Serve. Protect. Don’t fall in love...

Rookie cop Kelly Jenkins thought that saving a terrified little boy from his abductors was the end of the story. It wasn’t. With the kidnappers on the loose and the child clinging to her as his “mommy,” Kelly is pulled into a world of wealth and privilege.

Arrogant, handsome billionaire Trey Wentworth is the boy’s father, and a pain in her working-class butt. Yet even as the threats against Trey and Kelly mount, attraction blazes between them. Leaving now would place them all in peril. But the longer she stays, the more Kelly risks losing herself—and her heart—in a world where she doesn’t belong.

“This might be a little above and beyond your normal duty...”

Uncomfortable under Trey Wentworth’s scrutiny, Kelly looked out the tinted windows and noted the ferry had pushed away from the dock. Wow. She was on her way to Collins Island. Imagine that. She’d always been curious about the legendary place.

“I apologize if I insulted you by offering you money,” Wentworth said in a low voice. “Please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. “A hot shower will be more than enough reward.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he said, and smiled a lazy smile. Somehow a dangerous smile, Kelly thought.

This man was accustomed to getting his own way and doing exactly what he wanted.

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled about the publication of The Billionaire’s Son, the first book in my new miniseries, The Rookie Files. The Rookie Files will follow the journeys of five rookie cops who meet in police training, become friends, and then learn and grow in their law enforcement careers in Miami-Dade County, Florida. And of course they fall in love!

Kelly Jenkins, the heroine of The Billionaire’s Son, had a rough childhood but fought against the odds to achieve success. A police officer once helped her, and his assistance inspired her to become a cop and provide similar help to others.

When Kelly rescues Jason, the son of sexy billionaire Trey Wentworth, she has little use for the father since he appears to spend most of his time partying. But traumatized Jason clings to Kelly, and she can’t say no to the child. Before she knows what’s happening, she’s living in Wentworth Villa where she solves the mystery of who kidnapped Jason. But she also needs to solve the mysteries of her own heart. How could she fall in love with a man who is her complete opposite?

I hope you enjoy Trey and Kelly’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it! I love to hear from readers. Please visit my website at sharonshartley.com.

Namaste,

Sharon

The Billionaire’s Son

Sharon Hartley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SHARON HARTLEY is so fascinated by cops and the dangerous people that complicate their world that she attends every citizens’ police academy she can find. Having worked as a court reporter for many years, Sharon plays “what if” on her old cases and comes up with fictional ways to inject them into her stories. After time on the computer creating plots where the bad guys try to hurt the good ones, she calms herself by teaching yoga, plus hiking and birding in the natural world. Sharon lives in St. Petersburg, Florida, with her soul mate, Max, hundreds of orchids and a Jack Russell Terrorist. Please visit her website at sharonshartley.com.

MILLS & BOON

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For law enforcement officers all over the world.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HER STRIDES LONG and sure, Kelly Jenkins picked up her speed as she turned into Peacock Park, confident she was on pace to beat her old time. Jazzed because she hadn’t scored a personal best on her favorite morning run in months—not since she’d entered the police academy—Kelly pushed harder. That was the key to success.

The shade of the public pavilion with its promise of cool water came into view, but she refused to risk a glance down to her wrist chronometer. She might lose a second or two. Patience was another path to success. She’d know within two minutes.

“Mommy!”

As the terrified wail of a small child registered, Kelly turned her head and spotted a young boy running toward her as fast as his little legs could churn. Two men chased him. She slowed her stride just before the child flung his arms around her thighs.

“Mommy,” he sobbed. “Mommy, Mommy.”

Knocked off balance, Kelly windmilled her arms to keep herself from falling and stared down at the boy clutching her as if she were a lifeline, guessing he was about four years old.

Before she could say anything, like “Hey, kid, I’m not your mom,” the two men arrived.

“Sorry, lady,” one of them said, a rough-looking dude who hadn’t shaved in days. Tats covered both forearms, and Kelly recognized the insignia of a local gang, but couldn’t remember which one. Greasy brown hair hung to his shoulders. There was a gun-size bulge in his jeans pocket that worried her.

“I’ll take the kid,” he snarled.

“No,” the boy shrieked, clutching her legs tighter, sharp fingernails digging into her bare thigh. “No! Mommy, no.”

Her cop instincts slamming into gear, Kelly reached down and picked up the child. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

“His name is Jason,” the man said, his voice hard, with an underlying edge of threat. “I’m his father. Hand him over.”

His entire little body trembling violently, Jason buried his face in Kelly’s shoulder, turning away from his “father.”

“This child is terrified of you,” Kelly said.

“Yeah, well, that’s none of your concern, lady. Just give me the kid.”

Kelly hesitated, assessing the two men. The second man was thin and shorter than the so-called father, but she noted a resemblance between the two. Same hair and cheekbones. Maybe brothers. The brother looked like he’d spent several years on the streets while this child was well nourished and wore expensive clothing. Something is wrong here.

“My name is Kelly Jenkins,” she said, “I’m a police officer.”

“Damn. She’s a cop, Adam,” the second man said.

“Jason seems very confused,” Kelly continued. “Is there anything that I can do to—”

Adam took a step forward, his arms out to snatch the child. “I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are. Just give me the damn kid.”

Jason looped the straps of Kelly’s jog bra through his tiny fingers and squeezed tight. “No, Mommy,” he managed, now barely able to get the words out.

When Adam placed his hands on either side of Jason’s waist, Jason wailed loudly and shrilly. Kelly stepped back, noting fellow runners had gathered to observe the unfolding scenario.

Wishing she’d been a cop longer than two months, Kelly debated her next move. Maybe it takes a village, but I have no right to keep a son from his father.

Yet the gangbanger only referred to Jason as “the kid,” never “my son.” And he never once spoke to the child directly, tried to soothe him or comfort him. What kind of a father acts like that?

“Is this your daddy?” Kelly whispered to Jason.

His face bright red, his screams now diminished to great gulping sobs, the child shook his head emphatically no. He locked his feet around her waist.

“Shit,” the smaller man said. “Get the kid, Adam. We gotta get out of here pronto.”

“Adam, right?” Kelly asked, deliberately using the name. Always good to make it personal. “Where is his mother?”

“Yeah, good question,” said a female jogger Kelly didn’t know by name but waved at every day.

“None of your fricking business,” Adam said. “Give me the kid, or else.”

“Or else what?” a male runner asked.

“Or else this.” Adam pulled a Glock 19 from his pocket.

“He has a gun,” someone yelled.

“Run!”

Her fellow joggers scattered.

Kelly tightened her grip on the kid, transferred her weight to her back leg and executed a front snap kick, knocking the gun out of Adam’s hand. She felt more than heard a crack, and knew her contact broke at least one bone.

The man bellowed in pain as the Glock went flying, landing on the grass six feet away.

“Oh, shit,” the brother said, looking as if he wanted to run. Or maybe hurl.

“She broke my wrist,” Adam howled, protecting his right hand with his left. “You bitch.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noted one of her fellow runners on a cell phone. She wished she could access hers but she didn’t dare shift her attention.

“Get the gun, Caleb,” Adam ordered, his face contorted with obvious pain.

“Just walk away, Caleb,” Kelly said, knowing he wanted to and was the weaker link. “The cops are on their way.”

Caleb’s eyes grew wide and he looked around.

Yeah, you think about that, you scumbag. Kelly backpedaled, keeping an eye on Adam, wanting to put as much distance between them as possible.

Cursing viciously, Adam advanced. She could incapacitate this jerk in two swift maneuvers, but not while she was holding a forty-pound hysterical kid. If she put him down—and that wouldn’t be easy considering his death grip—Caleb could snatch him and haul butt.

So her black belt wasn’t much use. She needed to figure out what was going on here before she released Jason—if that was even his name—to two lowlifes she was now convinced bore no relation to him at all. And if they were family, some type of abuse was obviously taking place.

“Calm down, Adam,” Kelly soothed, continuing to move backward. “Let’s talk about this. More police will be here any second.” Yeah, and where the hell are they?

“Get the gun, Caleb,” Adam shouted.

The harshness of the order apparently decided Caleb, and he moved toward the Glock.

“Think about this, Caleb,” Kelly yelled. “I’m a police officer. You’ll fry if you shoot me.”

“Shut. Up. Bitch,” Adam said.

Kelly wanted to run, but knew turning her back on Adam was a mistake. She scrambled for something to say or do before she stopped a bullet. She could give them the kid to save herself, but damned if she would. This was why she’d become a cop.

Just as Caleb reached for the gun, a siren screeched its warning into the air. Kelly didn’t look, but heard a police vehicle pull up on the street maybe a hundred feet away.

Caleb froze. “Shit. The cops.”

“We need the gun,” Adam said.

“Yeah, well, then you get it.” Caleb sprinted toward the parking lot of the nearby marina.

“Caleb, what the hell,” Adam yelled after him.

Caleb didn’t turn and didn’t answer.

“You’ll regret this, bitch.” With a last threatening glare at Kelly, Adam snatched the Glock with his left hand and ran.

Releasing a breath, she heard the cops approach from behind. But Kelly kept her gaze on Adam until he disappeared behind the marina’s office building.

“What’s going on?”

Still holding Jason, Kelly turned to find two uniformed City of Miami officers, one male and one female. Thank God.

“I’m Kelly Jenkins with Miami-Dade Police Department, badge number 33349. My commanding officer is Lieutenant Thomas Marshall.” She explained what had happened as concisely as possible, aided by interjections from a few of the other joggers who had wandered back to the scene. The officers summoned backup to search the area, but Kelly knew Adam and Caleb would be miles away by the time anyone arrived.

“So you don’t know this child?” the female officer asked. Her badge read L. Rodriguez.

“I never saw him before ten minutes ago,” Kelly told Officer Rodriguez. “I’m not even sure his name is really Jason.”

“What’s your name, kiddo?” Rodriguez asked in that idiotic tone adults use when speaking to a small child. Kelly had used it herself.

Jason burrowed his head deeper into Kelly’s shoulder, tightening his grip on her waist with his legs.

Kelly patted his back. She had no clue how to deal with children. What she really wanted to do was shift his weight to her other arm. The kid was heavy.

“Jason, you need to go with the nice police officer where you’ll be safe from the mean men,” she said.

“No, Mommy, no,” the child begged. “Please, please don’t leave me.”

Rodriguez narrowed her eyes. “Why is he calling you Mommy?”

“No idea,” Kelly replied. “Maybe he was so terrified of Adam and Caleb he got confused.”

“We’ll take him to the station and let DCF sort this out,” Rodriguez said.

“Good plan,” Kelly agreed. Department of Children and Families was the obvious call in a case like this. They’d locate his mom or find a foster home. But for the fact that Jason was so well dressed, Kelly would assume the mom was a druggie on a bender, Caleb or Adam a boyfriend left in charge. Something just didn’t smell right.

Rodriguez reached out to remove Jason, but the child shrieked and refused to let go of Kelly. “No, no, no!” he wailed.

“Shhh, Jason,” Kelly soothed, rubbing his head. “It’s okay.”

The male officer, standing a few feet away taking statements from bystanders, frowned and joined Kelly and Rodriguez. “What’s wrong with the kid?”

“He doesn’t want to let go of Ms. Jenkins,” Rodriguez said.

“Officer Jenkins,” Kelly said, to the male officer, whose name was P. Nordan.

“Don’t you want to go find your mommy?” Nordan asked.

