Heart of a Hero Page 3

  “Tilt the receiver so I can listen in,” he instructed.

  She hated the fact that he seemed so matter-of-fact, so calm, while she felt as if she were on a giant roller coaster barreling down an incline. Dakota jerked her hand free just as he released his hold. Grabbing the phone with both hands, she cried, “Hello?” breathlessly.

  There was a slight delay before a metallic voice asked, “Is this Della Armstrong?”

  “Dakota,” she corrected heatedly. Something was wrong. They knew her name. She didn’t doubt that they knew everything about her. Was this supposed to be some kind of cryptic put-down?

  “Sorry,” the voice on the other end of the line said cheerfully. “Ms. Armstrong, this is Phil Henderson from Dayton Telemarketing. We’re calling people in your neighborhood tonight to—”

  She slammed down the receiver, swallowing a curse as angry tears filled her eyes. “Of all the stupid times to call…”

  He heard the barely suppressed hysteria in her voice, knew where it could lead if unleashed. “Easy,” Rusty cautioned.

  Her temper exploded. “Easy, right. You can take it easy,” she lashed out. “It’s not your son who was stolen out of his crib.”

  She had every right to think that he didn’t understand, but he did. More than she could ever know. He understood anguish. And hated it. “We’ll find him.”

  “How do I know that?” she demanded hotly. “How do I know that Vinny won’t be the blot on your sterling record? The one who you couldn’t get back.” She bit back a sob. “You have no right, no right to make promises you can’t keep.”

  He took hold of her shoulders. She struggled to pull away but this time he wouldn’t let her. This time, he held her fast. “Look at me.”

  Defiant, she refused to obey. She’d always resented being told what to do.

  “Why?”

  “Look at me,” he repeated, measuring out each word. His tone surprised her. When she reluctantly did what he wanted, Rusty said in a firm voice, “Your son isn’t going to be an exception. We are going to find him. You have to believe that.”

  She wanted to. He had no idea how much she wanted to. But she knew the odds, knew what he was up against even if he didn’t. How could he?

  Desperation made her cynical. “You and this boss of yours and your sister, the ex-FBI agent.”

  He refused to let her bait him, even though he sensed that she was after an argument, that a verbal fight might somehow alleviate the tension holding her prisoner. It wasn’t in his nature to argue.

  “There are more people working at the agency now,” he assured her. “My brother—”

  She didn’t let him finish. Disgust came into her eyes. “What is this, a family affair?”

  “In a way.” In some ways, they were closer than some families. They agonized over each other’s cases, shared each other’s successes. “My brother was kidnapped as a boy, so I kind of know what you’re going through. The others at the agency all have had close experiences with kidnap victims and their families. Nobody thinks of this as just another job, or any of the kids we look for as just statistics.” This wasn’t the time to go into any of that. He’d just wanted to reassure her a little. “Now, are you up to giving me some information, or do you want me to call someone to stay with you tonight and we’ll talk in the morning at the agency?”

  Morning. A million light-years from now. Where would Vinny be in the morning? Would he be calling for her? Would he be afraid? Or would they begin brainwashing him, making him forget her? How long did a two-year-old’s memory last?

  She was becoming aware of a numbness settling in. One that separated her from her body and her anguish, making things seem surreal. It crept slowly up her limbs. Maybe it was all a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare. That was it, a nightmare. She’d lived in fear of this happening for two years, maybe it had just surfaced in a dream to haunt her.

  “There’s no one to call,” she told him dully. There would have been if this had been her old life. There were people she could turn to. But not here. There was no one here.

  Rusty thought of calling his sister, or Savannah, who’d come to work for the agency after Sam had recovered her daughter.

  Elizabeth, another detective at the agency, might even be more suited to dealing with this woman, he realized, because of her pronounced sensitivity, but then he remembered that she was away on a case. Still, the woman needed someone to remain with her.

  “If you want, I can—”

  The dullness abated for a moment as alarms went off within her. She knew it. He was going to say he’d make the sacrifice and stay the night with her. He might be sweet-sounding, but in the end, all men were the same. They all had only one goal.

  “No,” she snapped. “You can’t.”

  She was a grown woman. Granted, she was a woman in need, but he wasn’t going to argue with her about staying with her. Maybe she would do better on her own. Everybody needed space at times.

  “All right.” He started for the door. “You know where to find me if you need me. I’ll be upstairs after I look around.”

  She didn’t understand. Her brain was becoming dull again, giving in to the numbness that was overtaking her. “You already looked around.”

  “That was just a fast scan, to see if there was anyone around. This time it’ll be slower.” Clues could be left in the oddest places and people always slipped up somewhere. “You never know what you can find.”

  The people she was up against were professionals. They made it their life’s work to not make mistakes. If the Boy Scout thought otherwise, he was wrong. Dakota began to say something, but the words somehow vanished from her lips.

  As did the rest of the room less than a second after that.

  Rusty caught her just in time to keep her from hitting the floor.

  “Maybe you’re not as tough as you think you are,” he commented under his breath as he scooped her into his arms. Relaxed, the young woman’s features lost their edginess. They were soft and she looked a lot younger. A lot more innocent.

