Her Mistletoe Protector

“I’ll be back soon,” he said huskily, and he closed the connecting door on his side.

She opened the computer and tried to think of what little she remembered from those early days with Anthony—the places he went, the people he considered friends. She’d purposefully pushed all those bad memories out of her mind after she escaped, so dredging them up again wasn’t easy.

Typing Frank Caruso’s name into the search engine didn’t bring up many hits. She tried using Luigi Gagliano’s name too, as he was a distant cousin to Anthony.

Still nothing. And as she stared blankly at the computer, a terrible thought occurred to her.

Here she was, waiting for Joey’s kidnappers to call with some sort of ransom demand, but what if she was on the wrong track? What if Frankie didn’t want her money, but simply wanted her son?

Frankie had raised Anthony, bringing him into the world of crime at a young age. Was it possible he wanted to use Joey as a surrogate for Anthony?

Was it possible that Frankie was, right now, driving far away with her son?

Rachel’s heart rate soared as she surged to her feet. Nick had been right! They should have called the police and the FBI right away! If Frankie had kidnapped Joey for personal reasons then he already had a head start on them.

She grabbed her phone, intending to call Nick, but then forced herself to stop and think. Why would Frankie send her threatening letters, saying she would repay her debts, if he didn’t want money?

Pacing the length of the small motel room helped calm her ragged nerves. Her ankle throbbed, but she ignored it. She’d never had a panic attack like this before, not even in the dark days after Anthony had beaten her. She had to stop overreacting to every thought. Every remote possibility.

Somehow she had to be smarter than Frankie Caruso or Luigi Gagliano.

She sat down at the small desk and clicked on the mouse to reactivate Nick’s computer. There was one angle she hadn’t considered, and that was Frankie’s ex-wife, Margie Caruso. Frankie and Margie had divorced the year Rachel was pregnant with Joey, but, surprisingly, they’d stayed on friendly terms. She’d often wondered if Margie had also been involved in illegal activities; otherwise, why wouldn’t Frankie have tried to silence his ex-wife? After all, Anthony had often threatened to kill Rachel if she ratted him out.

Anthony’s threats hadn’t been empty ones, either.

And if Margie was part of the Mafia, it wasn’t a stretch to think that she could be in cahoots with Frankie on this kidnapping scheme.

A quick search revealed that Margie was still living in the Chicago area. She wrote down the address, determined to convince Nick that they needed to pay the woman a surprise visit.

THREE

Nick couldn’t stop thinking about Rachel and Joey as he ran a few errands. He understood what Rachel was going through—he’d been inconsolable after his wife and daughter went missing, too. He knew he shouldn’t let his emotions get in the way of doing what was right, but seeing the pain etched on Rachel’s face was impossible to ignore.

After picking up some new clothes he’d put a call in to his FBI buddy, Logan Quail, only to find out his friend was out of the country on his honeymoon. No wonder Logan hadn’t returned his calls. The timing was unfortunate, since Logan’s expertise would have been perfect for Rachel’s situation.

But he’d just have to use another way to help Rachel find her son.

As he was picking up some fast food, his phone rang and he was surprised to discover that the caller was his boss, Ryan Walsh. “Hi, Captain.”

“Butler. We have some news from the crash scene you called in earlier.”

“You do?” He juggled the phone as he handed over cash and accepted the bag of food from the bored teen at the window. “What do you have?”

“We got a hit on one of the fingerprints. Perp’s name is Ricky Morales and he’s got a rap sheet, largely for drug busts, but, most recently, he was arrested for armed robbery. He just got out on bail about six months ago.”

Nick pulled away from the drive-through window and parked in the first open slot he saw. “Do you think Morales has found a home working as a thug for the Mafia?”

His boss grunted. “Don’t see why not. It’s a lead worth following since the truck is registered in his name, too. Explains why he dumped his ride as soon as he did. I’ll send his last-known address to you in an email. Where are you right now?”