The Billionaire's Son. Sharon Hartley

in the seat, and ran her palm across supple, luxurious black leather, breathing in its distinctive scent. She noted a bar to her left with two crystal decanters and matching glasses. Certain the amber liquid inside the decanters was some sort of liquor, she wished she could take a long swallow for quick warmth.

      Better not. She needed to stay sharp.

      Wentworth sat facing her and Jason. He gazed at his son with such longing that her resentment softened just a bit. When the driver shut the door, it instantly became quiet, making Jason’s harsh, erratic breathing very loud.

      Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Is he okay?”

      “I think his nose is stuffed up from all the crying.”

      Wentworth leaned forward and reached his hand inside his coat pocket, his hand brushing against her flesh. She stiffened, but he withdrew a handkerchief and handed it to her.

      “See if you can get him to blow his nose.”

      She dangled it in front of the kid’s face. “Blow your nose, Jason,” she said.

      “Hold it close,” Wentworth instructed.

      But Jason turned his face away.

      Wentworth placed the cloth next to Jason’s nose. “Come on, buddy. Blow for Daddy.”

      The kid made a honking sound.

      “Again,” Wentworth said.

      After several more blows, the kid turned away again, placing his cheek against Kelly’s shoulder with a deep sigh, refusing to look at his father. But his breathing sounded better.

      Kelly couldn’t read the expression on Wentworth’s face as he stared out a window. With a start, she realized they were moving. The vehicle was so solid, so quiet, or maybe the driver so expert, she hadn’t been aware that they’d entered traffic.

      “Where do you live?” she asked after a few minutes.

      “We spent the winter at the family villa on Collins Island.”

      Kelly didn’t know what to react to first—the fact that it was currently spring, not winter, or that he had a villa, no less, on a private island accessible only by boat. No one could get on or off Collins Island without permission from an owner who resided on the Forbes Best or Most Whatever list.

      Wentworth brushed lint off his trousers. “Jason has been receiving therapy from a child psychiatrist associated with Miami Children’s Hospital, so we stayed on this year.”

      She nodded. So the kid had already been screwed up before the kidnapping.

      “Have you called his doctor?” Kelly asked. “To let him know what’s going on?”

      “Her,” Wentworth said. “Dr. Carico has rearranged her schedule and will meet with Jason this afternoon.”

      “Good,” Kelly said. “That should help get him straightened out.”

      “God, I hope so,” Wentworth muttered, glancing back to his son, then meeting her gaze. “Are you warm enough?” he asked. “I told Hans not to turn on the AC back here.”

      “Thanks,” Kelly said. “I’m comfortable now. Do you want your jacket?”

      Wentworth smiled. “I’m fine. And I don’t want to disturb Jason. I think he’s fallen asleep.”

      Kelly gazed down at the kid. His breathing was regular, although still too loud, and his body had relaxed into slumber.

      “You’re right,” she whispered. “That’s probably the best thing for him.”

      “Maybe not,” Wentworth said. “He has bad dreams.”

      “Nightmares can’t be worse than the reality of a kidnapping,” Kelly said.

      “You’d think not.”

      Wentworth lapsed into silence after that cryptic statement, and Kelly leaned her head against the plush seat back. The adrenaline rush of the encounter with Adam and Caleb, plus the misery of the cold room, had drained her usual energy. She closed her eyes, feeling the easy rush of pavement beneath the limo’s eight tires. A far smoother ride than her own compact car. Like floating on air.

      She woke when the limo came to a stop at the ferry landing for Collins Island. Jason remained sound asleep. And so was her arm beneath him. She wiggled her fingers. Pain shot up to her shoulder.

      “Are you okay?” Wentworth asked. “You just made a horrible face.”

      Well, excuse me, Mr. Billionaire. We certainly can’t have that. Apparently high-class people didn’t do anything so gauche as have pained facial expressions.

      “My arm is numb. I don’t want to wake him, but I have to move him.”

      “Just transfer him to your other shoulder. He might rouse for a second, but he’ll fall right back to sleep.”

      “Ouch,” Kelly said as icy needles assaulted her arm.

      Wentworth leaned forward and efficiently moved the kid to her right shoulder. Jason fussed for a few breaths, then eased into sleep again.

      “Thanks,” Kelly said, knowing she made another face as blood rushed into her left arm.

      “I should be thanking you, Officer Jenkins. I know this is an imposition for you to remain with my son like this. We’re total strangers to you.”

      “It’s my job to protect and serve,” she said, trying to make a joke. And remind him that she was law enforcement no matter how unprofessional she appeared in her skimpy jogging outfit.

      Wentworth didn’t crack a smile, only evaluated her with his intense dark stare. “This might be a little above and beyond your normal duty.”

      “A little.” Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, she looked out the tinted windows and noted the ferry had pushed away from the dock. Wow. She was on her way to Collins Island. Imagine that. She’d always been curious about the legendary place. Most everyone in Miami was, but few ever got to see a Shangri-La reserved for that special one percent.

      “I apologize if I insulted you by offering you money,” Wentworth said in a low voice. “Please forgive me.”

      “Don’t worry about it,” Kelly said. “A hot shower will be more than enough reward.”

      “Oh, I think we can do better than that,” he said, and smiled a lazy, somehow dangerous smile. This man was accustomed to getting his own way and doing exactly what he wanted. How nice for him.

      But she didn’t want anything from him.

      Wentworth gazed out at the water, apparently lost in thought.

      Kelly followed his gaze and noted they already approached the island’s dock. Short trip, but they only had to cross the narrow channel known as Government Cut.

      Before long they motored off the ferry and reached a pair of towering wrought iron gates with the initials “WWV” inscribed at the top in a handsome flowing script. A decorative iron barrier surrounded the estate.

      As the gates swung open, Trey focused his attention on his son again. “We’re home. Let’s try not to wake him.”

      Kelly nodded.

      The passenger compartment door opened after the driver stopped the limo. Kelly carefully shifted Jason so she could support him with both arms as she climbed out of the vehicle. Trey exited first and held out his hand to assist her, but she was afraid to release the kid who was dead weight in her arms.

      Thankfully, she made it out without stumbling, and hoped she didn’t gape at the size of the structure before her. Villa indeed. Architecture was hardly her thing, but she recognized good design when it slammed her in the face. Wentworth’s home reminded her of photos she’d seen of estates in Tuscany. Coral roof tiles, classic columns and graceful arches made her think there might be a vineyard somewhere