Jason raised his head and looked at Kelly. She noted he had bright blue eyes and blond hair, the same coloring as hers. Were the officers beginning to doubt her story? She didn’t have anything on her to prove she was a cop.

Jason raised a hand and lightly stroked her cheek. “I found my mommy.”

“I’m not anyone’s mother,” Kelly told Nordan. “Didn’t the other joggers confirm my story?”

At Kelly’s words, Jason began sobbing again, and turned his face into her shoulder.

Nordan released a long breath. “The kid is traumatized. I think the best thing is for all of us to go to the station and notify DCF.”

“I’m on duty in two hours,” Kelly said.

“Better call in,” Nordan said.

Rodriguez placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, urging her to move toward the police vehicle. “You can do that on the way to the station.”

* * *

AT THE MIAMI-DADE headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Trey Wentworth paced. The depressing utilitarian room they’d stashed him in contained everything they thought he might want—chairs, a recliner, coffee, tea, soft drinks, bagels—even a plate of frosted fruit pastry. As if he could eat. Three so-called special agents continuously observed him, trying to pretend otherwise, definitely waiting for him to lose it. Expecting him to.

He wouldn’t give them the pleasure.

Even though everyone in this room knew something had gone very wrong.

He glanced at his watch for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes. The ransom exchange should have been completed two hours ago. He should have heard something by now. He should have been assured his son was alive. But Agent Ballard had returned without Jason, saying the kidnappers didn’t show at the drop site. Trey shook his head. He knew the agents had gone to the wrong park in Coconut Grove, but the idiots wouldn’t believe him.

His mistake was trusting law enforcement. He shouldn’t have involved the FBI. The kidnappers had instructed him not to, but his attorney had counseled the feds were his best option. He trusted Brian, who’d been a friend longer than he’d been his lawyer, but he sure didn’t trust the yokels sitting in this room watching him slowly disintegrate.

Soon there’d be nothing solid left of him to hug his son when—if he ever saw him again.

The FBI didn’t know what the hell they were doing. He should have insisted on accompanying Ballard on the exchange. He shouldn’t have given in to their vaunted expertise. He shouldn’t have listened to Brian. Of course the kidnappers said not to contact the cops or they’d kill Jason. Wasn’t that what they always said?

Trey shot a glance at Walt Ballard, the thirtyish but already balding agent in charge of Jason’s case. Since returning with the bad news, the man worked his phone in a chair by the door, leaning forward, forearms on his knees, wearing a grim expression. Texting? Checking email? Was he receiving information about Jason from the agents still in the field? Was it bad news?

Trey stopped moving and took a deep breath. Not here. He’d fall apart later, away from the public eye. That was the Wentworth way. Trey heard his father’s clipped voice inside his head and pushed away the sound. The bastard couldn’t be bothered to fly in even though his only grandson had been abducted.

Where was his attorney? Shit. Why hadn’t they heard something?

Trey glanced at his watch. How much longer? Jason had been through so much in the last year. Would he ever see his son again? Would they even find Jason’s body?

Kids disappeared without a trace all the time.

Ballard’s phone rang, the sound startling in the quiet of the room. Everyone turned.

“Ballard,” the agent barked into the phone. A few beats of silence. “What?”

The shock in Ballard’s voice forced Trey into a chair. Oh, God. No. Jason.

“Where?” Ballard demanded. Then, “Got it. We’re on our way.”

Ballard disconnected and looked directly at Trey. “We’ve got him. We’ve got your boy.”

“Alive?” Trey stood on shaky legs, not trusting his hearing. “Is he hurt?”

“He’s fine. He’s in the custody of the City of Miami Police.”

“No mistake this time?” he demanded.

“No mistake,” Ballard said.

Choking back a sob, Trey sagged into the chair again, unable to formulate a response.

“City of Miami arrested the kidnappers?” This question came from another agent, a female. Trey couldn’t remember her name. All he could focus on was the knowledge that Jason was alive and unharmed.

“No,” Ballard said. “Apparently the kidnappers remain at large.”

“What the hell happened?” asked another agent.

Ballard shook his head. “I don’t have all the details yet, and they can wait.” He nodded at Trey and grinned. “Let’s go get your son.”

* * *

INSIDE A FRIGID interview room at the Coconut Grove police substation, Kelly couldn’t remember when she’d ever been so cold. The AC had to be set at about forty degrees, and she might as well be naked since all she had on was flimsy nylon running shorts and a cotton jog bra. Making things worse, her flesh and her clothing were sweaty.

Officer Rodriguez had wrapped a towel around the shivering Jason, and that helped, but Kelly’s legs were freezing. They’d given her a cup of vile lukewarm coffee, but that had cooled and was of no help.

There was a reason for the chill of course. The police didn’t want their suspects or interviewees comfortable. She had a bad feeling they considered her a suspect—of what she wasn’t sure, but something. She’d heard chatter of a statewide BOLO as they’d snapped photos of the kid, so maybe they knew who he was. For his sake, she hoped so. The misunderstanding would all be straightened out eventually, but she was going to be late for her shift.

She’d called her sergeant on the way in to explain, but he hadn’t sounded happy. Shit. She’d been number one in her rookie class and intended to be the highest-performing rookie that had ever entered the Miami-Dade County PD. Missing roll call this soon wouldn’t help with that goal.

So where was a social worker? DCF was notoriously inefficient, but this delay was ridiculous.

She needed to contact her lieutenant, but the kid remained glued to her, his legs hooked around her waist. If she shifted his weight to her other side, she could access her phone in her jog pouch. At least she was getting his body heat. He still insisted on calling her Mommy, which was beyond weird, but the kid was confused. Definitely traumatized.

Maybe Caleb and Adam had drugged him. The kid hadn’t so much as twitched since she’d sat on this hard chair. His breathing sounded ragged, but he was stuffed up from crying. Maybe he’d fallen asleep.

“Jason,” she whispered.

He snuggled deeper into her shoulder and twisted her halter straps tighter. Not asleep.

“Hey. I’m going to move you to the other side, okay? My arm is really tired.”

He raised his head to look at her. “You won’t let go?”

The fear and longing in his voice made Kelly’s breath catch. She had no experience with children.

“No, I won’t let go,” she told him. As if I could. She rubbed his back reassuringly, the way she’d seen mothers do. “I just need to make a phone call. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, and went willingly when she transferred his weight to her left shoulder, which of course now made her right side cold. He placed his hot cheek against her neck and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

Thinking the kid was too old for thumb-sucking, Kelly unzipped the pouch around her waist and withdrew her cell phone. A quick glance told her she didn’t have service. Likely the signal had been blocked.

“Damn,” she muttered and stuffed the phone back inside.

She was a rookie. How much trouble would she be in for missing a shift? She glanced at her watch. Roll call was in thirty minutes.

Maybe it was time to make some noise, attract some attention. She and the kid had been slowly turning into ice for close to an hour. She knew the drill, and someone watched her through the one-way glass on the far wall. She’d never been good at waiting, but had been extremely patient this morning. She was tempted to give her observers the finger, but knew that wouldn’t help anything. And her lieutenant would definitely hear about it.

“How old are you, Jason?” she asked to pass the time.

“Four,” he stated, as if she were very stupid. But of course his mother would know his age.

“Who were those guys you were with?” she asked.

He closed his eyes.

“Did they hurt you?”

“They hit Maria,” he whispered.

“Why did they do that?” Kelly asked, encouraged by his response. Who was Maria? Maybe the kid had recovered enough to give her some answers.

Jason shivered and turned his warm face into her neck.

“Did you know those men, Jason?”

He released a giant sigh, but didn’t say another word.

“Okay, okay,” Kelly said, patting his back. “We don’t have to talk about them.”

The door burst open and four men entered the room. None of them were in uniform. Short hair. Jackets and ties. Feds. DEA? FBI?

“Jason,” someone shouted in a relieved tone.

Kelly focused on the speaker as he rushed toward her, and wondered if her mouth fell open. She stared at a man so impossibly good-looking he belonged on a movie screen or in a magazine. Dark hair, intense dark eyes. His jacket, his slacks—everything about him reeked of money and sophistication. The gold watch on his wrist belonged in a museum.

This god-come-to-earth squatted before Kelly and held out his arms to the kid. “Jason,” he said in a choked voice.

The kid lifted his head but didn’t release his hold on her. If anything, he tightened his grip and glared at the man.

“Jason?” The man shifted his gaze to Kelly, and she felt as if she’d been assaulted by an unseen force. Raw power flowed off him in waves. And arrogance mixed with anger. He didn’t like being denied anything. And who would want to refuse him?

“Who the hell are you?” the god demanded.

“Kelly Jenkins. Who the hell are you?”

His eyes widened in surprise as if she was supposed to know who he was. Maybe he was some big-deal movie star. Maybe she had seen him before, now that she thought about it, but she never had time for movies or TV. His nails were manicured; his leather shoes buffed. His skin was smooth, unlined, as if he’d never experienced a worry in his life.

“Officer Jenkins, this is Trey Wentworth and you’re holding his son, Jason,” one of the suits said.

“Thank goodness,” Kelly said, thinking, yeah, the name rang some bell, one associated with stacks of cash. She attempted to pass the kid to Wentworth.

“No, Mommy,” Jason wailed, and turned his face from his dad.

Wentworth flinched as if the kid had struck him, and rose in a smooth athletic movement.

The feds all exchanged alarmed glances.

Coming to her feet, Kelly asked softly, “Don’t you want to go to your daddy, Jason?”

“No. I want to stay with you, Mommy.”

“But you know I’m not your mommy,” Kelly said.

Jason began to cry again.

Kelly tried to pry his fingers from her clothing and hand Jason over. This kid had a problem far beyond her limited expertise as a rookie cop. He needed serious help, likely a shrink. She felt for the poor little guy. She’d had plenty of experience with shrink stuff.

“Jason, come on,” she said. “Let go.”

“Stop it,” Wentworth ordered.

The force of Wentworth’s command caused everyone in the room to look at him.

Kelly met his furious gaze, and again that strange sensation of raw power flowed over her.

“You’re upsetting him,” Wentworth said. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m upsetting him?”

“Just give him a minute, okay?” Wentworth ran a hand through his perfectly cut hair. “He’s confused. He’s been through a lot.”

Kelly plopped back down in the chair. “Yeah, well, so have I. What’s going on here?”

One of the suits stepped forward. “Officer Jenkins, I’m Special Agent Walt Ballard.”

“FBI?”

“Yes.”

Kelly nodded. “I knew you were a fed.”

“Why don’t you fill us in,” Ballard said. “How did you meet Jason?”

Beginning with her first sight of Jason, Kelly relayed what had occurred in the park.

“You used martial arts to knock a gun out of the man’s hand?” Wentworth interrupted in a shocked voice.

Kelly nodded. “Instinct. These guys were amateurs. I mean, come on, they let a kid get away from them.”

“An amateur could still shoot my son.” Wentworth glared at her as if she were the criminal.

“You’re upset because I kicked the gun from his hand?” Kelly demanded, glaring right back. “So I should have just handed him over to the bad guys?”

“Go on, Officer Jenkins,” Ballard said.

Kelly squared her shoulders and continued, ending with concise descriptions of Caleb and Adam.

“The last I saw them they were hauling ass toward the marina. The Miami PD sent officers after them. I assume this is a kidnapping?”

“Yes,” Ballard replied. “Apparently there was a miscommunication on the drop site.”

Wentworth muttered something about the Keystone Cops.

