The Chase Read online

“S-Sean?” Ryan dropped the grocery bag. “Is he . . .” He couldn’t say the word “dead,” but it trampled his mind like some portent of doom.

  “No—not that we know of, anyway.” Jack gripped Ryan’s shoulder and continued, “It looks like he’s been kidnapped.”

  “Kidnapped?” Ryan croaked, and the cold air that once invigorated, threatened to suffocate.

  “Yes. I’m so sorry, Ryan.”

  “H-how! Where was he?”

  “In his bed.” Jack shrugged. “When Shelly got up and checked on him, he was gone. Someone used a glass cutter to cut the window. They reached in, unlatched the lock, and crawled through the window. The front door was ajar, which indicates they left that way.”

  A wave of nausea only added to the spin in Ryan’s head. “The alarm system was down!” he rasped and rested his head in his hands.

  “Yes, that’s what Shelly said,” Jack replied, his voice full of compassion. “When Shelly called 911, our dispatcher recognized her name. She knew Shelly was my sister-in-law and called me. I’ve already been over to Shelly’s. I left a detective working to come find you.”

  “Why didn’t Shelly call me?” His face heating, Ryan raised his head and doubled his fist. “Tim Aldridge is probably already over there! Why didn’t she call me?” he repeated and pounded his chest. “I’m Sean’s father!”

  “Shelly said she tried to call you on your cell after she called 911, but you didn’t answer.”

  Ryan reached into his shirt pocket, removed his cell phone. Sure enough, the screen displayed three missed calls. It also declared the phone was on silent. Groaning, Ryan changed the setting. “You know I switched servers and got a new number. I’ve been putting my phone on silent at night so no calls for the other person who had this number wake me up. I promise, whoever Doug O’Malley is, he never sleeps. I forgot to change the setting,” he explained and wondered how he could even think about something as mundane as a cell phone when his son was missing.

  Every horror story splayed across TV in the last few months slammed into his mind. Child after child missing, never to be heard from again. The very thought made Ryan want to tear out his hair.

  “I’ve got to go over there!” he shouted and ran to his truck.

  “No!” Jack’s hard fingers ate into his arm. “I’ll take you!” he demanded. “You’re in no shape to drive.”

  The trip to Shelly’s country home blurred like a journey through a bad dream. Hunched forward, Ryan vacillated between dismay and disbelief. The disbelief escalated when he baled out of Jack’s truck and spotted Sean’s bicycle propped against the railed porch.

  There must have been some mistake, he thought. Everything looks too normal. How could this have happened near such a small town? They’ve probably found Sean in the backyard, hiding in his tree house.

  Then he remembered the hole cut in the window, and all his hopes crumbled. His dismay escalating to terror, Ryan took the porch steps two at a time. As he knocked on the door, Jack’s boots thumped the planking behind him. He’d barely completed two knocks when a grim-faced officer opened it. Ryan knew Payton well enough to figure that his troubled gaze sliding to Jack probably held all manner of unspoken messages.

  Ryan stepped inside, spotted Shelly, and stopped caring what Payton might be communicating. Shelly looked up at Ryan from her perch on the sofa’s edge. Her reddened eyes and pale face reflected the agony tearing Ryan’s soul.

  Ryan rushed across the immaculate living room with no other thought than holding Shelly. But when he was within five feet of his goal, Tim Aldridge stepped between them.

  “Here, sweetheart,” Tim crooned, “ice water, just like you asked.” He settled next to Shelly, draped his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. She eagerly gulped the water and then lowered her head to his shoulder.

  Tim glanced up and spotted Ryan. “Oh, hi,” he stated, his blue eyes troubled. “They said you’d be here soon.”

  “Yeah,” Ryan replied. He doubled his fists and turned to face his brother, who jerked his head toward the hallway.

  After a final glance toward Shelly, Ryan followed his brother. Halfway down the hall, Jack hung a left and entered Sean’s room. Ryan rushed toward the opened window and scanned the area, now dusted with dark powder.

  “Did they find any prints?” he asked.

  “Nada,” Jack replied. “You know how it is. We don’t find prints more often than we do.”

  “Who dusted?”

  “Payton.”

