didn’t particularly want to explain his reasoning to her. It would be easier simply to send her away. Not in so many words—but to plant the idea in her head. The way he’d planted the idea of her going to sleep.
But she looked strung out, and not just from getting half frozen. She’d come here because something was badly wrong, and he had to find out what it was—and if there was some way he could help her.
The teakettle whistled, giving him an excuse to turn back to the stove. After lifting the kettle off the burner, he opened the cabinet and took down two packets of hot chocolate.
Still with his back to her, he poured the contents into two mugs, then stirred, stirring up memories as the scent of chocolate wafted toward him.
He and Shelley had sat in the evenings in front of the fire sipping hot chocolate. They’d talked about all sorts of things, and he’d felt so close to her. Well, as close as he could feel to anyone when he had a secret that he had to guard at all costs.
“That smells good.”
“You always liked hot chocolate,” he answered.
When she sat down at the table, he set the mugs between them, careful not to touch her. Then he pulled out the chair opposite her and sat.
Neither one of them spoke.
For something to do, he took a sip of the hot liquid. She did the same, her hands wrapped around the crockery. It looked as though she was holding on for dear life.
He could barely taste the drink as he waited for her to tell him why she was here. She looked so alone and vulnerable that he wanted to reach across the table and grab her hand. But he hung on to his own mug because that was a lot safer than touching her.
Finally, when she didn’t speak, he cleared his throat. “It’s been a long time.” “Yes.”
While she’d been sleeping, he’d let his imagination run wild. She was in trouble. He knew that much. And he’d turned over all the possibilities in his mind. Had her business crashed in the recession, and she needed money? Had a client asked her to do something illegal? Had she discovered someone was cooking the books at a company, and she didn’t know what to do about it? Or was it something personal? He didn’t even want to speculate on what that might be.
Forcing the issue, he finally asked, “What brings you here?”
Suddenly she looked as if she wanted to cry—and as if she wasn’t going to give in to tears.
“You’ll feel better when you tell me.”
“I doubt it.” She swallowed hard, then raised her head and met his gaze. “My son, Trevor, has been kidnapped,” she blurted. “I think you’re the only one who can help me find him.”
Although the words reached his ears, they didn’t really make sense. Maybe because, in a million years, he never would have expected them.
“Did I hear that right? You have a son, and he’s been kidnapped?”
“Yes.”
“Good Lord. I didn’t know … I mean. You have a son?” he said again, totally confounded by the revelation. The obvious thought leaped into his mind, and he felt his stomach clench. “I didn’t know you’d gotten married.”
She continued to meet his gaze. “I’m not married. He’s four years old, Matt. He’s your son, too.”
The shock and confusion was like a body blow, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Shaking his head, he tried to clear his brain. He couldn’t be hearing her correctly—could he? “I don’t think I’m getting all of this quite right.”
In a high, strained voice, she said, “I know I’ve shocked you. I didn’t know how else to say it. Five years ago, I left you because you told me you didn’t want to get married. And you didn’t want children. Then I found out I was pregnant, and I wasn’t going to come back and beg you to marry me. So I just….” She let go of the mug and flapped one arm. “I just went it alone.”
He tried to imagine what she’d been through, what she was going through now.
“You’re saying he’s been kidnapped?” Matt said, his own voice turning rough. This was like a nightmare. An old nightmare coming back. Only she didn’t know it yet.
“Yes.”
He asked the next obvious question. “And the police and the FBI are looking for him?”
The scared, determined look on her face tore at his heart. “No! I can’t go to them.”
“You have to!”
“I can’t!” she shouted, then lowered her voice. “Somebody picked him up at day care two days ago. A man, apparently. He made the teacher think he had my permission. But he left a note for me with her. It said that if I contacted the police or the FBI, they’d kill Trevor.”
The revelation tipped her over the edge. It looked as if she’d been holding herself together with strapping tape. Suddenly, all pretense of composure evaporated. She began to cry in great gulping gasps, her shoulders shaking as the sobs racked her body.
Matt shot out of his chair, came around the table and hauled her up. When he wrapped his arms around her, she leaned into him. As he folded her close, he knew he needed to hold on to her as much as she needed to cling to him.
While he rocked her gently in his arms, he tried to process everything she’d just told him. It was too much to take in all at once, but he had to because the past was rushing back to body-slam him.
Shelley gulped, and he could feel her trying to pull herself together.
Now he was the one who was hanging on to composure by a thread.
“You have no idea who took him?” he asked.
“No,” she whispered.
“And you have no idea what they want?”
“No.”
“They didn’t ask for money?”
“I’m telling you everything I know.”
He stroked her back. “Okay. I believe you.” Sucking in a breath, he let it out in a rush, knowing he was going to make this worse for her. For both of them.
“A long time ago, I was kidnapped,” he said.
Her head jerked up, and she stared at him through brimming eyes. “What?”
He had turned the tables on her. Now she had to process what she was hearing. “You were kidnapped?” “Yes.”
“You never told me about it!”
“It’s not something I was prepared to talk about—with anyone.” But now that he’d opened the subject, he knew she had a thousand questions, and he would do his best to answer them. He’d told her she’d feel better when she explained why she’d come. Strangely, he was discovering the truth of his own words. Despite the circumstances, it was