Ballard turned to Wentworth. “Jason is safe, Mr. Wentworth. Your continued sarcasm isn’t necessary or helpful.”

“Safe?” Wentworth spit out. “He’s clinging to some strange woman I’ve never seen before who almost got him shot, and he thinks he found his mother.”

“Yeah, well, this strange woman likely saved your son’s life.”

“If you had done your job correctly, the way I—”

“Hey, guys.” Kelly shouted over the rising voices. She placed her hand protectively on Jason’s head as he burrowed into her shoulder. His entire body shook with the force of his sobs.

Wentworth whirled on her.

Kelly met his penetrating gaze. “This is so not what this little boy needs right now,” she told him in a quiet voice.

CHAPTER TWO

TREY STRUGGLED TO control his frustration as he watched his precious son—his blessedly alive son—weep on the female cop’s shoulder. Why was he lashing out at Ballard? The angry voices only confused Jason—upset him worse. But the way his son looked at him had pierced him to his core—like everything bad in the world was his daddy’s fault. And maybe it was.

Officer Jenkins murmured soothingly to Jason, and his sobs gradually diminished.

“Gentlemen,” the woman said in a level tone, her hand cupping Jason’s head. “This strange woman is freezing her ass off and really would like someone to call her lieutenant.”

After a long quiet moment, she said, “Please?” in a hopeful tone.

Noting gooseflesh on Jenkins’s long legs, Trey removed his jacket and wrapped it around her and Jason. He took the opportunity to give his son a quick kiss on his flushed cheek before stepping back. Jason’s gaze locked with his briefly before he turned away.

“Thank you,” Jenkins said meaningfully. “You have no idea how much I appreciate that.”

“Of course,” Trey said.

Ballard raised his phone. “Give me a number,” he said. “I’ll explain the situation to your department.”

She gave Ballard the information, and the agent stepped out of the room with his two colleagues, leaving Trey alone with Jenkins and his son. Trey sat in a chair beside them. His son still refused to look at him and sucked on a thumb, something he hadn’t done in a while. Trey rubbed Jason’s back, grateful the agents had left.

“Thank you for rescuing my son,” he told Jenkins.

“You’re welcome.” She glanced down to Jason then carefully mouthed, “Where is his mom?”

“Dead,” Trey mouthed back.

She closed her eyes.

“Hey, buddy,” Trey said. “How are you doing?”

Jason buried his face deeper into the officer’s shoulder.

“Don’t you want to say hello to your daddy?” Officer Jenkins prompted. “I know he’s been very worried about you.”

After a moment, Jason raised his head. “Hi, Daddy,” he said in a small voice.

With a rush of relief, Trey nodded his thanks to Jenkins.

Jason placed his small hand on the woman’s cheek. “Don’t send Mommy away again, Daddy.”

Jenkins’s bright blue eyes widened.

Trey shook his head. “Of course not, buddy,” he soothed. He knew Jason blamed him for his mother going away. He was too young to understand divorce, the accident or Darlene’s death, and right now was crazy mixed-up. He needed time and more therapy to get his memory straight.

Jenkins eyed him suspiciously, probably wondering what he’d done to make the kid act so hostile toward him. God, she likely thought he was some kind of monster. He tried to smile at her reassuringly, but she only narrowed her eyes.

His son had certainly picked the right stranger to help him, and he got why Jason had latched on to her. Definitely pretty, though rough around the edges. Blond hair, blue eyes, tall, slender, all the same as Darlene. When she couldn’t get pharmaceuticals, Darlene used running to control her weight and often took Jason with her in a special stroller. Likely the physical resemblance and the jogging had gotten his son all twisted up. What his daddy needed to do was untwist him without causing more damage.

He needed to get Jason home. If his son fell asleep in his own bed, maybe when he woke up in familiar surroundings he’d be grounded in reality again. Dr. Carico could resume regular therapy. Obviously, they’d cut back on treatment too soon.

The immediate problem was getting him to let go of the female cop. Trey knew he should be grateful to Kelly Jenkins, but couldn’t help but resent the way Jason clung to her. He wished his son would just once demonstrate the same sort of affection toward him. Not likely. Well, no way was he or anybody else wrenching his son away from her. Whatever the reason, this woman made Jason feel safe, and he had to respect that no matter how much it rankled.

How much would it take to convince her to accompany them back to the villa? Probably not much. Cops were notoriously underpaid.

“Listen, Officer Jenkins, I was wondering if you—”

Ballard swept into the room with his entourage and handed his phone to Jenkins. “Your commanding officer wants to speak to you.”

Jenkins held the phone to her ear away from Jason and shifted his son higher on her lap. Trey felt a twinge of sympathy. He knew how heavy a four-year old could get.

“Yes, sir?” she said. “That’s correct, sir. Of course, sir.” After several nods she said, “Thank you, sir,” and handed the phone back to Ballard.

“Are we good?” Ballard said into the phone. “Right. You’ll have my report as soon as it’s completed. Right. Thanks for the cooperation.”

“You’re square?” Ballard asked Jenkins.

“Released from duty for the day thanks to you,” Jenkins said. “But I’m going in as soon as we’re done here. He’s pissed, and I don’t want to be in his shitcan.”

Trey winced at her choice of words.

“Maybe you should take the day,” Ballard suggested.

“Can’t do that,” Jenkins said. “So what now, Mr. Wentworth?”

Jenkins shifted her gaze to Trey, eyebrows raised.

“How would you like a hot shower and some hot food?” Trey asked.

“A hot shower sounds like heaven on earth, but what about your son?”

“Look,” Trey said. “Obviously my son is confused because of the abduction. Forcing him away from you right now will only upset him further, agreed?”

She glanced down at Jason and shrugged. “Yeah, that seems to be the situation.”

“Come with us back to our home. Jason will likely fall asleep on the ride. I can put him to bed, you can have that hot shower, something to eat, and I’ll see that you get home.”

Jenkins shook her head. “Sorry, Mr. Wentworth, but I’m a rookie. My lieutenant isn’t happy, and missing a shift won’t look good on my record.”

“Of course I’ll compensate you for your time. What about a thousand dollars?”

Her startlingly blue eyes widened again. “A thousand dollars?”

“Two? I’m not sure what’s appropriate for your daily wages.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I assure you I’m not. In fact, since we still have the ransom money, I can give you cash right now.”

She stared at him for a long moment. So long he was tempted to look away.

“You don’t have to pay me,” she said finally, a disgusted note in her voice.

He’d insulted her. He hadn’t given the offer much thought, but the woman had saved his son’s life. Of course he’d have to reward her somehow.

“Please,” Trey said. “My son has been through a great deal of turmoil in the last year. All I’m asking is you help me get him home where he’ll feel safe without traumatizing him more.”

She nodded, her jaw set, as if she was about to be tortured. “Okay. Anything to get out of this meat locker.”

“Thank you,” Trey said. He turned to Ballard. “I assume we’re free to go.”

Ballard hesitated, but shrugged. “Yeah, okay. We’ll be in touch.”

“Oh, I just bet you will,” Trey said.

Trey caught a flash of annoyance in Ballard’s eyes, but the agent said, “We’ll find Jason’s kidnappers, Mr. Wentworth. You can count on it.”

“I’m not counting on anything,” Trey replied. “And I’m hiring my own security team to protect my son.”

“That’s your right,” Ballard said, and turned toward the female cop. “Officer Jenkins, I understand why Mr. Wentworth wants to get Jason settled first, but we need you to work with a sketch artist to get a likeness of the kidnappers. And you’ll need to look at a photo lineup to see if either of them has been arrested.”

“I’ll come back after my shift,” she said.

“Not good enough.” Ballard shook his head. “The sooner the better. You know that.”

“Shit,” she muttered.

“Please watch your language around Jason,” Trey said. The woman had a sewer mouth.

She rolled her eyes, but glanced at Jason whose arms remained locked around her neck. “Sorry.”

“What about if we send the artist to Wentworth Villa?” Ballard asked. “The quicker we get the sketch out to the public, the sooner we’ll apprehend Jason’s kidnappers. It’s possible they could leave the area.”

“Sure, whatever,” Trey said. “But right now we’re leaving.” He jerked open the door. “After you, Officer Jenkins.”

* * *

SHIT, SHIT, SHIT. Pissed—and thanks to the kid, she couldn’t even curse out loud—Kelly stomped through the open door, refusing to look at Wentworth. The jerk wasn’t the least appreciative of law enforcement’s efforts to help his son. He insulted her and the FBI at every opportunity. Typical.

She was glad to escape the arctic room, but the last thing she wanted to do was accompany this kid, who weighed a ton, and his arrogant father anywhere. How had this happened to her? She had an interesting assignment today paired with Sergeant Rudy McFadden, who could teach her a lot. She’d been looking forward to backing him up during patrol.

Instead she was on her way to a rich man’s home to do his bidding. She’d managed to remember a few details associated with the Wentworth name. Billionaires, snooty old money. Trey Wentworth, the playboy heir who spent all his time partying, had tried to throw some of that money at her. He thought he could buy her.

Yeah, sure, she agreed this course of action was the best thing for a kid who was beyond screwed up at this point. The abduction had obviously terrified him into fantasyland. And his mom was dead. Kelly patted his back. Poor little thing. How long had his mother been gone? Kelly knew only too well that it didn’t matter how long it’d been; the kid would hurt from that loss forever.

As they walked, Kelly listened to Wentworth’s authoritative voice behind her instructing someone to meet him in front of the police station. Who? She’d assumed the FBI would give them a ride to wherever Wentworth lived. Probably in the penthouse of a waterfront condo on Brickell Avenue, which fortunately wasn’t too far away. She really looked forward to a hot shower and something to eat. And she had to admit it’d be interesting to work with a sketch artist. She’d help however she could to get Adam and Caleb off the streets. That’s why she became a cop.

Dirtbags belonged behind bars.

A blast of hot air enveloped her like an old flannel robe as she exited the police station. Thank goodness. She narrowed her eyes against the bright light. Realizing how tense she’d held herself because of the cold, Kelly consciously relaxed her shoulders. As soon as she thawed out, she’d give Wentworth back his jacket.

A sleek black limousine pulled to a smooth stop in front of the station. A uniformed chauffeur exited, hurried around to the passenger side and opened the door.

“Thanks you, Hans,” Wentworth said.

Kelly stared at the limo. She’d never been inside one before.

“What’s wrong?” Wentworth asked.

“Nothing.” Kelly wrapped both arms around Jason, ducked her head and climbed into the vehicle. No graceful way to do it in running shorts. Facing the front, she planted her almost bare butt in the seat, and ran her palm across supple, luxurious black leather, breathing in its distinctive scent. She noted a bar to her left with two crystal decanters and matching glasses. Certain the amber liquid inside the decanters was some sort of liquor, she wished she could take a long swallow for quick warmth.

Better not. She needed to stay sharp.

Wentworth sat facing her and Jason. He gazed at his son with such longing that her resentment softened just a bit. When the driver shut the door, it instantly became quiet, making Jason’s harsh, erratic breathing very loud.

Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Is he okay?”

“I think his nose is stuffed up from all the crying.”

Wentworth leaned forward and reached his hand inside his coat pocket, his hand brushing against her flesh. She stiffened, but he withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“See if you can get him to blow his nose.”

She dangled it in front of the kid’s face. “Blow your nose, Jason,” she said.

“Hold it close,” Wentworth instructed.

But Jason turned his face away.

