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Finally, things are beginning to make sense. “So, you think the Russians killed Stanley Steamer to keep him from talking?”
“I do. And they likely took Howie out, too.”
“And because you found the slug, they took Mikey for leverage?” As my hormones surge, Suds takes me in his arms, his eyes wet, too.
“Sweetheart, getting all upset isn’t healthyfor the baby.” Him reminding me I’m pregnant causes unwanted tears to wet my cheeks.
“Oh my God. We can’t have another. I’m a terrible mom.” As I sob into my husband’s chest, someone clears their throat in the doorway.
“Shit.” Suds pushes me aside, grabs his gun, and aims toward the sound.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Hands in the air, Frankie backs up and Chloe, perched on his shoulders, hisses.
Shit. What is he doing here?While my partner lowers his weapon, I wipe my sleeve under my nose. God, he must think I’m a total crybaby.
“Leave Griner with me. I’ll keep him on ice until you’re ready.” As the hitman walks toward our prisoner, my husband raises his eyebrows at me.
Once I nod my approval, Suds swerves back toward the unexpected helper. “Appreciate the offer. I’d be obliged if you don’t kill him, though. We may have more questions.”
“Understood. Now go. Police are on the way.” As he drags the Fed to his car, we follow him past the empty lot, where all this started.
My husband, sensing I’m about to lose it again, slides a reassuring arm around my waist. “C’mon sugar, how about I take you home?”
“No, our office. We have work to do.” I’m not resting until our son is found.
Chapter 18
Suds
Sometime after midnight, I call my mother-in-law for help. It takes her, Rose, Mia, and Marion to pull the laptop away from Sam and insist she lie down. There’s no advantage to be gained beyond what Jason, Patten Securities, and the FBI are already doing.
Praying harder than I ever recall, I make all sorts of bargains with theLord. Friends and family stop by, bringing food and words of encouragement. Still, the minutes tick by. Without a ransom request or a word of my son’s whereabouts, my hope fades.
The office phone rings around two, my heart thumps, and I wait for a nod from a man monitoring my phone before I pick up. “Hello?”
“We have a couple leads. Stay positive.” Detective O’Brien’s trying to help but I know they’ve got jack shit.
“Damn it, I can’t sit here doing nothing. How can I help?”
“Give Griner back.” The reason for his call now clear, I curse under my breath.
Not knowing where he’s at, I couldn’t give him back, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.“I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about.”
Hoping I haven’t burnt any bridges, I pour another cup of coffee and review the school’s blurry video tape a dozen more times.
The armed masked man, Ivan Kozlov, double parks his Jeep across the street and tailgates into the building on the heels of a teacher. The whole time, the back of his hoodie faces the camera.
The daycare room has no surveillance but in a recorded interview, Miss Darlene describes how the man peereddown at his phone and told Mikey to come with him. When my son refused, the kidnapper picked him up by the waist, and left the room.
We rolla few more seconds of inside video where our son fights like hell in the hall. The outside surveillance, after some enhancements, remains too grainy to be of use.
Shit. What am I missing?
About an hour later, my cell rings and Mike Russo’s voice sounds over the airwaves. “The Goat was found in Manhattan. Executed. Two slugs to the back of the head.”
“And my boy?” My pulse races.God, please don’t let him be dead.
“No sign of him.” My father-in-law may be defeated, but I’m not giving up, not yet.
