Her Stolen Son (13 page)

“Left early this morning.” The woman turned to Shanika. “You find anything when you cleaned the room?”

Shanika toyed with the gold loops in her ear. “I ain't had time to clean it yet.”

The woman glared at Shanika, but snatched the room key. “Come on. You can take a look.”

Colt and Serena followed the manager outside and around the back to room 318. Colt scoured the parking lot for the white van, but it hadn't returned. Not a good sign.

The manager twisted the key and started to enter, but Colt signaled her to let him go first, so she stepped aside. The strong odor of cigarette smoke, burgers and French fries filled the room.

He glanced at the beds. Both unmade.

Relief surged through him. At least Rice hadn't used Petey for himself. He glanced at Serena and saw her studying the room, as well.

Colt searched the closet, then the dresser and trash,
looking for anything that Rice might have left behind, hoping that he'd scribbled an address or left some indicator as to his plans.

Serena had stepped inside the bathroom, then she gasped.

His lungs constricted. Dear God, no.

What if Rice had killed Petey and left his body behind?

Serena stared at the mirror, her heart thumping wildly with fear. The letters on the mirror, the writing, the childlike scrawl, the words…

Help me.

Was it written in blood?

She trembled all over, knowing she needed to touch it to know, but denial forced her hands to her sides, and she began to pray with all her might, just as she'd prayed for help when she'd been stuck in those awful foster homes and lost on the streets herself.

She'd never wanted Petey to suffer as she had.

And now he was with some maniac who had evil purposes in mind. Had Petey fought him? Had he tried to escape and Rice punished him by hurting him?

She lifted her finger to touch the message, but Colt rushed in and caught her hand. “Don't touch it, Serena.”

A sob caught in her throat. “But Petey wrote it and he's scared, and it looks like he's injured.”

Colt inched closer to the mirror and examined the writing. He lifted one finger and dabbed the corner, careful not to damage the imprint, then sniffed it.

A frown marred his face, then he shocked her by touching his finger to his mouth.

“What are you doing?” Serena asked.

Colt sighed. “It's ketchup, Serena.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “Petey wrote the message with ketchup.”

Serena's shoulders sagged in relief.

“Everything all right in there?” the manager called.

“Yes,” Colt said, then took Serena's hand. “Let's go. We have to catch a flight to Miami.”

Colt thanked the manager then phoned GAI to fill them in as he drove toward the airport. Ben booked them a flight and another rental car to be picked up when they arrived in Miami.

Serena's cell phone jangled, and she dug it from her purse, praying it was Petey or Rice, but when she checked the number, it was Kay Krantz.

She punched Connect, hoping the woman didn't have more bad news. Like her bail had been revoked because she'd left the state.

“Hello. This is Serena.”

“Serena, it's Kay Krantz. Listen, a bit of good news. I just met with the judge and the sheriff and in light of the forensics and the eyewitness claiming he saw Rice alive, they've dropped the charges against you. Congratulations. You're a free woman.”

Serena pressed her hand to her throat. Yes, getting the charges dropped was good news.

But what did it matter if she was free if she didn't find her son?

 

B
Y THE TIME
C
OLT
and Serena landed in Miami, it was early evening. The sun was fading although the temperature had hit the hundred-plus mark, and the air felt stifling.

Colt quickly commandeered the rental car, fatigue adding to his frustration. He was going on more than twenty-four hours without sleep, but he didn't have time to stop and rest.

Even with Rice driving and them taking flights, the creep could have dropped Petey with someone else and be headed to his own destination to hide out.

His cell phone buzzed just as he and Serena pulled away from the airport. It was Ian Shaw from the Special Victims Unit. “Ian?”

“Yeah. I got your message, and I've seen the reports on the missing boy. You think his disappearance is connected to a child kidnapping ring?”

“It looks that way. The boy's father was a cop who was killed working undercover. His CI claimed he had a lead on a kidnapping ring. We think that's what got him killed.”

Ian made a sound of disgust in his throat. “And Lyle Rice is involved?”

“Yes. Parker Stover arrested him, so I think he abducted Stover's son for revenge.”

“About Rice,” Ian said. “I recognized one of his old aliases. We have two missing child cases here in Raleigh. Both girls are age six, brown hair, brown eyes. The first girl is Kinsey Jones, the second Ellie Pinkerton. They were kidnapped within a few hours of each other, and both attended the same elementary school.”

