Frank looked at Elaine Martin. “I’ll take you to the spot. Sammie trusts me and I’m breaking that trust. I want to be there for him if he’s in trouble.”
“Okay,” Martin said as Sanchez nodded. Cal had a feeling they’d agree to just about anything that would get them to Sammie more quickly.
“And because I think my son deserves to see that his father is worthy of the trust he’s placed in him all these years, I want him to accompany us, as well.”
“You ride separately and he stays in the car with an officer,” Martin said, without even looking at Cal.
“That’s fine.”
“Mr. Brown?” Martin looked at Jim.
“You realize that they think you took the boy,” Jim said to Frank. “You leading them to him is evidence they’ll use against you in court.”
“I know.”
Jim looked at Cal, who nodded.
“I’ll have my phone on,” the attorney said, and they all stood.
* * *
MORGAN SAT WITH HER parents. She paced the small waiting room, thankful for its privacy. She wondered if Detective Morgan was with Cal and his father. And if Sammie was okay. God. Was her son alive?
Sammie’s face had been all over the news just a few weeks before. Everyone knew now that he was George Lowen’s grandson. She thought about ransom calls and kid mills, and the horrible things that sick people did to little boys. Sammie was small for his age.
And cute as could be.
He also had a big mouth. Would her son mouth off and get himself in trouble with his captors? Or would he be able to use his lungs to attract attention and save himself?
She almost hoped that Frank Whittier had taken him. Sammie knew Frank. He hero-worshipped him. He wouldn’t be frightened.
Until…
What would Frank do with him?
Frank couldn’t be responsible. There had to be some other explanation.
But what if he was?
The low rumble of her parents’ voices as they occasionally conferred penetrated her thought processes, but nothing could soothe the horrible ache in her heart.
Had she really been stupid enough to put her son’s life at risk? Was she really that incapable of reading people’s motives?
“Mr. Lowen?” A uniformed police officer opened the door, a man in a brown suit and a tall, thin, older man standing behind him.
“Yes.” George stood. “Michael. Thank you for getting this done so quickly.”
Assuming the man was the private detective, or the new head of security for Lowen Enterprises, Morgan paid attention.
“Everything is ready,” the man her father had called Michael said. “We just need your signatures.”
That was her father, always ready, and because he was ready he could be counted on to save the day. Why hadn’t she seen all this before?
“Morgan?” Her father called her over to the table in front of the couch upon which they’d been sitting. “I’ve got some friends with FBI contacts. If I have custody of Sammie, with legal rights to make calls and decisions, these contacts will do as they’re told. We’re going to get a lot more attention more quickly here. There are people who will pull strings for me just because they’re afraid not to. I’m not proud of that fact, but at the moment, I will use whatever leverage I have to get Sammie safely back to us. You said you were going to bring the boy to our place, anyway, so I went ahead and had Michael draw up custody papers and courier them over here for us. Once I have it on paper that I’m Sammie’s legal guardian, I’ll begin calling in favors.”
Even now, George Lowen was wielding his power. If she wanted the most assurance that she’d get her son back, she had to do as her father wanted. Give him his heir. She struggled to breathe. But she nodded. And moved to the table to sign her father’s papers.
* * *