Desert Ice Daddy Marton, Dana (most motivational books .TXT) 📖

She did, but only to shoot him a look of fury. “Let. Me. Go!”

He couldn’t, not even knowing how much she hated him for it at the moment.

“I can get him!” She fought him any way she could, aiming a kick that could have disabled him if he hadn’t rolled out of the way, pulling her along.

“Too dangerous,” he said, knowing that in this moment there was probably little he could say to talk sense into her.

“I don’t care. You don’t understand.”

“I understand.” He got her hands under control with effort.

“Let me go. He’s my son.” Desperation distorted her face. “I’m not you. You left your family behind. I won’t do that.”

That last barb hit home and hit deep, but he hung on to her tighter, even as she kicked him in the shin.

The dust and tears mixed to become mud on her face. When he thought she was tiring from her struggle at last, he let go with one hand, crawled backward, pulling one of the briefcases after him, holding it up for cover, dragging her with his other hand. She had enough presence of mind to grab the other briefcase. He half expected her to clobber him over the head with it, but she held it up to give them more cover.

Getting back to the car was out of the question—too far. He scampered toward the nearest boulder that was large enough to block bullets.

An eternity passed before they made it there.

He pressed her into an indentation in the rock and blocked her body with his. The choppers were coming lower, stirring up dust, destroying visibility on the ground. He couldn’t guarantee that they would be recognized from above and not be shot at.

He kept his gun silent for the same reason. The cops might shoot back at anyone who fired. Plus, in all the dust, he couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t hit Christopher instead of the bad guys.

Taylor struggled against his back, probably for a glimpse of her son. He eased forward a few inches so she could see for herself that there wasn’t much to be seen. But the small movement did give him a view through a gap between two boulders. One of the pickups was driving away. One of the choppers followed.

Then another pickup pulled away from behind a boulder and tore down the road, in the direction he and Taylor had come from. And another, going a different way. All in all, five identical pickups raced from their hidden positions in different directions, and the two police choppers were not enough to cover them.

By the time they were left alone in the settling dust, he was beginning to understand the kidnappers’ plan. He moved forward carefully, gun in hand, Taylor rushing from behind him, trying to read the spent shells on the ground and the tire tracks. He took his time searching through the area, but couldn’t tell which pickup had taken Christopher. The boot prints in the dust were a mess. Jake Kenner had probably picked up the boy and tossed him in his car, anyway. There wouldn’t be clean prints of a boy and a man, leading to tire tracks.

“He’s gone.” Taylor stood on the spot where they had last seen the boy, her eyes dark with pain, her voice hollow.

The events of the past few minutes stood like a minefield between them. She wouldn’t look at him, just kept searching the jumble of prints on the ground. Minutes passed before she straightened and turned her attention to him. “How did the police know that we were here?”

He hated the accusation in her voice. “Not from me.” But he recalled Gary talking to the cops for a while that morning. Could be he didn’t like the idea of Taylor going to their son’s rescue with another man.

“Did either of the cops touch you in any way, a pat on the shoulder, whatever? Give you anything?”

She shook her head and wiped her forehead. The place certainly lived up to its name. The giant white-gray boulders did a great job radiating the heat of the sun.

He played the morning back in his mind. “Gary?”

She shook her head again, but then after a moment said, “He gave me a Thermos of coffee. It’s in the car.” They’d been way too wired on the drive over to have more caffeine. “Do you think he would—” She couldn’t finish the sentence, the pain of betrayal thickening her voice.

Same as she’d used on him just minutes ago.

Which stung, because, by God, he had never betrayed her. “You can trust me.”

He waited for some acknowledgment, anything. A nod.

She was looking at the ground again.

He let another couple of seconds pass before he grabbed up the briefcases. The dust the choppers had blown around tasted bitter in his mouth as it grated between his teeth. “Let’s get back. There’s nothing more we can do here.”

He carried both briefcases, slowed his gait to hers. On the way here, he could barely keep up. But now she walked as if all life had been sucked out of her. He hated that he’d been here and hadn’t been able to do anything. To have her son within arm’s reach then lose him again was obviously killing her.

Emotions swirled in his gut, rage against Jake Kenner and the rest of his cronies. Rage that had no outlet, because they weren’t here. His heart broke for Christopher. The kid had to be scared to death. And Akeem was scared for him, to be honest. Added to that was another emotion, for Taylor. But Taylor wouldn’t let him comfort her. She was shutting him out.

He stole a look at her face, and it was etched in misery.

“As long as we still have the money, they won’t hurt him,” he said. Unless they’d gotten spooked by the cops and decided to call off the whole operation, cut their losses before they were caught. He wouldn’t tell her that, but it was something he