  “Are you sure he was thorough?” The desperation in Ryan’s soul oozed from his words.

  Jack’s strong hand on his shoulder did little to ease his anxiety. Ryan whipped around and grabbed Jack’s arm. “You’ve got to dust again!”

  “Ryan . . . it’s Payton,” Jack insisted and shook his head. “He never misses a thing.”

  Ryan rammed his fingers into his hair and tugged until his scalp protested. His gaze landed on Sean’s baseball glove, lying on the nightstand. He stepped forward, picked it up, and ran his fingers over the laces. The new leather smell reminded him of Friday night, when he’d resented the glove because it linked Sean to Tim Aldridge. Now Ryan could only cherish it. He plopped onto the side of Sean’s bed while the brutal reality of his son’s abduction burned a hole in his soul.

  “Ryan? Ryan!” Jack’s firm voice floated from far away, but it was so persistent, Ryan finally glanced up.

  Jack hovered over him, his face as compassionate as it was grim. “The reason I called you in here . . . we need to know if you can think of anyone, I mean anyone, who might want to kidnap Sean. And is there anything—anything at all—in here that might give us a clue? Shelly’s too shocked to do more than cry. She keeps blaming herself—saying something about a sleep aid.” He squinted and waved aside the confusing comment. “She’s not able to focus long enough to pinpoint whether or not there’s a clue right under our noses.”

  “I-I don’t know either.” Ryan scanned the room. “You know I almost never come into Sean’s room here. I just pick him up and . . . and he has his own room at my place.”

  “I know, but—”

  Ryan stood and laid aside Sean’s glove. “What about outside? Were there any clues out there?”

  “Only a foot print.”

  “How big?”

  “The size of Shelly’s. Could have been Shelly’s. She did manage to say she’s been working on the flower bed outside the window.”

  Ryan walked the room’s perimeter, searching for anything that might strike him as odd. But all that was out of place was his son’s train, lying near the toy box. “I just can’t believe someone broke in exactly when the alarm system was down,” he worried. “It’s almost like, whoever it was—they knew . . .”

  “That’s exactly what we’re thinking,” Jack said. “Do you have any idea? Did you mention that the system was down to anyone, or—”

  “No!” Ryan erupted. “Absolutely not! I only found out Friday night myself!”

  “Dena,” Shelly’s husky voice floated into the room.

  Ryan whipped around to spot her leaning against the doorframe like a pale lily wilting in a rain storm.

  “Dena?” Jack repeated. “Isn’t that—”

  “Sean’s birth mother,” Ryan croaked, his body going rigid.

  Jack stepped toward Shelly. “Isn’t she—”

  “Unstable—yes,” Ryan finished, his mind whirling with the possibilities. They’d feared she might one day regain her equilibrium and try to create problems, despite the fact that she’d signed a written agreement to remain out of Sean’s life until he was an adult. Shelly’s parents had also promised to play buffer and help protect Sean from Dena.

  Ryan balled his fist and asked, “Have you seen her lately?”

  “Yes. She was at Mom and Dad’s Friday night when I got there. I was shocked when I walk
ed in and saw her.”

  “Why didn’t they call and tell you she was there?” Ryan demanded. “You could have waited until she left.”

  Shaking her head from side to side, Shelly gulped for composure.

  “Stop yelling at her!” Tim Aldridge appeared behind Shelly and placed his hands on her shoulders. “She’s under enough pressure as it is, without—”

  “I’m not yelling!” Ryan bellowed and focused on Jack. “Do I sound like I’m yelling?”

  Jack rubbed at his temple and mentioned something about pleading the fifth.

  “Well, if I’m loud, it’s not on purpose,” Ryan defended and glowered at Tim. “I’m just upset! Wouldn’t you be if your son was missing?”

  “Sean is nearly my stepson,” Tim replied. “And yes, I’m upset. I’m distraught! But I’m not yelling at Shelly!”

  “He doesn’t mean to be . . .” Shelly whispered. “He always gets like this when—when . . .” She peered up at her fiancé and then back at Ryan with a silent understanding that Ryan hadn’t expected.

  Sighing, he rubbed his face and willed himself to lower his volume. However, seeing Tim comforting Shelly nearly made him start yelling all over again.