  As he looked at her, Rusty felt something within him stir and banked it down without examination. This wasn’t the time or the place. She was a client even though she hadn’t actually asked to retain his services. In any event, he couldn’t think of her in any different terms until her situation was resolved.

  Looking around, he decided to put her in her own bed rather than on the sofa. Entering the room, he made his way over to the bed and placed her on top of the comforter. He took one end of it and placed it over her. There was a chill in the air and he didn’t want it bringing her around. She could do with a little rest. With any luck, she’d sleep until morning.

  In the meantime, he had some work to do.

  There was something heavy on her chest, pressing down hard, making it difficult for her to breathe.

  As she struggled to rise above the haze encasing her, Dakota slowly realized that the heavy weight wasn’t on her chest, it was in her chest.

  It was her heart.

  It felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds. A thousand pounds and yet it was empty.

  Vinny.

  Oh, God, they’d taken Vinny. Her precious, sweet, innocent little boy. They’d taken him from her just the way she’d been afraid they would. Afraid for these past two years.

  She’d been right to be afraid.

  Her eyes were still shut tight even though she thought she’d already opened them. Twice.

  With effort, Dakota forced her eyelids up. The haze seemed to cling to everything around her. She blinked twice, then focused on her surroundings.

  She was in her bedroom. The edge of her comforter was partially thrown over her, as if she’d been tucked into bed.

  When had she gone to bed?

  She hadn’t, she remembered. She’d been in the kitchen, trying to get rid of that man with the dimple in his cheek when everything had gone black.

  The man with the dimple. The private investigator or baby finder or wha
tever he called himself.

  What if he—

  Dakota struggled to sit upright, propping herself up on weakened elbows. The world was still not as steady as she wanted it to be, swimming around a little as she lifted her head. She blinked again, trying to bring everything back into focus.

  Daylight was trying to squeeze itself in through the blinds. What time was it? How long had she been lying here?

  She turned her head to look at the digital clock on her nightstand when she saw him. Andreini, sitting in her rocking chair, the only piece of furniture in the furnished apartment that she’d bought herself, besides the crib.

  His head drooped against his chest.

  Had he been here all night?

  She looked down at her nightgown to see if it was in place. Had he tried anything?

  “I thought you’d be more comfortable in your own bed than on the sofa.”

  She jumped at the sound of his voice and upbraided herself for it. She was behaving like a spooked rabbit. “You’re awake.”

  “Yes, I’m awake.” He’d only shut his eyes a few minutes ago, giving in to fatigue. “I don’t usually sound too coherent when I’m talking in my sleep. At least, so I’ve been told.”

  Dakota swung her legs over the side of the bed, tugging down the edge of her nightgown before it crept up too high. He surprised her by keeping his eyes on her face. But maybe that was a cover.

  “What happened?”

  “You fainted,” he said simply.

  “And what did you do?”

  “I caught you.”

  He was playing innocent with her. It didn’t wash. “And?”

  “I put you to bed. Alone. I’ve got a fingerprint kit upstairs if you’d like to dust yourself to look for any telltale prints,” he offered mildly. “State of the art. Megan won’t let us use anything less. That’s my sister,” he added.

  The ex-FBI agent, she remembered. Feeling slightly woozy, Dakota forced herself to get up from the bed. “That won’t be necessary.”

  “Good.” He was on his feet, watching her. Ready to catch her again if need be. “Does that mean you’re starting to trust me?”

  Pulling herself up, Dakota looked at him pointedly. “No.”

  Chapter 3

  Rusty scrutinized her for a long moment. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

  She liked the fact that he didn’t look away when he spoke, that he looked her square in the eye.

  If a man can look you straight in the eye, Dee, he’s got nothing to hide, her father had told her a long time ago. Either that, her mother had added, or he’s a cold-blooded liar. Andreini didn’t look like a cold-blooded liar. But she’d hold off making any final judgments about him until there were more facts in. She knew the danger of jumping to conclusions too soon.

  “Don’t feel bad,” she told him, “I don’t trust many people. I find it’s a lot less disappointing that way.” She looked at him and noted the rumpled clothing. “Did you stay here all night?”

  He’d thought about going upstairs to his apartment several times after he finished looking around outside, but somehow he just hadn’t felt right about leaving her alone. He’d only stopped upstairs long enough to get his shoes.

  “Yes.”

  She continued looking at him. People usually squirmed under scrutiny. He didn’t. Which meant that he had nothing to hide. Or everything to hide. Which was it? “Why?” She wanted to know.

  He ran his hand through his hair, smoothing it down a little. His neck felt stiff, as did his shoulders. He’d never managed to develop his brother-in-law’s trick of being able to catnap comfortably any place that came in handy. But he figured that was all part of Garret’s Justice Department agent training.

  “I wanted to be sure you were all right,” he told her simply. “And I wanted to be here in case the kidnapper called.” He saw her raise a brow, silently asking. “He didn’t.”

  Had that been a slip? Was Andreini connected to the kidnapping after all? She wished she could stop vacillating and know one way or another. “How do you know it was a he?”