Wentworth placed the cloth next to Jason’s nose. “Come on, buddy. Blow for Daddy.”

The kid made a honking sound.

“Again,” Wentworth said.

After several more blows, the kid turned away again, placing his cheek against Kelly’s shoulder with a deep sigh, refusing to look at his father. But his breathing sounded better.

Kelly couldn’t read the expression on Wentworth’s face as he stared out a window. With a start, she realized they were moving. The vehicle was so solid, so quiet, or maybe the driver so expert, she hadn’t been aware that they’d entered traffic.

“Where do you live?” she asked after a few minutes.

“We spent the winter at the family villa on Collins Island.”

Kelly didn’t know what to react to first—the fact that it was currently spring, not winter, or that he had a villa, no less, on a private island accessible only by boat. No one could get on or off Collins Island without permission from an owner who resided on the Forbes Best or Most Whatever list.

Wentworth brushed lint off his trousers. “Jason has been receiving therapy from a child psychiatrist associated with Miami Children’s Hospital, so we stayed on this year.”

She nodded. So the kid had already been screwed up before the kidnapping.

“Have you called his doctor?” Kelly asked. “To let him know what’s going on?”

“Her,” Wentworth said. “Dr. Carico has rearranged her schedule and will meet with Jason this afternoon.”

“Good,” Kelly said. “That should help get him straightened out.”

“God, I hope so,” Wentworth muttered, glancing back to his son, then meeting her gaze. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I told Hans not to turn on the AC back here.”

“Thanks,” Kelly said. “I’m comfortable now. Do you want your jacket?”

Wentworth smiled. “I’m fine. And I don’t want to disturb Jason. I think he’s fallen asleep.”

Kelly gazed down at the kid. His breathing was regular, although still too loud, and his body had relaxed into slumber.

“You’re right,” she whispered. “That’s probably the best thing for him.”

“Maybe not,” Wentworth said. “He has bad dreams.”

“Nightmares can’t be worse than the reality of a kidnapping,” Kelly said.

“You’d think not.”

Wentworth lapsed into silence after that cryptic statement, and Kelly leaned her head against the plush seat back. The adrenaline rush of the encounter with Adam and Caleb, plus the misery of the cold room, had drained her usual energy. She closed her eyes, feeling the easy rush of pavement beneath the limo’s eight tires. A far smoother ride than her own compact car. Like floating on air.

She woke when the limo came to a stop at the ferry landing for Collins Island. Jason remained sound asleep. And so was her arm beneath him. She wiggled her fingers. Pain shot up to her shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Wentworth asked. “You just made a horrible face.”

Well, excuse me, Mr. Billionaire. We certainly can’t have that. Apparently high-class people didn’t do anything so gauche as have pained facial expressions.

“My arm is numb. I don’t want to wake him, but I have to move him.”

“Just transfer him to your other shoulder. He might rouse for a second, but he’ll fall right back to sleep.”

“Ouch,” Kelly said as icy needles assaulted her arm.

Wentworth leaned forward and efficiently moved the kid to her right shoulder. Jason fussed for a few breaths, then eased into sleep again.

“Thanks,” Kelly said, knowing she made another face as blood rushed into her left arm.

“I should be thanking you, Officer Jenkins. I know this is an imposition for you to remain with my son like this. We’re total strangers to you.”

“It’s my job to protect and serve,” she said, trying to make a joke. And remind him that she was law enforcement no matter how unprofessional she appeared in her skimpy jogging outfit.

Wentworth didn’t crack a smile, only evaluated her with his intense dark stare. “This might be a little above and beyond your normal duty.”

“A little.” Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked out the tinted windows and noted the ferry had pushed away from the dock. Wow. She was on her way to Collins Island. Imagine that. She’d always been curious about the legendary place. Most everyone in Miami was, but few ever got to see a Shangri-La reserved for that special one percent.

“I apologize if I insulted you by offering you money,” Wentworth said in a low voice. “Please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. “A hot shower will be more than enough reward.”

“Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he said, and smiled a lazy, somehow dangerous smile. This man was accustomed to getting his own way and doing exactly what he wanted. How nice for him.

But she didn’t want anything from him.

Wentworth gazed out at the water, apparently lost in thought.

Kelly followed his gaze and noted they already approached the island’s dock. Short trip, but they only had to cross the narrow channel known as Government Cut.

Before long they motored off the ferry and reached a pair of towering wrought iron gates with the initials “WWV” inscribed at the top in a handsome flowing script. A decorative iron barrier surrounded the estate.

As the gates swung open, Trey focused his attention on his son again. “We’re home. Let’s try not to wake him.”

Kelly nodded.

The passenger compartment door opened after the driver stopped the limo. Kelly carefully shifted Jason so she could support him with both arms as she climbed out of the vehicle. Trey exited first and held out his hand to assist her, but she was afraid to release the kid who was dead weight in her arms.

Thankfully, she made it out without stumbling, and hoped she didn’t gape at the size of the structure before her. Villa indeed. Architecture was hardly her thing, but she recognized good design when it slammed her in the face. Wentworth’s home reminded her of photos she’d seen of estates in Tuscany. Coral roof tiles, classic columns and graceful arches made her think there might be a vineyard somewhere close by instead of the Atlantic Ocean.

She hefted the still-sleeping kid into a better position, and trudged up white marble steps toward the arched entranceway. Wentworth moved ahead with long easy strides and opened a massive door with the “WWV” monogram carved into the rich, dark wood. Inside, the first thing she noticed was the pleasant sound of a gurgling fountain in the corner.

The second thing she noticed was that the Wentworths’ villa was almost as cold as the police station. She could hardly wait for that hot shower.

“Let me take Jason,” Wentworth whispered. “I’ll put him down and get you settled.”

“Thanks,” Kelly said. Maybe she needed to increase her reps in weight training.

But Jason roused when she transferred the kid to his father. As he realized what was happening to him, he struggled to escape Wentworth’s grasp.

“No, Daddy! No,” the kid screeched. He reached his arms back toward Kelly. “I want Mommy.”

Kelly sighed and accepted him back. Jason wrapped his arms around her neck and linked his feet around her waist.

“Show me his bedroom,” she said, averting her gaze from the tight expression on Wentworth’s face.

A uniformed Hispanic woman whose left eye was swollen and bruised appeared in the marbled foyer, apparently alerted by Jason’s shrieks.

“Jasonito,” she exclaimed. Hurrying forward, she made the sign of the cross on her chest. “Gracias a dios.”

“Hello, Maria,” Wentworth said.

Kelly evaluated Maria. Dark hair and eyes, round face, five two, early thirties. Was this Jason’s nanny? The kid said the kidnappers struck someone named Maria, and this woman sported a nasty black eye.

“Welcome home, Mr. Wentworth,” Maria said. “So the ransom exchange went well?” she said in a hopeful tone.

“No,” Wentworth said. “But Jason is home safe, thanks to Officer Jenkins here. Officer Jenkins, this is Maria, my housekeeper and Jason’s nanny.”

“Please call me Kelly,” she said, tired of the formality.

“What happened?” Maria asked.

“I’ll explain later,” Wentworth said. “Right now we need to get Jason down for a nap.”

“Of course,” Maria said, reaching for the kid.

“No,” Jason whined, tightening his legs. “No!”

“Jasonito?” Maria asked in a hurt voice.

“I’m sorry,” Kelly said to Maria. “I’m his safety blanket right now.”

“Maria, please ready a guest room so Kelly can take a shower.”

“Of course, sir.” She swiped away a tear, bowed and left the foyer.

“Follow me,” Wentworth told Kelly.

The room she hurried through was a blur of white marble, dramatic, subtly lit angles and well-made furnishings, again mostly white. No place for a kid to play, that’s for sure.

They ascended a grand, sweeping staircase and entered a bedroom that had to be Jason’s because an artist, and a pretty good one, had decorated the walls with cartoon characters, colorful balloons and pretty flowers, creating a cheerful space for a child.

Kelly spotted an elaborate bed designed to look like an airplane and moved toward it. Wentworth turned back the bedspread, and she gratefully placed Jason onto crisp, pale blue sheets.

He turned on his side, reached out and grasped her hand. “Don’t leave, Mommy,” he begged.

“Okay,” she said, suspecting the kid would be back asleep within minutes.

Wentworth moved a plush chair close to Jason’s bed, and Kelly sat. “Thanks,” she murmured. “I’ll just wait here until he conks out again.”

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.”

“You’re sure that’s the whole story?” Brian asked.

“The Miami Police corroborate her version, and they interviewed bystanders,” Trey replied. “Why?”

“Like I said, bizarre. Where is this woman now?”

“Upstairs with Jason. She’ll join us for lunch when he falls asleep.”

“So you’ve allowed this stranger into your home? Is that wise?”

“I didn’t have much choice without sending Jason into full-out hysterics. I couldn’t do that to him.”

“I’d like to talk to her with you present,” Brian said. “See if she tells the story the same way twice.” He removed his glasses and tapped them on his cheek. “I’d also like to run a background check on her.”

“She’s a police officer. As soon I feed her, she’ll be out of our lives.”

“Maybe.”

Trey shrugged. “Whatever you think. What’s that?” Trey nodded to the document in Brian’s lap.

“Part of the reason for my caution. This is a demand letter from Darlene’s father—or rather Darlene’s father’s new attorney.” Brian handed Trey the paper over the desk.

“My ex-wife didn’t have a father.”

“Oh, she had one. He just wasn’t in her life following conception. One Jeff Lawson just got out of prison, found out who the bundle of joy he never laid eyes on married, and thinks—like his daughter before him—why not dip into the deep Wentworth pot for a little extra spending money.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Trey stared at the letter in outrage. Lawson’s attorney, a sole practitioner, had a post office box for an address.

“Don’t worry about it. I had to tell you, but it’s nothing but a nuisance, a bottom-feeder lawyer making some noise. I’ll deal with it.”

Trey sat back and closed his eyes. “Yeah, please handle it. Right now I’ve got to focus on Jason.”

“Carico is good. She’ll get Jase straightened out.”

“I hope so,” Trey said. The phone rang, and Trey checked caller ID, surprised to see his father’s private number. Was he actually taking time to check on Jason?

“Excuse me,” Trey told Brian. “It’s my father.”

Brian stood. “I’ll check on lunch.”

“Hi, Dad,” Trey said into the phone.

“Trey. I got your message. Excellent news.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I trust you’ll make certain Jason is better protected from now on.”

Trey didn’t respond. His dad never missed an opportunity to get in a dig. This one was a low blow, but better not to react.

“I hope you haven’t forgotten the Alzheimer’s benefit,” his father continued.

“What did you say?”

“You’re scheduled to appear at The Turf Club tonight.”

Trey closed his eyes. No way could he attend a formal party now. The idea sickened him. How typical that his father expected him to go.

“Sorry, Dad. Under the circumstances, I won’t be able to make it. I’ll send regrets and a large check.”

After a long silence, his father cleared his throat. “Hundreds of very expensive tickets were sold based on your appearance. The Wentworth name is all over this event.”

“Dad—”

“Don’t let the family down, Trey. Jason is fine. He’ll likely sleep the night through.”

“How do you know Jason is fine?”

“He’s home, isn’t he? Just put in a brief appearance, shake a few hands and down a few glasses of champagne. It’s your job, son. I expect you to attend.”

And with that his father disconnected.

Trey smothered a curse and replaced the receiver. What made him think this time his father would demonstrate some normal human emotion?

