Special Forces Father (8 page)

“Myron Stamps followed right along in Con’s footsteps, only he and several other legislators who have been around for a long time called themselves the
Good Ole Boys.
These days there are only three left—Stamps, Darby Sills and Gavin Whitley. There have been rumors for years that they’ve taken bribes and kickbacks from businessmen in the import business to keep import taxes low and look the other
way when certain illegal substances are brought in through the Port of New Orleans.” Dawson took a drink of his coffee, then continued. “Danielle Canto overheard the men who had killed her grandfather yelling out Stamps’s and Paul’s names. The importer, Ernest Yeoman, was convicted of conspiracy to kill Freeman Canto. Your baby brother Harte was involved in the case.”

Travis nodded. “Kate
told me he was shot, but he’s doing okay.”

“Right,” Dawson said. “So, like I said, Yeoman was found guilty of conspiracy, but Danielle Canto’s testimony was the only evidence against Stamps or Paul, so they walked away. Stamps is on leave from the senate now, stating he’s working with his attorney to prepare that temporary-insanity defense that the D.A. is bringing against him for shooting
Paul.”

“What’s all this got to do with anything?”

“The other two
Good Ole Boys?
Sills and Whitley? They’re still going strong. Still in office. Still advocating low tariffs. And they owe their careers to Stamps.”

“Sills and Whitley.” Travis frowned. “Are you saying they’re somehow mixed up in all this?”

“Word is they’d do anything for Myron Stamps. So...” Dawson spread his
hands, palms up.

Travis tried to wrap his brain around the concept that three state legislators would conspire to kidnap a child. “Kidnapping a child is a federal offense.”

Dawson nodded.

“Why risk it? Stamps could plead down to simple assault.”

“But that’s still a felony. He couldn’t hold public office.”

“You said he’s out of the senate?”

“Nope. Not out. Just taking
a temporary leave of absence. If he manages to make this insanity plea stick, he could be back on the job within a year or two.”

“That makes no sense. He’s probably got the best attorney money can buy. From what Kate told me, Paul is not pressing charges. Why not plead innocent and claim it was an accident?”

Dawson shrugged. “I’m not saying it makes sense. I’m just trying to follow their
logic—or illogic—tree. If he pleads not guilty and loses, he’s out of politics for good.”

Travis stood. “Okay,” he said. “If you could put a man on Stamps, I’d appreciate it. But I’m still thinking about having a talk with him.”

“He’ll make you as a Delancey.”

“Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”

“Let me know what happens.”

“I will,” Travis said. “Listen, Dawson. Don’t
say anything to anybody about me being here.”

“I won’t, but I think you’re making a mistake.”

“I know. If it were me, I’d go to Lucas. But Kate believes the guy. He told her he’d kill Max if she told anybody. Any time I try to bring up going to one of my brothers or cousins who are on the job, she gets hysterical.”

Dawson reached for the doorknob. “She was okay with you talking
to me?”

At that moment the phone started ringing.

“Don’t answer it,” Travis said. “It’s Kate. She knows I have her phone. She’s called once already.”

“This isn’t Kate,” Dawson said, holding up the phone so Travis could see the display. “It says
Private Number.
”

“That’s the kidnapper,” Travis said.

Chapter Five

“Should I answer it?” Travis asked.

Dawson shook his head, then held up a finger as he clicked the speaker button with his other. “Hello,” he said.

There was silence on the other end, then, “I told her what would happen if she told anybody.”

“Who are you?” Dawson asked.

The man cursed.

“Don’t hang up. I’ve got a deal for you.”

Travis stared
at Dawson, who nodded reassuringly at him, still holding up his hand.

Travis felt helpless, listening to Dawson dealing with the kidnapper while he stood there, having no idea what to do or say—or even think.

“A deal?” The voice laughed harshly. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“I’m the guy who can get you what you want,” Dawson said.

“I told Dr. Chalmet what I want.”

“Right,” Dawson drawled, cutting his eyes to Travis, who still wasn’t sure what was going on. He just hoped Dawson knew what he was doing. “You want Senator Stamps to be ruled temporarily insane so he can skip out on his assault charge. That’s what
you
want?”

