The Ransom. Maggie Price

her inner strength. She forced her eyes open, instantly squinting against the sun’s glare. Her concern took on added weight when she focused on the clock on the nightstand. Ten o’clock. Good God, sick or well, she never slept this late!

      Nor did Matthew.

      She knew the distress she felt wouldn’t be rocketing toward the ozone if Willa were home—she sometimes kept Matthew occupied before breakfast in the kitchen. But just as she had done every Wednesday since Kathryn could remember, Willa had driven to Dallas yesterday evening to spend the night with her daughter. Today was her day off. And Pilar wasn’t coming this morning to clean because she had to take Antonio to the dentist. It was just Kathryn and Matthew in the house.

      Matthew, she thought as she clamped her teeth on her bottom lip.

      She pushed herself up against the bank of pillows lining the headboard, which intensified the nausea. A headache worked its way up from the base of her skull. Swallowing convulsively, she put her head back and waited for the sick feeling to pass.

      Several long, slow breaths later she shoved back the sheet and antique wedding-ring quilt. Not trusting her legs to hold her, she flattened one palm against the nightstand and pushed herself up. Beside the clock sat the empty wineglass she’d sipped from the night before. She wished the glass was full of water so she could ease the dryness in her mouth. Thoughts of stopping in her bathroom to get a drink dissipated when her bedroom whirled once, then righted itself. She’d be doing good just to get down the hallway to Matthew’s room without adding a side-trip. Working hard to even her breathing, she forced her unsteady legs to take tentative steps, feeling like a drunk staggering against a current.

      Although her head still felt like it was packed with gauze, her stomach seemed to be settling now that she was on her feet.

      Good. This is good.

      Dressed in a yellow cotton camisole and sleep shorts, she left her robe on the bed’s footboard and made her way across the bedroom, the wood floor cool beneath her bare feet. Her hand shook when she reached for the doorknob. She stepped into the hallway; except for the low hum of the central air-conditioning the house was ominously silent.

      “Matthew?” Her shout seemed to hang in the air around her.

      From down the hallway came Abby’s muffled bark. The dachshund’s toenails scraped against the closed bedroom door.

      Since Abby stuck loyally to Matthew, Kathryn reasoned both dog and boy were still in his bedroom.

      Her movements felt hazy, almost dreamlike as she made her way along the hallway. Although the distance between the bedrooms was short, she had to stop several times when the trembling in her legs worsened.

      The closer she got to Matthew’s room, the more urgent Abby’s barks. The instant she swung open the door the dachshund leaped out, weaving frantic circles around her mistress’s bare feet.

      “Matthew?” Kathryn stumbled over the dog into the large, airy room with windows that looked out over the front driveway.

      Her gaze swept the bed. The jungle-theme sheets and spread were rumpled, as if her son had just climbed out. His robe lay on the end of the mattress. Kathryn swiveled toward the waist-high bookcases built into the far wall. Toy tanks, airplanes and platoons of soldiers crowded the shelves. Several Jeeps and Humvees lay in a jumbled pileup on the braided rug.

      “Matty, where are you?”

      Pain pulsing behind her eyes, Kathryn walked toward the adjacent bathroom, Abby on her heels. Glancing down, Kathryn frowned. There was something odd about the way the dog moved, as though she had a slight catch in one hip.

      “Matthew?” The silence that pressed like fingers against Kathryn’s eardrums told her before she got to the bathroom that she’d find it empty.

      It was.

      Her concern growing, she shoved at her hair. Considering it was past ten, she wasn’t surprised Matthew was out of bed. What bothered her was Abby. Matthew never went anywhere without the dachshund in tow. Unless, Kathryn reasoned, he hadn’t gone far.

      “Are we playing hide-and-seek?” she asked, stepping to the closet.

      When she slid the door open, Abby darted inside, snuffling into each shadowy corner. A whine rose up her throat when she failed to locate her master. Kathryn lifted her gaze to the closet’s shelves, but she saw nothing out of place.

      When two short beeps sounded, she stepped to the bookcases. Her heart tattooed in her ears while she waited for the beeps to sound again as she scanned the shelves, trying to figure out what toy had emitted the unfamiliar electronic signals.

      When the beeps sounded again, she whipped around toward the bed. Her gaze settled on the nightstand and her eyes widened. A cell phone lay beside the miniature airplane that doubled as a lamp. Matthew didn’t have a cell phone. And even if he’d found one that had been laid aside, she knew for sure the phone hadn’t been there last night when she’d tucked him into bed and dropped a kiss on his rumpled blond hair.

      She crossed the room in two strides, grabbed the phone and flipped up its cover. The screen displayed the text message icon.

      Kathryn’s fingers made trembling, fumbling stabs at a series of buttons. When the message displayed, its first line sent fear pressing against her heart so she could hear the panicked beat of it roaring in her ears.

      WE HAVE YOUR SON.

      CHAPTER THREE

      “MATTHEW…” Terror crimped Kathryn’s voice. A growing pressure around her heart made it beat in hitchy strikes. Her entire body shaking, she forced herself to read the entire text message.

      We have your son.

      We will kill him if you contact the police. We are watching you. Get one million dollars in various denominations. Keep the money and this cell phone with you. Don’t change your routine. We will call and tell you what to do. Screw up, the kid dies.

      The words blurred while heat traveled in a wave up Kathryn’s spine.

      “No, no. Matthew…” Panic clawed at her throat; for a moment, the shapes and colors in the room seemed to shift. She felt herself sway.

      With a flurry of barks, Abby raced to the bedroom’s door, her right hind leg lifting out of sync with the others. Turning, the dog rocketed back, tramping across Kathryn’s bare feet. The contact snapped her back. She forced herself to breathe. Struggled to think.

      Think. Whipping around, she dashed into the bathroom, moving so fast she plowed one hip into the sink. The pain didn’t even register as she wrenched open the door on the medicine cabinet.

      A ball of ice dropped into her belly as she stared at the large amber bottle containing the antirejection pills Matthew took daily. Had to take daily. Missing even one dose could jumpstart his system into an attempt to reject his transplanted kidney.

      “Oh, God.” The terror burning in her had her stomach heaving. She leaned over the sink and gagged. Nothing came up but a stream of saliva.

      Rinsing her mouth, she heard Abby dashing in and out of the bathroom, felt her nipping at her ankles. The doxie’s frenzied barking had Kathryn’s brain clicking to the possibility that whoever had taken her son might still be in the house.

      Did she still have time to save Matthew?

      Fueled by that hope, she jammed the cell phone into the pocket of her shorts and darted out of the bathroom. As if connected to the dachshund by an invisible leash, Kathryn sprinted after Abby.

      Her incessant barks now deep, throaty rumbles, the dog shot down the hallway, a discernible limp in her gait as her long, thin nose skimmed the wooden floor, then lifted as if scenting the air for her master.

      Kathryn ran, shouting her son’s name while her chest tightened and the breath sobbed out of her lungs.

      Her heartbeat battered her ribs, her temples in a savage, pulsing rhythm. She couldn’t