So he was going to The Turf Club tonight. Putting on a cheerful smile and glad-handing strangers was impossible. How would he get through the evening? He didn’t want to go, but this was the unholy deal he’d made with his father, the only sure way to protect his mother. A deal that had never chafed worse than right now.

What if Jason were still missing? Would his father still expect him to put on a tux and promote Wentworth Industries?

What the hell. He’d make it quick. He wouldn’t sleep tonight anyway without a sedative, and he didn’t want to take one. Jason might wake up and need him.

* * *

WHEN CERTAIN JASON was asleep, Kelly slipped her hand from under his limp fingers and tiptoed toward the door where she flipped off the overhead light. A small nightlight in the shape of a green frog glowed dimly, and a bit of sun filtered in through the windows, so the room wouldn’t be totally black if he awoke.

As she eased the door shut, Kelly wondered if Jason was afraid of the dark.

Carrying a pile of thick towels, Maria waited in the hallway and offered a shy smile. “Is Jasonito asleep?” she asked.

“For now,” Kelly said, wincing at Maria’s discolored face. “You were with him when he was taken, right?”

Maria’s smile disappeared. “Yes. We were at the park. I tried to stop them, but they—” She raised her hand to her swollen eye. “I could not protect him. That must be why he is mad at me.”

“I don’t think he’s mad at you,” Kelly soothed. “He’s just a mixed-up kid right now.”

Maria glanced at the door. “He is sweet boy.”

“Yeah, he is,” Kelly said. Although damned heavy.

“Thank God he is home safe. Thank you for rescuing him.”

“Just doing my job,” Kelly said.

At those words, Maria roused herself. “Let me show you to your room.”

Following Maria down the hall, Kelly thought of her own mother, something that didn’t happen often lately. Was it the way the housekeeper moved? Kelly’s mom had worked as a maid for most of her life. When she was sober enough to hold a job, that is. But never in a grand house like this, Kelly thought bitterly. Usually fleabag motels—where she’d turn the occasional trick if the opportunity arose.

They entered a large bedroom where again the theme was mostly white, although the furnishings, including a desk, provided pleasing splashes of dark brown. A wooden frame without a curtain surrounded a huge bed overflowing with plump, carefully arranged pillows. Arching white orchids perched on bedside tables. Kelly’s gaze was drawn beyond the flowers to windows on either side of the bed and a spectacular view of blue-green water in the distance. The Atlantic Ocean.

Maria placed the towels on the bed and stepped to a closet where she slid open doors and withdrew a—of course—white terry cloth robe. Maria handed Kelly the robe, and motioned toward a door that Kelly guessed led to the bathroom. “After you shower, please come downstairs. Lunch will be waiting.”

“Thanks,” Kelly said.

Maria moved to one of the side tables, opened a door and withdrew a glass bottle.

“In case you are thirsty,” Maria said, presenting the bottle to Kelly. “Help yourself to whatever is in the refrigerator.”

“Thanks again.” Kelly twisted off the cap and took a long drink of chilled water with a refreshing lemon flavor.

“Por nada,” Maria said. “It’s nothing.”

With a slight bow, Maria exited, closing the door behind her, and Kelly released a sigh. Had she fallen down a rabbit hole today, or what? She grabbed the robe, draped it over her shoulders and stepped to a window to check out the view.

Wow. Yeah, the white-capped ocean took her breath away, but the huge pool, surrounded by towering palm trees swaying in the breeze, was equally spectacular. Swimming was her favorite form of exercise, but hard to manage with her schedule.

Yeah, right. Mr. Trey Wentworth would have no problem with her making herself right at home with a dip in his pool.

What a paradise. Wondering just how big this so-called villa was, she shook her head as she imagined the cost to maintain this palace. She couldn’t wait to tell Lana and Patrice, two of her fellow rookies, about her adventure into billionaire-land.

But first she needed to shower, warm up and get out of here. Kelly grabbed a towel from the bed and hurried into the bathroom, where the tasteful luxury made it a perfect place to dreamily soak your troubles away.

Under different circumstances. Get moving, rookie.

Kelly stepped to the shower and swiveled on the water. She placed the robe on the gleaming marble counter, removed her running shoes and socks, then stripped and stepped through a mist of steam into a strong stream of hot water. Finally. Relishing the warmth, she turned her back to the cascade and on the other wall spotted another set of nozzles. Wondering what would happen, she turned those on, too, and soon jets of delicious heat seeped into her muscles from front and rear.

She washed her hair with shampoo from a pump container conveniently built into the wall, and then rinsed it with a silky conditioner that released the same citrus fragrance. She lathered all over with a shower gel that left her skin soft and smooth.

She emerged from the shower a new woman, relaxed and ready to tackle any problem. After drying off, she enfolded her warm, happy body with the robe, cinched the tie and realized she had to put back on the same damp clothing she’d arrived in.

Maybe Wentworth would loan her some sweats.

Kelly found a comb next to the sink, ran it through her shoulder length hair, and then used the blow dryer to take her hair from soaking to damp. All the amenities of a hotel. Except a toothbrush, so she rinsed her mouth with the lemon water and exited the bath to find several sets of shorts and polo shirts laid out on the bed.

Well, how about that. A quick check told her Wentworth had guessed her size correctly. Or, anyway, he’d managed to narrow it down to two choices. The man obviously knew his way around a woman’s body. His thoughtfulness elevated her opinion of him.

Was he considerate or just didn’t want her walking around looking sloppy? She frowned at her thoughts. She was being judgmental, and she was way too relaxed for that.

Not to mention too hungry.

As she loosened the robe’s tie to change into the new clothes, Kelly heard a commotion in the hallway and turned toward the door. Someone was stampeding past the door.

“Mommy!” she heard Jason scream. “Mommy! Where are you?”

What the hell?

Kelly stepped into the hall and spotted the kid running furiously in the direction of the staircase screaming for his mother.

“Jason,” she said. “Here I am.”

The kid turned, spotted her and reversed direction.

“Mommy,” he shrieked.

She tried to brace herself, but Jason launched himself into the air, grabbing her around her hips, and she lost her footing.

Kelly twisted so she took the force of the fall. As her butt landed on the marble floor, she protected Jason’s head by holding it against her soft middle with both hands. Kid was screwed up enough already.

“Ooomph,” she heard herself say as she hit the floor. Pain shot through her hip, but she tightened her abs to prevent her own skull from slamming down. Out of breath, she lay still for a moment and stared at the ceiling as she assessed her body for damage.

So much for my relaxing shower.

She felt cool air where she shouldn’t at the same time she heard noises from Jason, and raised her head to gaze down to where she cradled him against her abdomen. Her bare abdomen. Damn. The robe had come open. Her breasts were exposed. Talk about a wardrobe malfunction.

Jason lifted his cheek and their gazes met. He grinned and began to giggle. Thanks a lot, kid.

But it was the first time she’d seem him smile and this was ridiculous. A laugh bubbled up from Kelly’s chest. She needed to cover herself, but the robe had slid off her shoulders and the terrycloth was all tangled beneath her.

“God, are you two all right?”

Kelly’s gaze snapped toward the demanding male voice. Trey Wentworth stood frozen at the end of the hallway wearing a horrified expression. He saw everything.

Releasing a breath, she closed her eyes. This day just kept getting worse and worse.

* * *

TREY WATCHED AS Kelly leaped to her feet and hurriedly secured the front of the robe. Jason reached his arms up, and she hefted him onto her hip.

“That was fun, Mommy,” he said.

Trey hurried down the hall toward them doubting if she agreed. He couldn’t help but notice she’d deliberately taken the brunt of the fall, protecting his son.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, her face a healthy pink, unable to meet his gaze.

Trey shifted his gaze to his grinning son. “Jason, it’s not nice to knock people down.”

His smile faded. “Sorry, Daddy. I woke up and got scared ’cause I couldn’t find Mommy.”

Trey evaluated his son. He hadn’t slept long enough to clear his head, and most likely he’d experienced troubling dreams again. Maybe Dr. Carico could give him a sedative and ensure he slept through the night.

“No harm done,” Jenkins said. “Except to my dignity.”

“I’ll bet you end up with a nasty bruise.”

“Maybe,” she said. “Hey, thanks for the clothes. Much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome. Lunch is waiting,” Trey said. “Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

Jason grumbled when she returned him to the floor, so Trey stepped forward and took his hand. “Let’s go eat, Jase. Mommy needs to get dressed.”

Jason frowned, remaining stubbornly in place. “Why can’t we stay with Mommy while she gets dressed?”

Trey glanced to Kelly. When their gazes collided, an unexpected arc of awareness shot between them. Yeah, he’d definitely like to watch her get dressed. Her breasts were magnificent. Perfectly formed and completely natural, a rare thing among the women in his social circle. He wouldn’t mind confirming the rest of her body was just as stunning.

“I’ll be right there, Jason,” she promised, breaking the moment. “Just give me a minute, okay.”

“Greta made your favorite sandwich just for you,” Trey said, wondering where his inappropriate thoughts had come from.

“Peanut butter and jelly?” Jason asked in a hopeful voice.

“Yes.”

“Grape jelly?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Trey breathed a sigh of relief as Jason scampered toward the stairs. “Grape works every time,” he told Kelly. “We’ll see you downstairs.”

“Sure,” she said, and disappeared inside the guest room. Trey followed Jase downstairs, his thoughts returning to Kelly’s body. He’d also noticed an old burn mark near her collar bone. Its shape suggested someone had ground a lit cigarette into her flesh.

He shook his head, not wanting to think about how much that must have hurt. “Uncle Brian!” Jason spotted Brian and ran across the room toward the attorney, his arms extended wide. “Airplane ride.”

Smiling at his son’s display of normal childhood enthusiasm, Trey dismissed thoughts of Kelly Jenkins’s possibly troubled past. He had enough problems to worry about and didn’t need to add hers to his pile.

Making whooshing sounds as if he were a flying airplane, Brian swept a giggling Jason high into the air, and then placed him back on the floor.

“Ready for some lunch?” Brian asked.

Jason nodded and they moved into the dining room where Greta had laid out a buffet of sandwiches, a tureen of soup, cut melon and fresh cookies. Dr. Donna Carico sat at the huge thick glass table speaking on her cell phone with an untouched sandwich before her. She looked up when Jason ran into the room and terminated her call.

Trey nodded at the doctor, knowing she’d had to reschedule appointments. “Thanks for coming, Donna.”

She nodded back, and a troubled smile crossed her face as Jason sat down beside her. “Hey, Jason,” she said.

“Hi, Dr. Donna.”

Trey thought Jason sounded shy. Their eyes met briefly, but then Jason turned back to the doctor.

“Are you here to talk to me?” Jason asked.

“Yes, sir. If you want to talk to me.”

Jason shrugged and focused on his sandwich. He took a bite. Then another. “Okay,” he mumbled around the bread in his mouth and held out his hand to the doctor.

Trey relaxed. Jason was willing to talk to his therapist, so maybe Donna could make some progress. Trey was beginning to doubt the wisdom of carrying on the charade that Kelly was his son’s mother. Perhaps the longer that went on, the harder it would be for Jason to face reality.

Maybe the break should be a clean one. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

Donna accepted Jason’s offered hand, and the two left the room to go to Jason’s play room where they usually spoke. Dr. Carico would know the best way to proceed. He’d filled her in on the tumultuous morning during their phone call.

Trey nodded at Greta who hovered by the door in case she was needed. “Please take their lunch to them in the play room.”