“That’s right,” the voice said.

Travis realized that Dawson had taken control of the conversation. “No, it’s not. What
you
want is money. It’s the people who hired you that want Stamps off on an insanity plea.”

“Same difference,” the voice said petulantly. “What the hell is it to you? And hey. You still haven’t told me who the hell you are.”

“Nope. And I’m not going to. You don’t need to know who I am. All you need to know is I’ve got plenty of money and I’m willing to give it to you to return Dr. Chalmet’s
son to her and walk away.”

“How—” the voice stopped, then spoke again. “I took a job and I intend to finish it. But say you want to buy some insurance, be sure the kid stays healthy, that’s fine with me. But I ain’t walking out on a job. I got a reputation.”

“Oh, you’ve got a
reputation.
” Dawson hit the mute button, then looked at Travis. “Like I said, he’s a pro.”

“Hell, yeah,
a good one,” the man on the phone said. “Now you’d better let me speak to the doctor,
now.
”

“So he’s a pro—a professional kidnapper?” The idea that his son was being held by a man who kidnapped children
for a living
horrified Travis.

Dawson shrugged and pressed his lips together. “My guess is he does more than just kidnappings.”

Travis’s stomach felt as if it had hit the floor.
“You think he’s a hit man,” he said.

“He’s not going to hurt the boy,” Dawson responded quickly. “He needs him.”

Although that was what Travis had told Kate to reassure her, Dawson’s words didn’t make him feel a whole lot better. He was becoming more and more worried about Max. Where was the man keeping him? Was he safe and warm? Was the man feeding him and giving him enough to drink?

Dawson held up his hand again and took the phone off Mute. “I’m representing Dr. Chalmet,” he said into the phone. “You can talk to me.”

“Oh, hell, no,” the man said. “I don’t talk to her right now, I’m hanging up and she can kiss her kid goodbye.”

“You’re not going to hurt the kid. He’s your ace in the hole.”

“Look, asshole. I heard the trial’s been moved up. If the doctor
doesn’t know that already, you tell her,” the kidnapper went on. “And tell her this. She missed her chance to talk to her kid. Little sucker’s been whining so I thought maybe he’d like to hear his mama’s voice. But that ain’t happening now. I’ll call back one more time and when I do, she better be there to talk to me or I’ll hang up and hell will freeze over before she ever sees her kid again. You
got that?”

Travis touched Dawson’s arm and pointed to himself. Dawson shook his head.

“I got it. Dr. Chalmet will be very sorry she missed your call, but she’s busy working on your demands. So there’s no reason to punish her or her child because she’s doing what you told her to. Why don’t you call back at seven o’clock this evening and—”

There was a click on the line. The man had
hung up.

“Damn it!” Travis cried. He whirled around and kicked the chair nearest him.

“Take it easy, Trav. That temper of yours won’t do your son any good. I’d have thought Special Forces might have trained that out of you.”

Travis instantly regretted the outburst. He was a little surprised at himself. He hadn’t blown up like that since the first two weeks of boot camp. He’d thought—hell,
he’d hoped and prayed—that the rage he’d always harbored inside him, like his own personal demon, was gone.

Chagrined, he walked over and picked up the chair. “I never had a son—” He stopped and swallowed, looking down at his white-knuckled fist doubled around the back of the chair.

Dawson’s large hand squeezed Travis’s shoulder for a second. “We’ll get him back. I promise.”

Travis’s
gaze snapped to Dawson’s. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it, Dawson. Especially not to Kate. She’s fragile, barely holding it together. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet.”

“And that’s good. I’m glad you didn’t wait to contact me. By the way, did you notice the man’s accent?”

“He had an accent?”

“Definitely Midwestern. I think he may be from Chicago.”

“That’s pretty
specific.”

“Your brother Lucas’s wife has a brother who lives up there. His kids are picking up the accent. That means Dusty can narrow the search field. The sooner we get on this—” he held up the phone “—the better. I need to get going. My computer whiz is in Biloxi. I can do a little, but the kid’s a genius.”

