say they were in the house?”
Chelsea frowned, concentrating. “I don’t know. They burst in and knocked me out right away. They were here long enough to tie me up and put me in the bathroom. After I woke up, I spent a half hour or more crawling down the hall, trying to get to the phone.”
“It sounds to me as if this was planned,” Jack said. “They came in fast and hard, took out Chelsea, grabbed the boy and left. They didn’t kill Chelsea, though they easily could have, and they left her baby alone. They wanted Ian.” His eyes met Andrea’s. “And they wanted you to cooperate. They knew taking your son would make you do whatever they wanted.”
“But why me?” she asked. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life.”
“Your husband was a cop,” Jack said. “Maybe he made enemies. It could be someone he put in prison. They’re out now and seeking revenge.”
“Preston has been dead three years. Anything they do to me or Ian now doesn’t touch him. These people would be taking a lot of risk for nothing.”
He nodded. While he’d learned not to discount some people’s drive for revenge or the irrational ways evil people could act, this didn’t feel like that kind of situation. The note hadn’t mentioned Andrea’s husband at all.
But it had mentioned her “boyfriend.” “Maybe whoever did this was trying to get to me,” he said.
“To you?” Confusion clouded her eyes. “But, Jack, I hardly know you. We just met.”
“I can’t prove it yet, but I think the man I saw in the restaurant this afternoon is connected to a case I’ve been working on. He may have seen the two of us together and assumed a relationship. He stole your purse in order to learn where you live. He may even have meant to kidnap you and send the ransom note to me, but when they found Ian instead, they decided to use him.”
“That’s crazy,” Chelsea said.
“It is. But this group has done this kind of thing before.” Months before, Duane Braeswood and his men had kidnapped the sister of a woman who worked for the head of the Senate Committee on Homeland Security. They had threatened to kill the sister if the woman, Leah Carlisle,