Desert Ice Daddy. Dana Marton

little.

      “Is he okay?” The hand that held the phone trembled. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything.” She listened. “I don’t have money. You don’t understand.”

      He could hear shouting then, but not the individual words, caught some reference to Diamondback.

      He reached for the phone, but her eyes begged him not to. Slowly, against his better judgment, he let his hand drop.

      “Yes.” Taylor’s voice was a whisper. Tears welled in her eyes, spilled off her dark blond lashes as the phone went dead.

      He drew her into his arms because she didn’t look as though she was going to make it much longer standing upright. He knew what she was going to say before she ever opened her mouth, and hot, hard anger rolled through him, aimed at the nameless bastards who would do this to her and would inflict pain and trauma on Christopher.

      “They’re holding him for ransom,” she said.

      

      TAYLOR FELT LIKE SHE WAS underwater, her motions slow, her lungs tight. She felt disoriented. Everything seemed surreal.

      Somebody had her baby. Christopher was four years old, proclaiming himself to be a big boy at every turn, but he would be her baby forever. He was the one good thing that had come out of her disastrous marriage. Her love for him was the only thing she was sure of at this point in her life.

      And somebody had taken him.

      Her tears were not for herself, but for him, for how scared he must be, how he must be wondering where she was and when she would come. Taylor thought, too late now, of asking to talk to her son. The display had shown an unregistered number, not one she could call back.

      For the first few moments, she felt only gut-searing pain and despair, then slowly she became aware of the strong, masculine arms around her, the offered comfort that she was too shaken to take. Akeem. A long time ago—

      She pulled away, unable to think of anything but Christopher.

      She was falling apart, wanted nothing more than to curl up in a corner and cry until she was dry of tears, to scream her anger and her fear. But Christopher needed her to keep it together, and she would. She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Don’t think what if; don’t think what could go wrong.

      She brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “Okay,” she said out loud to break the spell of despair that was drowning her. “I can do this. We’ll get Christopher back.”

      “At least we know what happened,” Akeem offered.

      And he was right. She could put to rest some of the most disturbing thoughts that had been driving her crazy all morning. Christopher hadn’t fallen into the river or one of the creeks, he hadn’t somehow gotten out to the far pastures and been trampled, he hadn’t been bitten by a diamondback rattler or a copperhead.

      He was with people who would take care of him because he was their key to the money.

      Money she didn’t have. Two million dollars.

      Not that they cared. Her brother had more than enough, and everyone always assumed she had free use of that. Her ex-husband for one. She cut off that train of thought. She didn’t have time to waste on Gary. She regretted that she had to call him in the first place, had to listen to him yell his blame at her. He didn’t care about either her or their son, but he would use this as an excuse—

       Please, God, don’t let him get involved.

      Forget Gary. At least he wasn’t around to muck everything up. A small mercy. She had to focus on how to get Christopher back.

      She had never asked Flint for money. It was a point of pride with her. She had asked him for a job when she had finally left Gary, but the accountant position was a job she was qualified for, one she got fair and square. And she was careful to only earn what the previous employee in that position had gotten.

      Flint didn’t understand her need to make it on her own. Flint hadn’t spent five years with Gary Lafferty.

      “My divorce was finalized yesterday,” she said to no one in particular.

      She’d had one perfect day of happiness.

      A strange light came into Akeem’s dark eyes, but he said nothing.

      Flint and he had been best friends since their college days, along with Jackson Champion and Viktor Romanov—the Aggie Four, a tight-knit brotherhood that stood back to back against the world and had achieved a lot more than just financial success. But Viktor was now dead. There was something more there than Flint had told her, and she’d been meaning to ask him again, but had been too busy with settling in, too busy with Christopher.

      They had stopped in their tracks, she realized after a moment. She’d been frozen by the voice on the other end of the line. No point in going on with the search now, anyhow. “I should call Flint.”

      The men should come back in. The heat was brutal, and they had work here. But she couldn’t find the energy to dial her phone.

      “Want to go back?” Akeem motioned toward the main house with his head. He wasn’t as tall as Flint, but was tall compared to her—she was only five-five. He was as lean as a Texas wild cougar and as focused as a striking rattler. And he was on her side, which eased the tension in her chest a little.

      “To my office.” She moved in that direction. She didn’t want to deal with the police. “They said if I say anything to the cops—” She couldn’t bear finishing the sentence.

      But Akeem nodded even as he pulled out his cell phone. He made a quick call to stop his security force from coming to the ranch, putting them on standby instead.

      The cool air in the office building was a relief. She glanced toward her desk, the pile of work she was supposed to handle after breakfast. She liked her work. She liked Flint’s ranch. In the three months she’d been here, the place hadn’t had the time yet to turn into a true home, but she had found safety among its walls.

      Until now.

       Christopher.

      “Did you recognize the voice?” Again, Akeem pulled out a chair for her, always a gentleman.

      “No.” She watched him look around and wondered what his fancy corporate headquarters in Houston looked like. Unlikely that she would ever see it. She had no business there. She flipped her phone open. “I need to call Flint.”

      “Are you sure you don’t want to bring the cops in on this?” He seemed to be weighing the issue once again.

      “Pretty sure. You didn’t hear him. He was—” The voice had been incredibly cold, incredibly hard. The voice of a man who would do anything. Even to an innocent child. Her throat tightened.

      “Then you can’t call all the men back. The cops will know something happened if the search is called off all of a sudden.”

      She hadn’t thought of that. Her mind was still reeling. Her fingers stopped mid-dial, and she looked up at him, lost in an avalanche of emotions, unable to make a decision in that moment, unable to think beyond her fear.

      “We should tell Flint, in any case. Want me to talk to him?”

      “Please,” she said as he pulled a BlackBerry from his pocket, the latest model. She recognized it only because Flint recently had gotten the same one. Boys and their gadgets. At another time, she might have found it amusing. In this moment, it was barely a blip in her consciousness as her thoughts moved back to her son.

      “How would they have your cell-phone number?” he asked.

      “It’s my work cell. A ton of people have it.”

      “What else did the man say?” Akeem was dialing already.

      “That they would call back.”

      “Hey, you okay? We