Travis nodded.

“I’m going to put that tail on Stamps, too. So if you
go to see him, give me a call first. Put my number in your phone.”

“I don’t have a phone.”

Dawson’s brows shot up. “Don’t have a phone? You’ve got to have a phone. Walk with me. I keep a few burner phones in my trunk, just in case. I’ll give you a couple of them. Give one to Kate, to take the place of this one.”

The two of them headed downstairs. When Dawson retrieved the phones
and handed them to Travis, he looked at them and frowned. “How’s Kate going to get calls from the kidnapper?”

“Oh, that’s easy enough,” Dawson said. “Hang on.” He pulled Kate’s phone out of his pocket. “Give me that phone.” He pointed to one of the phones Travis held. He used his thumb to press buttons on it, looked at the display, then pressed buttons on Kate’s phone. Glancing from one device
to the other, he nodded. “Okay,” he said. “Now any call that comes to Kate’s phone will be forwarded to that phone. Explain that to Kate when you give it to her.”

Travis nodded.

“As soon as I get back to the office, I’ll get Dusty to fix it so that we can listen in on any calls. Tell Kate that, too. Tell her anything that is said on the phone will be recorded. Tell her to try and get
as many specifics as she can out of the guy.”

“That’s great, Dawson. Thanks,” Travis said. “I don’t know how to—”

“Hey,” Dawson said, grasping his shoulder briefly again. “Don’t worry about it. Just keep me up to date on what’s happening with the trial.”

“Right. That guy said the trial date’s been moved up. I’ll bet that’s why Kate called. I didn’t answer the phone because I didn’t
want to listen to her yell at me for taking her phone and contacting you. She’s going to be so mad at me.” Travis ran a hand through his hair. “And I can’t blame her. When she finds out the kidnapper called, she’s going to panic.”

“Tell her I recorded that whole conversation. And tell her not to worry. He’s not going to hurt your boy. He’s going to call back at seven o’clock and he’s going
to let Kate talk to him.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because I told him to. The guy’s a pro. He’s got sense enough to keep her as calm as possible. If she’s too distraught, she won’t be able to do her job. That’s why I was careful to remind him that she wasn’t available to talk to him because she’s working on the case.”

Travis nodded again. “I couldn’t have done this on my
own, Dawson.”

“Hey, kid, you’ve got a whole different set of skills. When you confront this kidnapper, you can take him down and beat the crap out of him.”

Travis was a little taken aback. “That’s not how we work,” he said.

Dawson’s eyes narrowed assessingly. “Sorry. I guess I still see you as a pissed-off kid, instead of a Special Forces operative. No offense.”

Travis held
out his hand. “Thanks.”

Dawson took his hand and the two of them man-hugged again.

Then Travis looked up and down the street. “I better get going. If the town is like I remember it, someone we know will walk up before long.”

Dawson smiled. “It’s not easy being the grandkids of the most infamous politician in the state.”

“You got that right.” Travis headed toward his car.

Dawson opened his car door, then called out to Travis. “Kid,” he said. “I’ll call you after the kidnapper calls.”

“What if he doesn’t call?”

Dawson tipped an imaginary hat. “He’ll call.”

* * *

T
RAVIS
DROVE
TO
Myron Stamps’s home in Metairie. It was a large two-story house with white pillars. There was a brick fence across the front of the property with urns in the place
of lions sitting on top of the concrete posts that flanked the driveway. Travis drove straight in and parked the bedraggled little hatchback next to a Lexus that was so dark green it could have been mistaken for black.

When he rang the front doorbell, Stamps himself answered. He was a small round man with thinning hair. He had on a polo shirt and pale green slacks. “You’re early—” he started
to say as he swung the large door open. “Oh.”

“You’re Stamps?” Travis asked pointedly.

“I’m Senator Stamps,” he said, peering questioningly at Travis. “Who are you?”

Travis eyed Stamps’s clothes. “Going golfing?” he guessed.

