Free A SEAL to Save Christmas by Trish Adams Page B

wife. She didn’t sport glittering jewels or fancy clothes. Suddenly, her last statement sunk in. “Davis?”
    “My son. He’s only five. Please.”  
    “Ms. Myers, if your son is missing, then you need to call the police. The first forty-eight hours are critical.”  
    Tears filled her eyes, and a bad feeling crept into his gut. “He’s been kidnapped. We went to the park yesterday, and I turned my back for five minutes while I answered a phone call. When I turned back around, he was gone. We were the only ones in the park, or so I thought. I looked for him for an hour before I went back to my car. I was getting ready to call the police when I saw the note on my window.”  
    With shaky hands, she slid the note across the table. Go to the police and he dies. Wait for instructions.”
    “No ransom request,” he mused. “That’s odd.”  
    “I thought so too. I went home and waited for a phone call, but it never came. And then I found this in my living room.” She reached in her purse and pulled out a bag. Inside were the broken bits of an electronic device.  
    “A bug. And you smashed it?”
    Helen nodded. “I don’t know how many more there are. My cat kept playing with the lamp, and she knocked it off. When I was cleaning up the pieces, I found it. And I took a hammer to it.” She looked at him anxiously. “I’m not sure that was the smartest move.”  
    Jason shrugged. “If there’s one, there’s probably more. And I don’t think they’re going to do anything drastic because you found and destroyed one bug. I think we should probably get you home though, in case they call.”  
    “They have to call on my cellphone. I disconnected the landline after Timothy died. So many people kept calling. Reporters. All hours of the night.” She took a deep breath. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”
    Jason looked at the advice. “Ms. Myers, I’m a glorified bodyguard. I don’t usually do detective work.”  
    “But Clare said you did such a good job.”  
    He looked up sharply. “You know Clare?”
    Nodding, Helen leaned over and grabbed his hand. He tried to jerk it back. Human touch outside the bedroom wasn’t really his thing, but she had a death grip on it. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Mr. Leonard. I want my son found, and I don’t care what you have to do to bring him home. I just lost Tim. I cannot lose Davis. Christmas is just right around the corner. Please. I need him home for Christmas.”
    As he pulled his hand back, he stared at her coldly. She’d practically just admitted that the only reason she’d hired him was because of what Clare told her. That didn’t sit well with him. But the woman obviously wasn’t lying about her son, and Jason couldn’t just back out while a five year old was in danger. “Do you keep a rigid schedule?”
    “What?”
    “Do you go to that park on a regular basis at the same time every day or every week?”
    Helen shook her head. “No, of course not. I want my child to have childhood, not be part of some prison.”  
    “It doesn’t matter. They could have been watching you. Okay. Write me a list of everyone you know. Everyone. I’m talking friends, old co-workers, maintenance men, women you gossip with in the salon. Put a star next to them if you’ve had any beef with them. Even if you can’t possibly imagine that they’d be capable of taking your son, list them. You have no idea who the culprit might be.”  
    She pulled out a binder and set it down. “I’m already ahead of you, Mr. Leonard.”  
    “Jason,” he growled. He flipped through the binder. It was ridiculously organized. “You’ve done your homework.”
    “I watch enough crime shows,” she said as she ducked her head. “Honestly, I can’t think of anyone who would do this, but everyone in this city knows that I control Timothy’s assets.”
    “That’s right. Your husband still isn’t declared formally dead. And yet you’re calling yourself a widow.”