  She’d asked the question rather heatedly, he noted, wondering why. “Print outside your window’s too big for a woman.”

  “Print?” she echoed. “Just one?”

  He nodded. The print would probably harden by mid-afternoon. Even though it was December, the Southern California sun could get pretty intense in the middle of the day. He’d have someone make a mold of it, or do it himself if there was no one available.

  “It was a misstep. Whoever it was who took your son must have slid off the bridge and stepped into the dirt as he was leaving. Odds are that your son was probably taken not long after the sprinkler system went through its cycle.” The sprinklers were timed and for some reason, management thought it best to have them go off at night rather than early morning. “The ground was still wet and he left a print.” Because for once she seemed to be taking in what he was saying, Rusty told her the rest of what he’d discovered. “The sneaker’s old. The heel is worn down on the side.”

  She pressed her lips together. “I guess maybe you really are a detective.”

  He grinned at her remark. “That’s what I’d like to think.”

  The grin gave him an innocent, boyish quality. She wondered if he’d practiced it to make people let their guard down, or if it came naturally.

  “Is there a trail?” Dakota knew it was foolish to hope that there was. The people she was dealing with didn’t make mistakes. But even so, they were human. Maybe…

  The next moment her heart sank as Andreini shook his head. She told herself it wasn’t anything she hadn’t expected.

  “Just to the parking lot. Small flecks of mud on the asphalt,” he explained. They had led to an empty carport. The kidnapper had probably parked there, taking a chance that the person the spot belonged to wouldn’t come home to create a commotion about having someone in his or her space. “Even after I have it analyzed, I probably won’t be sure if it came from the same sole, just from the same source, which is only logical.”

  Dakota frowned impatiently. She didn’t want logic, she wanted her son.

  “So where does that put us?” Back to square one, she thought before he could reply.

  The key was to keep moving forward. Things had a way of happening when you kept them in motion. “In my office, asking questions.”

  She looked at him suspiciously. “What kind of questions?”

  There was that wary tone again. What was she afraid he’d find out? What was she hiding? “Hopefully helpful ones. The more I know about your son, his routine—”

  She felt her patience fraying again, just as it had last night. “He’s two years old, he doesn’t have a routine.”

  “Everyone has a routine,” he corrected. “Even if it’s only one that’s imposed on a child by his mother. The more I know,” Rusty repeated, “the better equipped I am to find him quickly.”

  There was that assurance again. No hesitation, just a tacitly understood guarantee. She’d lived long enough in Las Vegas to know that there was no such thing as a guarantee or a sure thing. Only fools who believed in them. Andreini sounded confident, as confident as a greenhorn watching his first spin of the roulette wheel.

  Yet he didn’t really strike her as being a fool, or gullible.

  Dakota bit her lip. She knew that she was hoping for the impossible—that somehow this man who’d pushed his way into her life was right. That he would get Vinny back for her. Quickly, before the man who had him taken could make her son forget her.

  God, but she hated being this vulnerable, this easy a target emotionally. Self-conscious, she glanced down and realized that she’d slept in the sweater she’d dragged on last night to cover up.

  She had to look as bad as she felt. “I need a shower and to put on some clothes.”

  The latter was a matter of opinion, Rusty thought, but he wasn’t about to say that out loud. As far as he was concerned, the woman in front of him looked great ju
st the way she was, with the mark of sleep still in her eyes and her hair all mussed and tangled, fresh from her bed.

  Maybe he could do with a shower himself, Rusty thought. A cold one. The hot one he’d been planning on to get the stiffness out of his shoulders would have to be temporarily put on hold.

  “Me, too,” he agreed. “I’ll be back within an hour.” That should give her enough time, he judged. “We can do the interview here if you want. That way, if a ransom call does come, you’ll be here to get it.”

  But she shook her head at his offer. Though she’d jumped when the telephone had rung last night, she wasn’t expecting to receive any calls. Not if Vinny had been taken by the person she suspected. The man didn’t want to contact her. There was nothing she could offer in exchange for her son, nothing he wanted but her son.

  “I don’t have to be here,” she told him. “I can have the calls forwarded to my cell phone,” she added as an afterthought.

  Dakota led the way out of her room. “Besides, I’d rather go down to your office.”

  He was coming to understand the way her mind worked. She took nothing at face value. “To see if it’s on the level?”

  The barest hint of a smile curved her mouth. “Something like that.”

  Rusty nodded. He preferred it that way, actually. It certainly wouldn’t hurt to have her see the framed photographs of the children they’d recovered. The extensive gallery covered the length of one complete wall and was designed to inspire hope in every despairing parent who crossed their threshold. He figured it would do the same for her.

  “Want me to pick you up?” He knew the answer to that even before the words were out of his mouth.

  She crossed to her front door and opened it. “No, I can find my own way.”

  He merely nodded, accepting her need for independence. Everyone found their own way to deal with a tragedy. She was a hell of a lot stronger than most of the women he’d encountered who had been in her place.

  Walking out of the apartment, he turned around abruptly. “One more thing.”

  About to close the door, she looked up impatiently. “What?”