Stamps stepped backward and started to close the door.

“This won’t take long,” Travis said, putting out an arm to stop the door. “I have some questions
for you.”

“Wait a minute,” Stamps said. “I know who you are. You’re a Delancey.”

“Good job,” Travis said, then pushed past him and walked into the marble-floored foyer. “Nice,” he drawled, turning around to face Stamps, who was staring at him in mild shock.

“You can’t just walk into my home uninvited. If you don’t leave immediately, I’ll call the police.”

“No problem,” Travis
said, smiling at the senator. His expression seemed to startle the man. “You can call Lucas, Ethan, Ryker or Reilly. There’s also Shel Rossi, who’s a cousin of ours. And—” he snapped his fingers “—you know, if you wanted to call a judge, you could give Shel’s dad, Judge Rossi, a ring. He’s my uncle.”

“What the hell do you want, Delancey? Which one are you, anyhow?”

“That has nothing
to do with why I’m here. But what I want? Well, that’s what we’re about to talk about.”

Stamps took a couple phlegmy breaths as he studied Travis. He tucked his polo shirt a little more snugly over his belly and into his green pants, then he gestured toward the right.

If Travis weren’t mistaken, there seemed to be a small flicker of fear in the senator’s eyes as he said, “You might as
well come in. No sense in standing in the foyer.” He pronounced it
foy-yay.

Travis headed in the direction Stamps was pointing and stepped into a darkly paneled room. Behind him, Stamps turned on the lights. It was the very cliché of a study. Deep red carpeting and curtains, mahogany desk, leather executive’s chair, three club chairs and each wall lined with bookshelves.

“This is nice,
too,” Travis said, gesturing to the dark leather and wood around him. “Never knew working for the government was so lucrative.”

“Your granddaddy did all right,” Stamps muttered, going behind the desk and sitting. He pulled the curtains, exposing French doors that opened onto a patio. Then he turned and picked up a letter opener that seemed to be a tiny replica of General Lee’s ceremonial
sword, complete with tassels, and fiddled with it. “Why don’t you have a seat and tell me what you think I can do for you?”

Travis didn’t sit. Instead he propped a hip on Stamps’s desk. Then he leaned down until his face and Stamps’s were no more than six inches apart. “I’ll tell you what you can do for me,
Senator.
”

“Wha—” Stamps pushed his chair back. “I told you to sit down.”

“You listen to me, old man,” Travis growled. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing threatening Dr. Chalmet, but you’d better back off or I will personally put you in the hospital.”

Stamps stared up at Travis, seemingly horrified. “You’d better watch yourself. You’re threatening an elected official. That’s a federal crime.”

“I’ll tell you what’s a federal crime. Kidnapping a child.
Now,
that’s
a federal crime with some serious teeth behind it.” He stood up and walked back around the front of the desk and sat in one of the club chairs. “Unlike, as you put it,
threatening
a washed-up senator who hasn’t got a prayer of getting out of court without a felony conviction.”

Stamps pulled a white handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wiped his face. Then he stood and rested
his knuckles on the top of the desk. “I have no idea what you are talking about. What child? What threats? And who is Dr.—did you say Chalmet?”

“I’m sure you’re keeping all that well away from yourself. Who’s doing the dirty work? Is it Senator Darby Sills? The one with all the money? No.” Travis put his fingers to his chin as if he was thinking very hard. “No. It’s probably Congressman Whitley.
He’s your newest recruit into the
Good Ole Boys,
isn’t he? Probably getting harder to find your kind of politician these days, isn’t it? Poor Whitley—having to perform your dirty little tricks.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Delancey. Now I’d suggest you get out of here. I do know a couple police officials who are not Delanceys.” Stamps reached for his desk phone.

Travis caught the senator’s wrist. His middle and ring fingers pressed the back of the wrist, his thumb was positioned right in the center of the front. “You want me to demonstrate my skills for you, Myron?” He applied pressure with his thumb, enough to force the senator’s fingers to curl. “I can break your wrist without straining an eyebrow hair. Want to see?”