Heart of a Hero. Marie Ferrarella

      She fingered the card Rusty had refused to take back, her mind working at a frantic pace. Nothing mattered but getting Vinny back. She thought she knew who had taken him, was pretty sure on that score, but she had no idea where he had been taken. There were at least several possibilities, if not more.

      Even if she did know where, she knew she couldn’t just waltz in and get Vinny. Not without help. Without backup. She looked at the man in front of her. Maybe she needed this overgrown Boy Scout at that.

      But she wanted him to convince her, to make her feel that she wasn’t going to regret this decision. “How good is your track record? Fifty percent? Sixty?” she added hopefully.

      Rusty shook his head and her heart plummeted.

      “Well, then, I guess I don’t—”

      “One hundred.” He saw her eyes widen at the number. “Our track record is one hundred percent,” he told her.

      She knew it. It was a scam. All of it. She thrust the card at him, jabbing at a chest that was harder than she’d expected.

      “You’re lying,” she accused angrily. Did he think she was some kind of mental midget? Nobody had that kind of success.

      He merely looked down at the card she was pushing against him, but didn’t take it from her.

      “It’s a matter of record. No case we take on is ever closed until we find the missing child. Sometimes we get lucky and it’s fast, sometimes not, but we never give up.” It was a promise he was making her. “It took three years to find Darin, Cade’s son,” he added when she looked at him blankly as he said the name.

      Oh, God, she wanted to believe him so badly. But she’d stopped believing in Santa Claus the year she’d turned six. “How much does all this cost?” There was still some jewelry she could sell, she thought. Pieces Vincent had given her to convince her of the seriousness of his intentions. She’d been saving them for an emergency and this more than qualified.

      “Like I said, things can be arranged. We’re not in it for the money.”

      Next he was going to tell her that he was a monk in disguise. “But you’ve got to eat,” she pointed out cynically. “And your apartment upstairs doesn’t come free.”

      “We can take your case pro bono.” He knew Cade would have no problem with that. Cade had been the one who had said that money was secondary to their work. His superior was completely dedicated to the belief that no one should be made to go through what he had.

      “I don’t need charity.” Her indignation heated and then she looked past him toward the framed photograph on the coffee table. The photograph of her and Vinny taken on his last birthday. They’d been in Salinas then. Two locations ago. “What I need is my son back.”

      “I know you do. And we’re going to do whatever’s necessary to find him and get him back.”

      He hadn’t used the word “try,” she noted. It was almost as if he was making her a promise. God, she wished she could believe that he was on the level, wished that she wasn’t so damn suspicious of everything and everyone.

      But there was good reason to be.

      The phone rang just then.

      Dakota jumped. Her nerves all close to the surface, she bit her lower lip to stifle the scream that had risen instantly.

      But as she swung around and reached for the receiver, Rusty caught her wrist. She looked at him accusingly. Was he crazy?

      “Tilt the receiver so I can listen in,” he instructed.

      She hated the fact that he seemed so matter-of-fact, so calm, while she felt as if she were on a giant roller coaster barreling down an incline. Dakota jerked her hand free just as he released his hold. Grabbing the phone with both hands, she cried, “Hello?” breathlessly.

      There was a slight delay before a metallic voice asked, “Is this Della Armstrong?”

      “Dakota,” she corrected heatedly. Something was wrong. They knew her name. She didn’t doubt that they knew everything about her. Was this supposed to be some kind of cryptic put-down?

      “Sorry,” the voice on the other end of the line said cheerfully. “Ms. Armstrong, this is Phil Henderson from Dayton Telemarketing. We’re calling people in your neighborhood tonight to—”

      She slammed down the receiver, swallowing a curse as angry tears filled her eyes. “Of all the stupid times to call…”

      He heard the barely suppressed hysteria in her voice, knew where it could lead if unleashed. “Easy,” Rusty cautioned.

      Her temper exploded. “Easy, right. You can take it easy,” she lashed out. “It’s not your son who was stolen out of his crib.”

      She had every right to think that he didn’t understand, but he did. More than she could ever know. He understood anguish. And hated it. “We’ll find him.”

      “How do I know that?” she demanded hotly. “How do I know that Vinny won’t be the blot on your sterling record? The one who you couldn’t get back.” She bit back a sob. “You have no right, no right to make promises you can’t keep.”

      He took hold of her shoulders. She struggled to pull away but this time he wouldn’t let her. This time, he held her fast. “Look at me.”

      Defiant, she refused to obey. She’d always resented being told what to do.

      “Why?”

      “Look at me,” he repeated, measuring out each word. His tone surprised her. When she reluctantly did what he wanted, Rusty said in a firm voice, “Your son isn’t going to be an exception. We are going to find him. You have to believe that.”

      She wanted to. He had no idea how much she wanted to. But she knew the odds, knew what he was up against even if he didn’t. How could he?

      Desperation made her cynical. “You and this boss of yours and your sister, the ex-FBI agent.”

      He refused to let her bait him, even though he sensed that she was after an argument, that a verbal fight might somehow alleviate the tension holding her prisoner. It wasn’t in his nature to argue.

      “There are more people working at the agency now,” he assured her. “My brother—”

      She didn’t let him finish. Disgust came into her eyes. “What is this, a family affair?”

      “In a way.” In some ways, they were closer than some families. They agonized over each other’s cases, shared each other’s successes. “My brother was kidnapped as a boy, so I kind of know what you’re going through. The others at the agency all have had close experiences with kidnap victims and their families. Nobody thinks of this as just another job, or any of the kids we look for as just statistics.” This wasn’t the time to go into any of that. He’d just wanted to reassure her a little. “Now, are you up to giving me some information, or do you want me to call someone to stay with you tonight and we’ll talk in the morning at the agency?”

      Morning. A million light-years from now. Where would Vinny be in the morning? Would he be calling for her? Would he be afraid? Or would they begin brainwashing him, making him forget her? How long did a two-year-old’s memory last?

      She was becoming aware of a numbness settling in. One that separated her from her body and her anguish, making things seem surreal. It crept slowly up her limbs. Maybe it was all a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare. That was it, a nightmare. She’d lived in fear of this happening for two years, maybe it had just surfaced in a dream to haunt her.

      “There’s no one to call,” she told him dully. There would have been if this had been her old life. There were people she could turn to. But not here. There was no one here.

      Rusty thought of calling his sister, or Savannah, who’d come to work for the agency after Sam had recovered