“When were they kidnapped?”

“Ten days ago. Kinsey's mother recognized Rice from one of the shots on the news. She's a real-estate broker, said she showed him some property. He claimed he had children and wanted to see the elementary school, as well.”

“He was casing her family and the school.”

“It appears that way. If you find him, he might have both girls.”

Dammit. “No telling how many kids are involved,” Colt said. “Email me the girls' photos and information and I'll keep you posted.”

When Colt ended the call, he headed toward the local police department.

“What was that about?” Serena asked.

“My friend with the SVU in Raleigh. Two little girls were kidnapped there ten days ago. One of the mothers recognized Rice's photo. He was casing the elementary school.”

“So Petey wasn't his only victim.” A shudder coursed through Serena. “How could someone steal innocent children and sell them like they're property?”

“He's sick and depraved,” Colt said. “But he's not going to get away with it, Serena.”

She turned to look out the window, and Colt noted the swaying palm trees, the rippling tides of the ocean, and beach properties, a dramatic change from the mountains. Miami was a happening city, a virtual resort for families and young people who enjoyed the nightlife. Celebrities also flocked to the town for its beauty, private island resorts and recreational resources.

Yet crime thrived, the waterways providing an escape for drug runners, illegal aliens, and other corrupt business ventures—like trading and selling children.

Five minutes later, he parked at the Miami-Dade County Police Department (MDPD), and he and Serena went inside. A lean dark-skinned Cuban man, Sergeant Cal Sanchez, escorted them into his office, and Colt caught him up on his investigation.

“Do you have any leads on a child kidnapping ring?” Colt asked.

Sergeant Sanchez rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “No, but I'll talk to my undercover agents and have them dig around. If this bastard is using our city for human trafficking, we have to stop him.”

“Please post the photos of Rice and Petey Stover for your men. I'll forward you photos of two missing little girls from Raleigh, North Carolina, who we suspect Rice abducted, too.” Colt paused. “He was casing schools and was last seen driving a plain white van, so he may have more children locked inside.” Colt accessed his email on his phone and forwarded the photos.

“I'll have my men check out boating docks, abandoned properties, and put feelers out on the streets.”

Colt battled disgust. “He approached the mother of the Raleigh child and asked her to show him property. Maybe he's doing the same here. Or he could be holed up in an empty rental.”

“With the market tanking, there are dozens of those.” Sergeant Sanchez stood. “But I'll put some officers on that angle ASAP.”

Although Colt doubted Rice planned to stick around.
He knew the police were onto him, and he'd be looking to run. “The airports, train and bus stations have been alerted, but you could help us by alerting port authorities here in Miami,” Colt said.

“Of course,” Sanchez agreed.

Colt thanked him and placed his hand on the small of Serena's back as they left. As soon as they stepped onto the pavement, the sweltering heat assaulted them, nearly robbing him of breath.

“Where to now?” Serena asked. “They could be anywhere. Rice could have Petey on a ship by now and be leaving Florida—”

“Don't,” Colt said. “Agents and cops nationwide are looking for him.” They climbed back in the rental car and he drove through downtown Miami. “Let me check in with Gage.”

Serena nodded and folded her arms, visually scanning the streets as tourists and families strolled by, and he realized she was searching for Petey in the crowd.

Gage answered on the first ring. “Colt, are you in Miami now?”

“Yes. We just talked with a sergeant at MDPD.”

“Good. Special Agent Mitchell Metcalf is flying out from Quantico. He'll meet up with you there.”

“Fine. Any information from Mansfield?”

“He denies knowing anything about a major kidnapping ring.”

Same old song and dance he'd given since Dr. Emery's arrest.

“But Ben may have something. I'm putting you on speaker.”

Colt waited a second and heard Ben murmur something to Gage. “Colt. I did some more digging around on Rice and discovered two things. One of his former cell mates has skipped out on his probation and may be helping him. And two, he has his pilot's license.”

Colt tensed. “Dammit. There are several private airports around Miami.”

“Exactly. And some of the islands have areas large enough for landing a small plane.”

He hated to voice his fears out loud, but he and Ben were on the same wavelength. Rice might be planning to fly Petey out of the country in a private jet.

He'd check the ones nearest the city first. “Do you have directions to the private airports nearest Miami?”

“I'm texting them to you now.”