As Greta gathered the plates, a fully dressed Kelly Jenkins entered the dining room looking as if she were on her way to play nine holes on the Collins Island course. Stunned by the transformation, Trey came to his feet and had to jerk his gaze away from her long, tanned legs. Her blond hair hung loosely around her shoulders, framing a pretty but serious face. She cleaned up nice, an old saying of his mother’s, filtered through his brain. The only thing that spoiled the image was her filthy running shoes.

He noticed Brian was also on his feet and openly checking her out.

“Brian, please meet my son’s savior, Officer Kelly Jenkins. Kelly, this is my attorney, Brian Howell.”

She stepped forward and pumped Brian’s hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Brian said. “I understand you’re quite the heroine.”

“Just doing my job,” she said.

“Do you feel better?” Trey asked. “At least warmer?”

“Much better,” she said, her focus on the buffet. “I heard something about lunch?”

“Please help yourself,” Trey said.

“Thanks.”

She piled two sandwiches, a huge mound of melon and three oatmeal cookies onto a plate. Next she scooped a ladle of steaming minestrone from the tureen and sniffed it. Apparently deciding the mix was satisfactory, she poured the thick liquid into a small bowl, sat at the table and took a giant bite from a turkey sandwich. She kept her eyes down, chewed quickly and didn’t speak.

As Trey watched her, he thought she seemed protective of her food, worried someone might take it away.

He glanced at Brian and found his friend also staring at Kelly’s strange behavior. Their gazes met, and Brian shook his head.

As if sensing the scrutiny, Kelly looked up. She swallowed the food in her mouth and asked, “What?”

“Nothing,” Trey said.

“Are you from the south Florida area?” Brian asked.

“Born and raised.”

“Where did you go to high school?”

“Why?”

Brian shrugged. “Just curious. We’re about the same age, and I’m also from Miami.”

“We didn’t go to the same school,” Kelly stated.

“How long have you been a police officer?” Brian asked.

Kelly narrowed her eyes at Brian. “Is this an interrogation or something, Mr. Lawyer?”

Brian sighed. “I was hoping you could tell me what happened in the park with Jason and the kidnappers.”

“You can read the police report,” Kelly said. “I’ve told the story at least ten times, and I’m not going over it again with you now.”

Brian held up his hands in surrender.

“Where’s Jason?” Kelly asked.

“Talking to his therapist,” Trey said.

“Excellent,” Kelly said, and resumed eating. To his surprise, she finished both sandwiches, all the fruit and started on the soup, loudly slurping the still-hot liquid from her spoon.

Trey nibbled at his own sandwich, wondering where she learned her table manners and why she was so prickly about her background. He understood why she didn’t want to go over her confrontation with the kidnappers again, and had to laugh at the expression on Brian’s face when she shut him down. Not many people had the nerve to speak to Brian Howell that way.

“Well, I’m definitely full,” Kelly said after a few minutes, gazing regretfully at her untouched cookies. “Thanks for lunch, but I really need to get going.”

“You can take the cookies with you,” Trey said, relieved the complication of Kelly Jenkins was soon to be over and she’d be out of his life. And his son’s life.

She bit her lip, and he could tell she considered grabbing the cookies, but shook her head and rose. “That’s okay. You’ll make sure I get home, right?”

“Of course,” Trey said. He nodded at Greta who had returned to her post. “Please summon Hans.”

Trey turned to Kelly again. “Officer Jenkins, thank you. I can’t express how grateful I am for your assistance with my son.”

“No problem.”

Trey smiled. Why did people politely say “No problem,” when there actually was a problem? Rescuing his son had created chaos for this woman. He could tell she was uncomfortable even now.

“How will I get these clothes back to you?” she asked.

“There’s no need for that. Please accept them as a very small token of appreciation.”

She hesitated, but said, “Okay.”

Maria appeared at the door holding a small bag. “Officer Jenkins, this is your clothing. I laundered it for you, but it might still be a little damp.”

“Thanks, Maria,” Trey said, relieved there’d be no excuse for Kelly Jenkins to reappear in his world. Although, frankly, she seemed to be in as big a hurry to escape as he was to see her go.

“Should I say goodbye to Jason?” Kelly asked, looking from Trey to Brian.

“Don’t you think it would be better if you left without him knowing?” Trey said. “He might get upset.”

“But what will he do when he learns I’m gone?”

“He’s with his therapist. Dr. Carico will handle any problems.”

“Better to make a clean break,” she said with a nod, echoing his earlier thoughts.

“I’m glad you agree.”

Trey accompanied her to the foyer, and they stepped outside where Hans waited beside the limo.

“Thanks again,” Trey said.

“Sure.” Kelly hurried down the steps with a backward wave. She bent over to enter the limo when a blur dashed past him.

“Mommy,” Jason shrieked.

Trey reached for his son but missed.

Out of breath, Dr. Carico appeared beside Trey. “He wanted me to meet her. He really believes this woman is his mother.”

Trey watched in horror as Jason threw his arms around Kelly’s legs, surprising her, knocking her off balance again.

But she recovered without falling, and knelt to speak with him.

Trey and Dr. Carico hurried down the steps.

“I’m so sorry,” Dr. Carico told Kelly.

“Come on, buddy,” Trey said. “Mommy has got to go.”

Sobbing, Jason buried his face in Kelly’s shoulder and clasped his hands around her neck. “Take me with you, Mommy,” he pleaded. “Please.”

CHAPTER FOUR

MURMURING SOOTHING SOUNDS, Kelly placed the still-sobbing Jason back in his airplane bed. She knelt, not letting go of his warm sticky fingers. Dr. Carico moved beside them and quickly administered an injection into his upper arm. The child didn’t react to the prick of the needle.

“He’ll be out soon,” the doctor said softly.

Kelly nodded, her attention focused on the child, stroking damp hair away from his flushed face. Unbearably sad blue eyes stared into hers. Poor little dude.

“Don’t go,” he whispered.

“I’m right here,” Kelly said.

He heaved a sigh, closed his eyes and within a minute or two his breathing grew steady. He didn’t rouse when she released his hand.

Feeling older than her sergeant, she came to her feet and faced Carico who stared at her now sleeping patient with a worried frown.

“Maybe I should have sedated him earlier, but he seemed fine.”

“He’s fine until I leave his sight,” Kelly said. “Now what?”

“He’ll sleep the rest of the night.”

“Will his head be straight when he wakes up in the morning?”

Carico met Kelly’s gaze. “I don’t know.”

“At least you admit it.” Kelly looked away from the question in Carico’s probing gaze. What did these people expect her to do? Sure, she felt bad for the little dude—the kid was in a very bad place—but she wasn’t anybody’s mother. And she had a career to get back to.

“Let’s go downstairs and talk to Trey,” Carico suggested.

Kelly followed the doctor down the elegant stairs, across the marbled living room into the dining room where Wentworth and his lawyer pal sat at the massive glass banquet table deep in conversation. Lunch had been cleared, but they each held a graceful crystal glass full of red wine. An array of cheese and crackers worthy of being on a magazine cover sat between them, along with the open wine bottle.

Well, it’s five o’clock somewhere.

With a start, she realized it was after 6:00 p.m. Where had the time gone? The sun would soon set on the most surreal day of her life. Not the most frightening, but definitely the strangest.

Wentworth glared at her with an expression so full of resentment she squared her shoulders. Did the jerk blame her for this fiasco? Geez. Like it was her fault Jason preferred a stranger’s comfort to his father’s.

“How is Jason?” Wentworth asked.

“Asleep,” Carico said. “And he’ll stay that way the rest of the night.”

“Good.” Wentworth nodded. “Would you like some wine?”

“No,” Carico replied as she seated herself. “Thanks, but I have a meeting later that I can’t miss.” Glancing at her watch, she added, “In fact, I’ll have to go soon. The ferry is crowded this time of day.”

“Kelly?” Wentworth asked.

“Wine sounds great,” Kelly said, taking a seat across from Wentworth at the table.

A plump blonde woman who’d been lurking at the door rushed in and placed a clean wineglass on the table.

“Thank you, Greta,” Wentworth said. He dribbled wine into the new glass, then pushed it across the table toward Kelly.

“Thanks.” She took a swallow, surprised to find the taste wasn’t sweet like the crap she usually drank. She swirled the liquid in the glass like she’d seen on television and took another sip. Not bad actually. This must be what the wino experts called dry, and no doubt more expensive than anything she’d ever swilled in her life.

She lowered the glass and found Wentworth staring at her, along with his lawyer and his son’s shrink.

The lawyer cleared his throat. “We seem to have a situation here.”

“No shit,” Kelly blurted, and immediately regretted her choice of words. At least the kid was upstairs snoozing.

During an awkward silence, Carico helped herself to several slices of cheese and crackers and placed the food on an elegant white plate. When she resumed her seat, Kelly met her gaze. The shrink narrowed her eyes and nodded, as if she’d arrived at some sort of conclusion.

“What do you think, Donna?” Wentworth asked.

“The kidnapping made Jason regress,” Carico said. “That was to be expected.”

Wentworth nodded. “Is there a possibility he’ll continue to think Officer Jenkins is his mother when he wakes up?”

“I can’t answer that question. We’ll have to wait and see.”

“Is there any chance he’s making this up, that he knows this woman isn’t his mother?” Wentworth asked.

Kelly took a sip of her wine to cover a snort. Wentworth was clueless. He’d seen Jason’s reactions. How could anyone possibly think the little dude was playacting?

“Not from what I’ve observed,” the doctor said, shaking her head.

“Have you ever seen anything like this before?” the lawyer asked.

“I’ve never treated a patient with this kind of transference, but I’ve read about it. It’s rare.”

“Transference?” Kelly asked.

“In therapy, transference usually happens when a patient projects their feelings or thoughts about one person onto their analyst. The analyst comes to represent some person from the patient’s past, and it can provide a useful window of information about what a patient desires or wishes to avoid.”

“Jason desires his mother to be back,” Wentworth said.

Carico nodded. “The abduction traumatized him, made him long desperately for his mom to protect him. When he spotted Officer Jenkins, who physically resembles his absent mother, he latched on to the idea she’d returned to save him. A mental defense mechanism created by a terrified child.”

“Jason knows his mother is dead,” Wentworth said.

“But can a four-year-old truly understand the finality of death?” Carico asked gently.

Kelly stared into her wineglass. She’d seen her mother everywhere for years after her murder. And she’d been thirteen, a teenager who definitely understood the meaning of death.

“Plus, in our sessions, Jason mentioned his mom used to take him with her jogging.”

“The healthiest thing she ever did,” Wentworth said, in a tone full of sarcasm.

Kelly glanced at Wentworth. Definitely not too fond of his late wife.

“Jason’s symptoms also vaguely remind me of conversion hysteria,” Carico continued, frowning. “But usually in such cases there is a physical ailment, such as blindness or paralysis, that develops. I intend to do a lot of research.”

Wentworth leaned forward. “Whatever it takes.”

Carico flashed Wentworth such a brilliant smile that Kelly almost choked. What was up with that? Did the good doctor have the hots for her patient’s father?

“But the gorilla in the room is what do we do about Officer Jenkins,” Carico said.

Kelly met the shrink’s direct gaze and didn’t like what she saw. Uh-oh. No question she was going to hate what came next.

“After careful consideration,” Carico said, “it is my opinion that Kelly should be available when Jason wakes up. Just in case.”