  “So did Dena see Sean?” Ryan asked in a gentler tone.

  “Yes,” Shelly answered. “He rushed in before I even noticed she was there. Then—then, she was introducing herself. And she seemed somewhat normal,” she explained before more words tumbled out. “Mom told me later that Dena said she was on medication a-again. Mom was so happy; happier than I-I’ve seen in years. I hated to say anything about my doubts”—Shelly shrugged—“because Mom hasn’t seen Dena in five years. She had even begun to think maybe she was . . . well, dead. I didn’t want to even hint that Dena might have been lying or maybe had an ulterior motive, but I wondered. Now . . . now . . . now . . .” She focused on Sean’s bed and then covered her face with her hands.

  “I should have been more alert!” she wailed against her palms. “If I hadn’t taken that sleep aid, I probably would have heard them. What if Sean cried out for me and I never even heard—”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Shelly,” Jack soothed.

  “Shelly, don’t . . . don’t . . .” Ryan added and stopped himself from moving closer. “There’s no guarantee you’d have heard anything even if you hadn’t taken the sleep aid. You know how deep you can sleep.”

  His gaze met Tim’s, and the dentist didn’t hide his irritation at Ryan’s reference to their former marriage.

  After a hard bite on the end of his tongue, Ryan waited until Shelly calmed again. She was stroking her face with a tissue when he said, “Did you by chance talk about your alarm system being down in front of Dena?”

  Shelly helplessly gazed up at Ryan and silently begged him to make all this go away. “Dad and I talked about it on the back porch. I can’t—can’t remember where Dena was then!”

  Ryan shared a knowing glance with Jack, and some sixth sense told him Sean hadn’t been nabbed by a child trafficker. But considering Dena’s background—everything from thievery to prostitution to drug abuse—Ryan feared Sean wasn’t much better off with his birth mother.

  “Do you have the make and model of her car?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t remember.” Shelly buried her face against Tim’s shoulder. “The car was in the driveway, but I barely paid attention to what it was. Maybe Mom or Dad could—could—”

  “Can you give me their number?” Jack asked.

  “I have it. Here in my cell,” Tim offered while Ryan was reaching for his own phone. He’d never deleted Shelly’s parents’ number because they had to communicate when shuffling Sean—especially at holidays.

  Ryan watched as Tim passed his phone to Jack . . . merely one more indicator that the man really was on the verge of claiming Ryan’s wife and child as his own. “All you have to do is press send,” Tim added, and Ryan wished the guy at least had a thread of the scoundrel in him. Tim would have been much easier to detest if he weren’t as levelheaded and honorable as he appeared. But then, a scoundrel was the last kind of person Ryan would want for his son’s stepfather. If Shelly’s marriage to him was inevitable, at least he did seem to care for Sean. That truth strangely comforted Ryan, and he didn’t try to sort through why. This wasn’t the time or place to even try.

  In the face of Shelly’s sorrow, a new wave of grief hit Ryan; and this time, a thread of guilt accompanied it. He had no one to blame but himself. If he hadn’t played the jerk, he and Shelly would have never divorced—and he would have been at the house last night. And last week, he’d have fixed the alarm system himself or arranged for a repairman the same day it went down. There would have been no lag in service. Sean would be in Sunday school by now, enjoying his friends just like he did every Sunday.

  “I’m so sorry this has happened, Shelly,” Ryan uttered. “You’re blaming yourself, but the real blame rests with me.”

  Shelly lifted her gaze. Confusion flickered in her reddened eyes; a second of realization followed. She shook her head and lifted a hand, as if to reach out to him. “It’s not your fault, Ryan.”

  “It’s neither of your faults,” Jack injected and pressed a button on the cell phone.

  “If only I’d been here—” Ryan stopped and felt Tim’s ire rising. He focused on his wife’s fiancé. Tim’s eyes had gone icy hard, although his face remained impassive.

  No telling what Shelly’s told him about me, Ryan thought and averted his gaze.

  Shelly snuggled back into the crook of Tim’s arm, and he jerked his head toward the living room. “I’m going to take her back in there. Just let us know what you find out.”

  “Will do.” Jack nodded. “Hello, Mrs. Brunswick?”