Colt thanked Ben and disconnected. When he turned to Serena, her face looked ashen. “Oh, God, Colt. Tell me he hasn't already left the country with Petey.”

He wished to hell he could.

Colt swallowed hard and spun the car around, heading back to 95. The tires screeched on the sedan as he accelerated and sped toward the nearest private airport.

 

S
ERENA CLENCHED
the armrest, her pulse racing as she fought the images bombarding her, but she'd seen news stories about human trafficking and the images assaulted her anyway. Petey and other children locked in the back of that van in the oppressive heat. Or Petey tied and bound and tossed on a plane like some kind of cargo that Rice planned to sell.

Colt veered off 95 and they traveled another ten miles, the more populated area turning to marshland. A private jet zoomed overhead and she stared up at it, wondering if that very plane might be carrying her son away.

Colt turned down the long drive to the airport, bypassing palm trees and grassland, and ahead she spotted the airport. A long rectangular building looked as if it served as the terminal, a parking lot held a handful of vehicles, and several hangars were spread out behind the main terminal.

No white van.

Although a small black cargo van sporting a logo for pool supplies sat near one of the hangars.

Colt pulled up in front of the airport and parked, and they walked up to the entrance, both of them scanning the perimeter in case Rice or his accomplice was there, but the place seemed virtually deserted.

Colt squeezed her arm. “You okay?”

Serena frowned. “I won't be okay until we find my son.”

Colt nodded, his eyes worried, then pushed open the door. The inside of the airport resembled a commercial terminal but on a much smaller scale. Seating areas were scattered throughout, along with restrooms; there was a small store, which had a closed sign on it, and an information desk had been carved in the center.

A thin gray-haired man wearing a dark blue security uniform sat at the desk, his boots on the top, his head lolled back, his mouth slack, snoring.

Colt strode toward him and rapped his knuckles on the desk. Serena read his name tag—Homer.

“Hey, Homer,” Colt said. “We need your help.”

The old man jerked awake, then rubbed his blurry eyes. “What? You need to charter a plane?”

“No,” Colt said. “We need information.”

Serena removed the photos of Rice and Petey from her purse and laid them on the desk while Colt explained about their search.

“The man we're looking for, Lyle Rice, has a pilot's license,” Colt said. “We think he may be planning to transport Ms. Stover's son and possibly other kidnapped children out of the country. Have you seen him?”

The man leaned forward, his frown deepening the grooves around his mouth and eyes. “No, can't say as I have.”

“He was last seen driving a white van,” Colt said. “Have you seen it parked here?”

Homer scratched his chin. “Hmm, no, sure haven't. But I've been inside all day and my eyes ain't what they used to be.”

“Show me your flight log,” Colt demanded.

Homer shoved a clipboard toward him, and Colt studied the manifest. Nothing there except for one scheduled plane belonging to a woman.

“Who was flying that plane that took off a few minutes ago?” Serena asked.

Homer grinned toothily. “Ansley Freeworth. She just got her pilot's license and wanted to take out her bird.”

“Did she have anyone with her?”

“Just her current boy wonder,” Homer's tone turned derisive. “She's a rich daddy's girl and has a new one every time she comes.”

“So she wasn't transporting any cargo or other passengers?” Colt asked.

“No passengers. Probably a bottle of vodka for her picnic when she lands though.”

Serena's chest clenched. She'd hoped Homer could tell them more.

Colt cleared his throat. “Do you mind if we look around outside?”

Homer shrugged his bony shoulders. “Suit yourself.”

Colt laid a business card on the desk. “Call me if Rice shows up.”

Homer nodded, and Colt led Serena outside. Colt gestured toward the hangars. “Let's check them out. Just because Homer didn't see anything doesn't mean Rice or his accomplice didn't stop by.”

Colt headed toward the black van, and Serena rushed to keep up with him. The sun was fading now, night falling, although the heat still felt oppressive. The scent of machine oil and dirt rose to greet her as they approached the van near the hangar.

Colt peered inside the front, and Serena scanned the interior, as well. Nothing. Colt opened the door, and the strong odor of pool chemicals filled the air.

Then suddenly a gunshot rang out.

Serena screamed, and Colt shoved her down behind the van. “Keep low,” Colt shouted.

Another shot pinged off the top of the van, then the sound of gravel crunching as footsteps raced across the
lot. Serena peered around the van and spotted a chunky man with tattoos up and down his arms running toward a black sedan.