* * *

TREY CLOSED HIS eyes to block out the outraged expression on Kelly’s face. She obviously didn’t like the idea of hanging around. Hell, he didn’t want her here, either. He’d hoped to be rid of her, but what choice did he have when Donna recommended she remain?

Jason needed her.

“Just in case what?” Brian asked. “I think we need to be clear here.”

“In case Jason becomes agitated that his mother is gone again,” Donna said. “You’ve seen how he reacts when Kelly attempts to leave. His personality is extremely fragile because of everything he’s been through. We don’t want to push him into a full-blown episode of hysteria. From what I saw earlier, he was very close, and that could be quite damaging, perhaps take years to recover from.”

“I have to agree,” Brian said. “I’ve never seen any child react the way he did when we tried to separate him from Officer Jenkins.”

“What concerns me most is how he stiffened his limbs,” Donna said. “That’s a symptom of catatonia. We want to avoid pushing him into such a dangerous state.”

Remembering the sight of Jason’s rigid body when he tried to separate him from Officer Jenkins, Trey stared into his wine. What was happening to his son? Even with all his resources, he was helpless to prevent Jason’s downward spiral.

“Come on, guys. You can’t expect me to stay here,” Kelly said, her gaze shifting around the table.

“I know it would be a tremendous imposition, but couldn’t you remain just one night?” Donna said. “I’ve done it several times, and this villa is quite comfortable.”

“You can stay in the guest room you used earlier,” Trey said. “I’ll place my staff at your disposal.”

“No way,” Kelly said. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“I’ll have Hans drive you to your station in the morning.”

“Roll call is at ten a.m. What if Jason isn’t awake by then?”

Donna smiled. “You obviously aren’t familiar with little boys. I’m certain he will be up long before that.”

Kelly shook her head. “But what if we’re just putting off the inevitable? What if he gets hysterical when I leave in the morning?”

“We’ll deal with that possibility then,” Donna said.

“Will you be here to do that?” Kelly demanded.

“Yes. Trey has asked me to return to evaluate his condition.”

Trey nodded when Donna shot him a smile. Thank God for Donna. Anything to convince the cop to stay. He understood she had a life, but how could she refuse to help a frightened child? Was she heartless?

“If Jason doesn’t settle down, my recommendation will be to treat him in-patient,” Dr. Carico said. “I’ve consulted several colleagues, and they all recommend institutionalization. Trey wants to avoid that at all costs.”

Kelly released a sigh. “Yeah, I get that.”

“When she was alive, Jason’s mother left him with nannies all the time,” Trey said, relieved Kelly appeared to be softening. He couldn’t force her to stay, and he’d already insulted her once by offering payment. “I think he’ll understand your need to go to work.”

“Did his mom work?” Kelly asked.

“Not after we married, but she attended a lot of luncheons.”

Kelly’s mouth tightened. “This is nuts.”

“He’s a scared, confused little boy,” Trey said. “And I’m only asking for one night.”

She shook her head and stared at the cheese tray. “I’d have to swing by my apartment in the morning to get my uniform.”

“That’s not a problem,” Trey said. “Like I said, whatever it takes.”

“All right,” Kelly said, throwing up her arms in surrender. “I’m not convinced it’s the right thing to do, but I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” Trey said, putting as much meaning into the words as he could muster. “Please feel free to make yourself at home while you’re here.”

The cop looked interested in that idea, but before she could ask a question, Maria appeared at the door to the dining room, uncharacteristically twisting her apron in both hands. Jason’s condition was hard on everyone in the house.

“The police are here with a sketch artist,” she said. “They want to work with Officer Jenkins.”

“Of course,” Trey said. “Show them to the solarium.”

“Damn,” Kelly murmured, coming to her feet. “I forgot about that.”

“So I guess it’s good you didn’t leave,” Trey said.

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, Kelly nodded her approval at the completed sketches of Adam and Caleb. Rafael, the artist, had captured their likenesses quite well. Not exact, of course, but close enough to give patrol officers a good tool to work with.

“I wish everyone had a memory as good as yours,” Rafael said as he packed his drawing materials into a huge canvas satchel. “You made my job easy.”

“It would be hard to forget those scumbags,” Kelly said.

“Did you hear someone on scene filmed your encounter with the kidnappers on their phone and gave the video to Channel Eight?”

“Seriously?” While she’d been banished to fantasyland, the case—her case—had developed leads and moved forward in the real world without her. She was totally out of the loop because she’d been busy babysitting a screwed-up kid.

“Yeah, but the video is of you holding the Wentworth kid,” Rafael said. “They didn’t manage to get a good head shot of either perp.”

“Sounds about right.”

“Good thing, or I’d be out of a job. Channel Eight showed the recording on the six o’clock news. Congratulations on your thirty seconds of fame.”

“Gee, thanks.” But she was curious about what had been captured. Maybe she could catch the footage at eleven o’clock. She hadn’t seen a TV anywhere in this mansion, but there had to be one somewhere.

Laughing, Rafael turned to look out on the pool deck through the huge plate glass windows of the solarium, a room full of casual wicker furniture, colorful prints and green plants, including more blooming orchids. Kelly followed his gaze and found the two officers who had driven him over sitting at a table with a glass pitcher of what looked like iced tea and another cheese-and-fruit tray. Both men had their feet up. A glorious sunset was in full view behind them, creating a scene fit for a slick travel magazine—if it weren’t for the two cops in black uniforms with loaded guns on their hips.

“Now, there’s a duty I could get used to,” Rafael said.

“You think so? I’d be bored sick sitting around and doing nothing.”

“That’s a sickness I could take,” Rafael said. “I guess a stay on Collins Island is your reward for saving Wentworth’s kid.” He nodded at the remains of a buffet the blonde cook had laid out for them. “Damn, but that food was amazing.”

“I’m leaving in the morning.”

Rafael turned back. “Good job, by the way.” He gave her a high five, the slap of their palms sharp in the quiet room. “I’ve already heard talk of a commendation for you.”

“Thanks.” A feeling of pleasure tickled her belly. A commendation? Really? Still gazing at the resort-like view, she added, “But I did what anyone would.”

“Yeah, right. Anybody would karate-kick a gun out of a perp’s hand. How’s the kid by the way?”

Kelly shrugged, ashamed of her resentful thoughts about babysitting Jason. Poor little dude’s head was in a super bad place. What was one day out of her life? “Asleep. Hopefully he’ll be himself again when he wakes up.”

“And if he’s not?” Rafael asked.

Kelly shook her head. “I don’t know.” But she did know, and she didn’t like the idea of Carico stashing the little guy in a loony bin. Even if they found one for kids. Even if the hospital was as luxurious as this villa. Jason needed to be with his father and in familiar surroundings. She wasn’t any shrink, but she knew the only way he’d get better was to be around people who loved him.

And his father might be a jerk, but he loved his son. That was Wentworth’s only saving grace. Well, besides his looks.

Rafael hefted his satchel over his shoulder. “Let me roust my ride and get going. Having to use that ferry takes forever.” At the last minute, he stepped to the buffet, wrapped two sandwiches in a napkin and stuffed them in his bag. He winked at her. “For my wife.”

“You may have a hard time getting those guys out of their chairs,” Kelly yelled after him.

With a backward wave, the artist disappeared. She heard a voice in the hall—probably Maria—directing the way out.

Kelly turned back to the view. Man, but she longed for a swim in that pool, had wanted to dive in since she’d first laid eyes on it. And hadn’t Wentworth told her to make herself at home? Unfortunately, she didn’t have a bathing suit. Or goggles.

A few minutes later, Rafael appeared on the pool deck next to the officers. She smiled as she watched the exchange. She couldn’t hear the conversation but could imagine the jokes about not wanting to leave the good life. When the three men walked off the deck, she felt suddenly alone, as if her posse had abandoned her with the enemy.

Which was ridiculous, of course. Wentworth wasn’t her enemy. But he wasn’t her friend.

She glanced at her watch. Eight fifteen. Now what? She wasn’t used to having nothing to do. She rotated her neck as frustration and pent-up energy ate at her. If she were home, she’d be studying or exercising. Yeah, definitely exercising after all the extra calories she’d consumed today.

What she needed was a workout. If she couldn’t swim, why not go for a run? Or at least a walk around billionaire island. Maria had laundered her running gear. Even better, maybe the mansion had a gym. Would it be rude to search?

Yes, it would. Her mother had managed to teach her that much at least. But she could ask.

With a sigh, Kelly left the solarium, hoping she didn’t get lost in this monstrosity of a house. When she entered the hall, she found Maria waiting for her.

“Would you like something more to eat, Miss Kelly?” the housekeeper asked.

“After that buffet? No, thank you, Maria. I’m stuffed.”

Maria nodded, her blackened eye appearing even more swollen now. “Is there anything I can get for you, Miss Kelly?”

“To tell you the truth, I really need to burn off some energy. I’m wondering if there’s a gym or any sort of exercise equipment around that I could use.”

“Of course.”

Kelly followed Maria to a one-story building off the pool deck. Inside was a large gym with free weights, pneumatic equipment, treadmills and spin machines.

“Sweet,” Kelly murmured. This state-of-the-art gym was equipped better than what the department had available at the West Dade training facility. Being a gazillionaire did have its perks.

“Any chance your boss will want to work out tonight?” she asked.

“No. Mr. Wentworth comes here in the morning.”

“So he won’t mind if I use his gym?”

“He said to let you do whatever you want.”

Kelly glanced down at the clothing provided by Wentworth earlier in the day. Comfortable enough, but designed for a golf game, not a serious workout. “I’m going up to my room to change first.”

“Can you find your way, Ms. Kelly?”

“Second right at the top of the stairs. Thanks, Maria.”

Energized because she had a plan, Kelly hurried to the room she’d used earlier, picking out landmarks so she could find the gym again. More clothing, two pastel golf sets similar to the one she had on, were laid out on the bed. This time even clean lingerie had been provided. She fingered a white lacy bra and matching panties created by a French company she would never dream of splurging on. Wentworth had nailed her cup size.

But of course he had. Her face warmed as she remembered he’d gotten a good look at her bare breasts.

She ought to be grateful he’d provided clean underwear for her to put on in the morning. So why did she feel resentful of Wentworth’s courtesies? Maybe because with his bottomless pockets the man could do whatever he wanted, and that kind of power bred a dangerous kind of arrogance. And contempt.

She didn’t belong here. All this luxury wasn’t her thing and never would or could be. Really, who laid out such a lavish buffet for two people? What waste. She could remember days when her belly had ached from hunger.

She picked up one of the outfits to check the size, and found a bright red bikini bathing suit underneath. Hardly appropriate for swimming laps, but no doubt the type of swimwear Wentworth’s bimbos wore to parade around his pool. Should she be grateful or insulted?

Shaking her head, Kelly moved to the window and gazed down at the pool deck, now illuminated by hidden lights. Barely visible, in the distance the dark Atlantic Ocean stretched into an unseen horizon.

She leaned against the window frame. God, what a gorgeous piece of real estate. A laugh bubbled up as she considered the ludicrous proposition of her squad making a domestic call to this island paradise. Anyone in trouble would bleed out before the cops could manage to get on and off that slow ferry.

At the sound of voices, she refocused on the deck and stood up straight. Trey Wentworth, dressed in a black tux that fit him as if custom made—and likely was—spoke to a giant, muscled dude that looked as if he were straight out of special forces. She figured the big guy had to be a bodyguard or security of some sort, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Wentworth.