  Ryan focused on his brother and waited while Jack broke the news. An anxious mask covered his face. Finally, Jack shook his head and extended the phone to Ryan. “She’s going berserk,” he explained. “Maybe you can . . .”

  After accepting the phone, Ryan wasted no time breaking through Maggie’s reaction. While he understood her horror and the need to release her emotions, he also knew every second counted.

  “Maggie! Maggie!” Ryan stated.

  “R-Ryan?” she stammered. “Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Listen, Maggie, we don’t know for sure, but we think Dena might be the one who—”

  “Dena! That would be so much better than—than . . . ohhhhh, my poor baby boy!” her wail ushered in a new wave of hysterics.

  Even though Sean was eight, he was still Maggie’s “baby boy.” In the past, Ryan had wondered if she’d call him “baby boy” until he was thirty. But now, Ryan heartily sympathized with her endearment. It seemed only yesterday that he’d held a tiny Sean in a newborn’s blanket. The years had zoomed by. In what felt like a few months, Sean had gone from toddler to second-grader.

  Now he was gone.

  Ryan pressed his fingertips against his temple as his own phone indicated an incoming call. He dug the cell out of his pocket, checked the screen, noted his pastor’s name, and extended his phone to Jack.

  “He’s wondering where I am,” Ryan whispered. “Tell him what’s going on.” He turned his back on Jack and focused on the conversation at hand. “Listen, Maggie!” he commanded. “Is Daryl there?”

  “Yes, oh yes. He’s right—right here!”

  Daryl’s deep voice wobbled over the line with an uncertain greeting, and Ryan began rushing through his request before Daryl lost composure as well. “Sean’s been kidnapped. We’re thinking Dena, maybe. Do you know if she heard you and Shelly talking about the alarm system being down? And do you have the make and model of her car?”

  “I-I don’t know what she heard. We talked—talked about the alarm system on the porch. The car she was driving was my old one. I gave it to her five years ago—right before she disappeared. It’s a 2003 Toyota Co
rolla.” The aging gentleman’s voice broke.

  “Yes, I remember that now,” Ryan acknowledged. When they gave the car to Dena, Shelly had been irritated because her parents never could say no to her sister. They’d just paid off the car when Dena asked for it. The Brunswicks had acquiesced, hoping the vehicle would give her the transportation to get a job, which she vowed to do since she was taking her medicine. But the car only helped Dena leave the area, and she never looked back. Once again, the youngest daughter had taken advantage of her parents, and Shelly had fumed for months.

  “Do you by chance have any records of the license plate number?” Ryan questioned.

  “I’ll look. Yes, I’m sure I must have it in my home safe. I keep all old records there. But wait! They issued a new license plate when it was put in her name. I don’t think I have that one,” he said, his claim holding the grief of decades.

  “That’s not a problem,” Ryan assured. “If we have the old license number, we can cross reference to the new one. We’ll also be issuing an Amber Alert, pronto. I’m sure the FBI will get involved—especially if there’s any chance at all Dena could go across state lines. With them in the mix, hopefully we’ll have Sean back by tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Daryl echoed with a hopeful tenor.

  “No promises,” Ryan admitted. “Only hopes.”

  Faint sobbing pierced Dena’s dreams, marred by gyrating images splayed across her mind. This time, the images involved childbirth . . . the labor, the gut-wrenching pain, the scream of a newborn. As she swam closer to consciousness, the infant’s crying took on the tenure of an older child.

  She emerged from sleep like a swimmer erupting from an ocean abyss. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at the unfamiliar ceiling in an attempt to recall her location. The child’s crying grew more persistent, more shrill, more annoying, until Dena pressed at her ears and screamed, “Stop it! Stop it! Just stop it! Or I’ll tape your mouth shut again!”

  The crying ceased.

  Dena sat straight up. Her gaze darting around the room, she searched for the boy who called her Aunt Dena, no matter how many times she told him she was his mother. Still wearing the pajamas she’d nabbed him in, he cowered on the corner pallet. He’d refused to sleep in the bed with her, and she’d refused to prepare another bed for him. So he’d made himself a pallet out of some towels he found in the cabin’s bathroom. The whole time he whined about wanting his mom. Now the whines had turned into a new onslaught of sobs.