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Staring at his son, Wentworth said, “I’ll instruct my chef to prepare something to eat.” But he didn’t move. After a sigh, shaking his head, he leaned over and kissed Jason’s cheek. “Sleep tight, buddy,” Wentworth whispered. He stepped to the windows, closed the shades and then left them alone.
Kelly blew out a breath, relieved to finally lose her burden and enjoy a little solitude.
Jason’s eyes drifted shut. His grip on her loosened. It wouldn’t be long before she could enjoy that promised shower.
She gaped at the number and variety of toys on display in the room. Like photos she’d seen of an avalanche of presents under the tree for some lucky brat on Christmas morning. Not her though. Her Christmases were spent in foster care where she was lucky if she got a hot breakfast.
This poor kid had everything he could possibly want and yet was so totally miserable he’d confused her for his dead mom.
CHAPTER THREE
TREY HURRIED DOWNSTAIRS. Jason was home. His son was safe. That was all he could and should focus on.
When he entered the spacious kitchen, his plump chef, the wife of his chauffeur, sat at the center island reading one of her many cookbooks. She stood immediately, her pleasant face split by a huge grin.
“Jason has safely returned home?” Greta asked.
“Yes,” Trey said. “We got lucky.”
“Thank God.” Then she held herself stiff. “What can I do for you, sir? Is he hungry?”
“I need you to prepare some sandwiches and hot soup. My attorney and Dr. Carico will be arriving, plus we have a visitor.”
“Yes, sir,” Greta said. “What about dinner?”
“Whatever you had planned,” Trey said. He couldn’t think that far ahead right now. First he needed to get Kelly Jenkins showered, fed and sent home. Maybe when she was gone, Jason would return to himself.
In his office, Trey moved to his desk and called the island pro shop, instructing them to deliver women’s golf shorts and a shirt. The Jenkins woman would need clean and more suitable clothing after her shower. “Size eight or—maybe six. Better bring one of each. I don’t care what color. Throw in some socks. Do you have lingerie? No? Okay. But make it quick. There’ll be a generous tip.”
He leaned back in his swivel chair and closed his eyes. What else needed to be done? He couldn’t think of a thing. His staff was efficient. Maria would see that Officer Jenkins—Kelly—got her shower and the new clothes.
He’d hoped when Jason got home he would forget this fantasy of his dead mom come back to life. No such luck. Poor Jase. Was there lingering trauma from the crash? Darlene had been so drunk she hadn’t bothered to strap him into his car seat, so he’d struck his head. The surgeons said all swelling had resolved, but maybe not. What other explanation was there for his strange behavior? Could Dr. Carico get him straight again?
At a light rap on his office door, Trey opened his eyes. Brian Howell stood there holding a document. Trey leaned his chair forward. He needed to talk to someone he could trust, and Brian was both his personal attorney and a good friend since their undergraduate days at Princeton.
“How are you doing?” Brian asked as he entered, his gaze sweeping Trey over his reading glasses. An avid runner himself, Brian was tall, thin and the most focused man Trey had ever known. Except for my father, Alexander Asswipe Wentworth the Third.
“I’ve been better. But I’ve also been worse.” Like this morning before I got Jason back.
“You look terrible.”
“No doubt. I haven’t slept since the abduction.”
“How’s Jason?”
Trey sighed. “He thinks the cop who rescued him is Darlene.”
Brian halted his steps. “What?”
“He won’t let her out of his sight and insists on calling her Mommy.”
Brian sat in a chair before the desk. “That’s bizarre behavior even given what he’s been through. Have you contacted Carico?”
“She’ll join us any minute.”
“What happened?”
Trey told the story of how Jason somehow escaped his abductors and glued himself to a woman jogging through the park. “I think it’s because Kelly Jenkins physically resembles Darlene and was jogging. Remember, Darlene used to take him on runs.”
