Free Ransomed Dreams by Amy Wallace Page B

observation weren’t out of tune after all. And she’d practically asked him out. He liked that.
    He’d be a fool not to ask now. “Are you free this Friday? I know a great restaurant in Old Town Alexandria.”
    “I’d like that.” Gracie straightened books and lesson plans on her desk that were already in perfect order. “Thanks for saving me from dishonoring my Southern upbringing.”
    “Never asked a gentleman for a date before?”
    “No. And if we don’t say our good-byes soon, I might chicken out on accepting your invitation.” Gracie stood, her face a study in the color crimson. It went well with her long auburn hair.
    “Then I’ll be leaving now.” Steven headed toward the door. “I’ll e-mail you this afternoon. ’Bye, Gracie. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”
    “Good-bye, Steven. I’ll see you Friday.”
    He smiled, then turned to leave. He could feel her gaze following him down the hall. For the first time in almost five years, he felt excitement about what tomorrow might hold.
    Tom had watched unnoticed outside Gracie’s classroom door.
    Now he paced in his private office with growing frustration.
    If she hired a private investigator …
    He shook his head and refocused. He’d missed the first part of her conversation with the super-stud FBI agent. The one his mother had praised in their morning meeting for exemplary work as a Crimes Against Children coordinator. A job good old mom had done during her last years in the Florida Bureau office. Too bad she hadn’t started a school down there. He would have preferred the Florida sun to the ridiculous winters of his Alexandria hometown.
    He took a drink of Coke and wished for something harder.
    Mother Dear had offered him a job here though, not in Florida. And it was one he’d mastered with ease. A career his dad would have been proud of. Mother was still too busy recovering from widowhood and a failed second marriage, so he had to work harder to get her attention.
    Now Gracie Lang and her FBI date could topple it all.
    If only Mother knew about his surveillance work or computer prowess.
    Not like that could ever happen.
    It was bad enough that his school would be crawling with even more feds in September.
    Tom slumped into the leather seat behind his carved cherry-wood desk. Expensive Kandinskys adorned his walls. He was still in charge here. The FBI and Secret Service hotshots would be answering to him come September. Surely he could find a way to stop one little widow from Georgia. Even if she did hire a private investigator.
    Tom brushed a hand through his dark curls. Ideas surged through his brain.
    Now to pick just the right one.

8
    G ordon felt rested after the insufferably long weekend.
    Couldn’t say the same for his pawns locked away in the cellar of the drafty old three-story farmhouse. The girls had screamed ’til they reached exhaustion. With no one around to hear. Poor fools.
    He double-checked each window lock in the ramshackle country-bumpkin estate on the outskirts of Alexandria. Curtains drawn against the late Tuesday afternoon sun, he drank his frustration away with an early evening bitter.
    Sir Walter Kensington had spent the weekend frantic and fuming at coppers and agents alike. Good. But he hadn’t suffered enough. Not nearly enough.
    Gordon glanced at his timepiece. The moment to contact Ambassador Kensington had come, but his sister had yet to telephone confirmation of his plan’s safety.
    When he did e-mail the ambassador, he’d make his demand short and very clear. The FBI would be up all night trying to decipher his note.
    To no avail.
    He rang his sister first. “Good afternoon, dear Charlotte. Is the estimable Sir Walter Kensington in his office?”
    “I knew I shouldn’t have answered.” She sighed. “I’ve warned you about calling my cell during the day. The embassy is teeming with agents. I don’t want trouble.”
    “Ah, but trouble has found you, has it not? Thanks to your good employer. Don’t