Free The Ransom by Chris Taylor Page B

might be one of the Shearer boys, although she’s not sure, but if that’s the case, he lives in the next street over. Number twenty-two.”
    “I’ll make the call,” Jett offered, tugging out his phone.
    “If it was, get someone over there right away,” Lane added. Jett nodded and swung away.
    Lane turned to face the Attorney General. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a movement…Zara. Despite his best efforts to remain unaffected, his heart stuttered.  
    The AG’s eldest child was dressed as she had been earlier, but now an even deeper concern lingered in her dark eyes. He watched through the doorway while she moved with quiet grace down the staircase and positioned herself at her father’s side.
    Lane found his voice and managed to acknowledge her. “Ms Dowton.”
    She held out a hand toward him. He took it and returned the slight pressure, trying not to think about how soft her skin was and how tiny her hand felt engulfed in his.
    “Please, call me Zara.”
    He nodded and dragged his gaze back to the Attorney General’s. “We need to talk.”
    * * *
    Zara lifted one of the matching leather chairs that stood opposite her father’s desk and moved it to her father’s side. After taking a seat, her gaze settled on Lane. He wore the same charcoal suit he’d appeared in earlier, but his navy-and-white striped tie now looked as though it had been tugged on more than once and his pristine white shirt was creased. His face disclosed little and the expression in his hazel-flecked eyes was hard. Nerves danced in her belly.
    She stole a look at her father and her heart went out to him. Pale and trembling, he bore little resemblance to the confident, charismatic man she knew. This whole ordeal was taking its toll.
    She silently castigated herself, knowing that what her family was enduring was nothing compared to the agony the Munro family must be suffering. Her sister was safe and sound upstairs in her bed. Their daughter’s whereabouts and health status was anybody’s guess.
    “We need to talk about the ransom note,” Lane stated, his voice flat. “First of all, you’re going to explain why I sense the kidnapper had prior contact with you.”
    Her father dropped his gaze. He swallowed and moved the papers on his desk from one side to the other. Zara reached out and covered his hand with hers, stilling it.
    Lane’s expression turned grim. “Start talking, David . We can do this here, or at the station. You choose.”
    Her father shook his head from side to side. A deep red flush crept up his neck and stained his cheeks. “That won’t be necessary, Detective. I’m sure you can conduct your interview here. I’ll tell you everything I know.”
    Zara squeezed his hand and let it go and tried to relax against the back of her chair. Lane pulled out his notebook.
    “Let’s start with the note. You said it was delivered by a boy from the neighborhood. Did anyone ask who’d given it to him?”
    “No,” her father replied. “As far as I know, Mrs Harrow took the note and the boy left.”
    With gloved hands, Lane took the note out of the evidence bag and smoothed it open. He read it again.
    “I’m curious, David. This isn’t the first ransom note I’ve seen. Fortunately, there haven’t been many, but what strikes me as odd is that the note demands money, but provides no details of how it’s to be delivered.” His gaze narrowed on his face. “Do you have any idea why the kidnapper might omit that?”
    “No, no I don’t. I don’t know anything about these men.”
    “What makes you think there is more than one?”
    Her father looked flustered. “Well, I’m-I’m not sure. It was merely a figure of speech. Don’t these people usually work in groups?”
    “Sometimes, sometimes not. The note refers to ‘ my’ money. I would have thought that indicated a kidnapper acting on his own.” He stared across the desk. “It’s interesting that you don’t see it that way.”
    “It-it’s