Sarah's Secrets. Lisa Childs

nodded. “What does that mean?”

      He stared at her for a long moment. She could almost hear his internal debate.

      “Dylan should be the one to tell you.”

      “But he probably won’t because he’ll try to protect me. And I need to know.”

      Royce nodded. “There are no guarantees, but it could mean that someone was checking Jeremy’s medical history to see if he has any special needs. Meds, that type of thing.”

      Panic streaked through her stomach, churning it upside down. “So they’ll be prepared when they kidnap him.”

      Softly he answered, “Yes, probably.”

      Even whispered, the words shattered her. She shuddered.

      Royce jammed his hands in his pockets. “Sarah, we don’t know that for sure.”

      She jerked her chin up and down. “Yes, we do. The note. The medical records. And whatever happened at the parlor. Why would someone pay that kid to slash your tires?”

      Realization dawned with a renewed throbbing behind her eyes. “So you wouldn’t be able to follow them once they grabbed him.”

      Her knees weakened, threatening to fold beneath her. He reached out then, his hands on her shoulders all that held her up.

      “That’s why…so they could make a clean getaway.”

      His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “Sarah…”

      “Don’t try to spare my feelings now.”

      “Let’s not think about how they planned it. Let’s think about why.” His deep voice held the same desperation swirling in her heart and head.

      She shrugged, but his hands remained, the heat of them burning through the silk of her blouse. “I don’t know why. I can’t believe this is happening. It has to be some sick joke. You saw the townspeople. They don’t like me.”

      “But not liking a person and threatening her child…”

      She blinked away the first hint of tears. She wouldn’t cry in front of a stranger. She didn’t even cry in front of those few friends she had. “I don’t know, Royce. I have money. Maybe that’s all it’s about.”

      “Money?”

      She glanced up at the questioning tone. “Yes, if it’s not about revenge or jealousy, couldn’t it be simple, impersonal? Couldn’t it just be about money?”

      His eyes narrowed. “It could. But usually the targets for those type of kidnappings come from extremely affluent families.”

      She lifted a brow. “I thought you’d formed an opinion about me, Mr. Graham.”

      “A minute ago it was Royce.” He pulled his hands from her shoulders. But he didn’t lean against the patio doors again, his body was too tense.

      “You know I’m a widow. You never asked how my husband died.” Why hadn’t he asked more questions about her? Because he already knew the answers? She suppressed a shiver.

      He rubbed a hand along his unshaven jaw. “I know how. Old man with a bad ticker and a young wife. Heart attack.”

      Foreboding cold seeped so deep into her bones that rubbing her hands up and down her arms did nothing to dispel the chill. “It wasn’t like that. But how do you know that much?”

      His teeth flashed in a quick, unamused smile. “Small towns. People talk.”

      She nodded. People had always talked about that Sarah Mars. She knew that and hated it. “Why did you listen?”

      “Wouldn’t have made much sense to ask the questions if I didn’t listen to the answers.”

      She cleared the bitter taste of fear from her throat. “Why ask?”

      Drawing a butterscotch candy from his pocket, he toyed with the wrapper.

      “Want one?”

      “Not candy. Answers.”

      “I intended to wait until Dylan got here before I got into any of this.”

      Fear rose again. “Then maybe you should. And maybe you should wait outside until he does.”

      “Sarah, don’t be scared of me.”

      She eyed the panic button on the security panel. “I don’t like that someone I don’t know has been asking questions about me, not now, not when someone’s making threats to kidnap my son.”

      Hurt flashed in his eyes. “Not me. I would never harm a child.”

      He dragged in a deep breath. “You know what I used to do for a living and what I do now. You know I’m a friend of your son’s uncle.”

      She nodded, unable to argue his friendship with Dylan, the easy camaraderie between them. And something more. Respect. Dylan respected this man. Most of the world respected this man. She released the breath she’d been holding, but some of the fear remained.

      He popped the hard candy into his mouth. “I don’t quite understand that connection. You’re not Dylan’s sister. And your last name and his are different.”

      “Since you’ve been asking questions, I’m sure you already know that I was never married to Dylan’s brother, Jeremy’s father.”

      “I didn’t know that. You don’t consider him a suspect?” he asked.

      “I think being dead would make it a little difficult for him to be behind this threat. Jimmy died before Jeremy was born.” She bristled, anger sweeping away the last of her fear. “Not that my life is any of your business. I want to know why you’ve been asking about me.”

      “Because you’re the reason I came to Winter Falls.”

      Stunned, she swayed on her heels.

      “Are you all right?”

      She wasn’t all right. Hadn’t been since this afternoon when her world had fallen apart. She lifted her hand and inspected the red spot on her finger where she’d pulled out the sliver early that afternoon. She’d thought that was the low point of her day—until she’d found the note threatening her son.

      Until Royce Graham had come to Winter Falls. For her.

      He leaned close, taking her hand in his. “You’re hurt.” His breath washed over her skin, raising disturbing tingles of awareness.

      She tugged free and stepped back, gaining some breathing distance between them. “No, I’m confused. Why did you come here looking for me?”

      “Because someone I care very much about asked me to find you.”

      “Your non-paying client.” At the parlor, he’d told her his trip to Winter Falls was personal. She hadn’t guessed how personal. To her.

      “My father’s business partner and best friend. My godfather.” A wealth of emotion deepened his husky voice on those last two words.

      She shook her head, her hair tickling her cheek and neck. “I don’t understand why he wants to see me.”

      Royce lifted a broad shoulder and let it drop. “Bart didn’t say.”

      “Bart?”

      “Bartholomew McCarthy.”

      She searched her memory, but the name didn’t strike any chords, not the way Royce’s had. “I don’t know him.”

      “He knows you, and he wants to see you, Sarah.” And from his determined tone, Royce would do his damnedest to precipitate a meeting between them.

      “So ask him why.”

      The candy crunched between his teeth. “I can’t. He’s in a coma.”

      She