Smooth and sophisticated in black tie, he made her think of James Bond. South Beach style. God, but he looked good enough to eat.

Why was he so dressed up? But she knew why. Obviously the man had a date. That couldn’t be right. His son had been kidnapped, rescued—by her, thank you very much—flipped out and then drugged into oblivion, but Wentworth, obviously not a candidate for dad of the year, was going out on the town to some swanky shindig?

What kind of a father did that?

When he looked up at her window, Kelly jumped out of the way, hoping he hadn’t seen her. This family’s dirty laundry was none of her business.

She quickly changed into her clean running shorts and jog bra. Feeling better in her own clothes, she hurried back down the stairs only to encounter Wentworth striding across the loggia toward the front door—looking even more delicious in the brighter light. As his arm moved, she caught the flash of gold at his cuffs, and again stepped out of sight. Things were awkward enough between them without the man thinking she was a stalker.

Hans opened the door to the limo, and Wentworth climbed in. Kelly moved forward to watch the black vehicle drive away.

Well, do have such a good time, Mr. Billionaire. Oh, and don’t worry about your traumatized son. I’ll be here in case Jason wakes up and needs a parent to comfort him.

She whirled away from the disappearing tail lights and marched toward the gym. Man, did she ever need that workout.

CHAPTER FIVE

HURRYING UP THE marble steps into his home, Trey focused on one thing: Jason. How was he? Had his son woken? Cried out for his mother or his father?

Probably not. Donna said Jase would sleep through the night and it was only 11:00 p.m.

He’d remained at the benefit the minimum amount of time, escaping at the first opportunity after less than two hours, ninety minutes of a frozen smile and feigning interest in a cause that was no doubt worthy but one he couldn’t care about right now.

All he cared about was his son.

At the top of the stairs, Trey slipped off his shoes so he wouldn’t make any noise as he approached Jason’s room. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him if he remained asleep.

Trey edged open the door to Jason’s room and exhaled a relieved breath. Jase lay on his side with his favorite stuffed animal, a pink, ragged chimpanzee named Chimpie, clutched against his body. His son’s chest rose and fell steadily. He looked like any normal four-year-old, happy, at peace with his world.

Trey prayed that tonight his son’s slumber wasn’t inhabited by violent nightmares.

Shutting the door, Trey headed toward the bar. He needed a drink. He’d held himself in check at the party, refusing anything but club soda, afraid alcohol might loosen his tongue and allow him to say things in public he shouldn’t. Things about his father.

The most heartless son of a bitch on the planet.

Trey removed his jacket, tossed it over a chair and poured himself an inch of his favorite whiskey. He downed the liquid in one swallow, welcoming the fiery burn that trailed down his throat into his belly and then poured another.

He was sick of people, of being polite and sociable. All night, every hand he’d pumped, every perfumed cheek he’d kissed, every lame joke he pretended to find amusing, all he could think about was whether Jason had woken up frightened and missing his daddy.

But he hadn’t. Jase was safe in bed and sound asleep. Trey drank his whiskey and added more to his glass. He could stop obsessing about his son and indulge in a little blessed solitude.

He longed to forget the present and return to a time when Jason had been a happy, well-adjusted little boy who adored his parents. Holding the crystal tumbler, Trey moved to the window and stared outside onto the illuminated pool deck. He wanted to forget a reality where his son despised him for taking away his mother. Where the world had warped to the point where Jason had latched on to a stranger and anointed her his absent mom.

When Jason woke up in the morning, would he still insist Kelly Jenkins was his mother? It couldn’t be good for Jase to allow him to carry on with that delusion. At what point did he bring it to an end?

What a terrifying mess. Trey removed his tie and slammed it to the bar.

Donna insisted time would heal his son’s wounds, but Trey wasn’t so sure anymore. And he was helpless to do anything for Jase. A father should be able to help his son.

Nursing his drink, Trey stepped outside. Maybe a little fresh air would make him feel better. He breathed in the scent of something blooming mingled with a salty ocean breeze. What he ought to do is turn on the court lights and whack a few thousand balls over the net. The idea appealed, but the growing effects of the whiskey made him doubt the wisdom of that plan. Maybe tomorrow.

At the sound of a splash, he turned toward the lit pool in time to witness two legs kick into the air and push off the wall, propelling a blur of crimson toward the other end.

Just who was swimming in his pool at this hour? He moved closer to the edge of the water and watched the swimmer’s efficient strokes.

It was Officer Jenkins, executing flip turns as if she were a professional. He took a deep breath. He’d told her to make herself at home and was pleased she’d been able to do so.

He moved back when she approached his end of the deck again, not wanting to get water on his pants when she flipped.

But she stopped. Breathing hard, she placed her hands on the side of the pool.

“Good evening, Officer Jenkins,” Trey said, his words coming out more slurred than they should.

She jumped back and raised her arms in a defensive posture, eyes wide, ready to fight. He’d startled her.

She lowered her fists. “Mr. Wentworth.”

“Trey,” he said. He took a sip of whiskey and gazed down at her. She had a classically oval and quite lovely face. His gaze lowered, but the rippling water obscured the rest of her body.

She nodded and glanced around as if looking for an escape route, no doubt embarrassed. “I’ll get out of your way,” she said. “I’m sure you wanted privacy.”

“You’re fine.” Surprised by her obvious discomfort, Trey sat on a lounge chair with a towel draped over the back. He didn’t care if she enjoyed his pool. Few guests ever did.

“You’re an excellent swimmer,” he said.

“Thanks.” Her answer sounded more like a question.

“But listen,” she blurted. “I’m grateful for the bathing suit. I figured if you provided one it was okay to use the pool.”

“Of course.” Had he provided a bathing suit? He couldn’t remember.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m getting out now.”

“Good. You could get chilled now that you’ve stopped moving. Hypothermia can be dangerous.”

And her lack of movement had calmed the water, making it obvious she wore a rather skimpy red bikini, likely the source of her reluctance to exit the pool. His staff certainly had excellent taste.

With a quick glance his way, she placed her hands on the edge of the pool and easily boosted herself out of the water, turning to place a firm derriere on the concrete. Then she brought both feet up underneath her and stood defiantly before him, water sluicing over her smooth flesh.

He couldn’t breathe as his gaze feasted on her stunning body.

Their gazes locked. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t look away.

His brain, befuddled by whiskey and the glorious warrior woman, created an image of both of them wet, naked, writhing together in his pool.

* * *

KELLY TOOK A deep breath and fought the urge to shield herself like a modest virgin, which she most assuredly was not. But she wasn’t a slab of meat, either.

Wentworth’s pool had looked so refreshing, and the night had been so lovely—God, she loved a night swim—she just couldn’t help herself.

And apparently Wentworth couldn’t stop himself from staring.

“Could you please hand me the robe?” she asked.

“Robe?” Wentworth appeared dazed. How much booze had he enjoyed at his little shindig?

“Behind you on the lounge chair,” she said. “If I come close to grab it, I’ll drip all over you.”

He hesitated, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. What was he thinking?

Finally, Wentworth reached behind him, grabbed the white terrycloth, then rose and carried it to her.

“Thanks.”

“You’re quite welcome.”

She took the robe from his hands, covered herself and tied the waist with a quick jerk. Wentworth returned to his seat and this time lifted his legs and leaned against the back. He continued to gaze at her as he took a sip of whatever was in his glass.

Still wary, but more at ease now that her boobs weren’t staring him in the face, she used the hood of the robe to squeeze water from her hair. She ought to go to her room, but curiosity about wherever he’d gone held her in place.

“You must have gone to some fancy soiree tonight.”

His dark eyes stared at her. “A benefit for—what was it?” He shrugged. “Alzheimer’s I believe was the disease of the night.”

“You’re home early,” she said. “Boring party?”

“You have no idea.”

His tone irritated her. Like she had no clue what a black-tie party for the super-rich would be like. He was right, of course, but the jerk didn’t need to rub it in.

“You don’t think I should have gone out,” he stated.

“None of my business,” she said.

“Believe me, I didn’t want to go. I hated to leave Jason.”

“So why did you?”

“I’d committed months ago. Tickets were sold based on my appearance.”

“Your son getting kidnapped seems a good enough excuse.”

“Yeah, you’d think so,” Wentworth murmured. “The old man disagreed.”

He looked away, gazing over the pool. Who the hell was the old man? Probably his father.

Wentworth’s expression was so mournful she almost felt sorry for him. Almost. At least he had a father to be mad at. She never even knew who hers was.

“Jase was asleep when I checked. Did he wake up while I was gone?” Wentworth asked.

“No,” Kelly said. “I checked on him a couple of times and he was snoozing away.”

Wentworth returned his focus to her. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

This was her opportunity to leave. But she had questions, lots of them. And Wentworth seemed to be talkative for the first time, probably because of the booze. So she sat on the lounge chair next to his.

“How long ago did Jason’s mother die?”

“Six months. Car crash. She died instantly.”

Kelly sucked in a breath at his blunt reply. “I’m sorry. I know it’s rough when death comes unexpectedly.”

Wentworth gazed over the pool again. “Jason was in the car with her. He survived even though she didn’t bother to strap him into his car seat.”

Kelly’s sympathy for the dead mother dwindled at that bit of news. How the hell do you respond to such negligence?

“She was drunk,” he said. “Never felt a thing.”

Kelly smothered the curse that rose to her lips. This was Wentworth’s beloved dead wife, after all, mother of his child. Better tread carefully. “Was Jason badly hurt?”

“Head trauma.” Wentworth gazed at her again. “Which could partly explain his confusion about you. We’d been divorced for over a year and shared custody.”

“I’m sorry.” Uncomfortable with his frank revelations, Kelly wanted to get out of here. This was definitely none of her business. “I don’t mean to be intrusive. It’s just—”

“The whole messy story was all over the tabloids,” Wentworth said. “I’m surprised you don’t know the sordid details.”

“I’m not much of a tabloid fan,” she said.

He nodded and took another sip of booze. She could smell the strong fumes. Time to get out of here. History had taught her being around men that were too drunk could lead to big trouble.

She rose. “Well, roll call comes early. I’d better get some sleep. Thanks for letting me use your pool.”

“Anytime,” he said, gazing off into space again.

Kelly sensed his thoughts were far away from her now. No doubt on the dead wife. She shouldn’t have asked. For the hundredth time she reminded herself the problems of the rich and famous had nothing to do with her.

She was out of here first thing in the morning. She’d arranged for Hans to drive her home at 7:00 a.m. Plenty of time to dress and make her 10:00 a.m. roll call. Maria promised breakfast would be laid out at six.

One thing for sure, people definitely ate well in Wentworth Villa.

She shivered when she entered the air-conditioned house and hurried up the stairs. The door to Jason’s room stood ajar, which halted her steps. She’d closed it when she peeked in on her way down to the pool,

But maybe Wentworth left it open when he’d checked on his son. Or maybe not. She glanced around uneasily.

No question about the fact that someone had helped the kidnappers get to Jason. Could that someone be a member of Wentworth’s staff?

Kelly edged open the door. Jason snored softly in the glow of his night light. Shaking her head, she eased the door shut and continued to her room. She’d mention her worries to Ballard, but right now a warm shower awaited and a hopefully soft bed after that.

And then she was so out of fantasyville.

What if Jason woke up still insisting she was his mom? She didn’t want to go through another hysterical scene with the kid. He’d been through enough already.

But no matter what happened with the little dude, she would be at roll call. Nothing Wentworth said could make her miss another shift.

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