Christmas Kidnapping. Cindi Myers

doubt you’ll get my purse back,” she said.

      “Maybe not. But I have to see you again anyway.”

      “Why?”

      “I promised Ian I’d fix the stiff pedal on his tricycle. And I always keep my promises.”

      Yes, Jack Prescott would keep his promises. He would do his duty and live by his pledge, whether that pledge was to a friend or a woman or a little boy like Ian. But he would also keep his promise to give all he had for his country. Even if that meant his life. That last promise was one she wasn’t sure she could live with.

      * * *

      AFTER JACK DROPPED Andrea at her office, he called Special Agent Cameron Hsung, one of his fellow Search Team Seven members. “Hey, Jack, how are you doing?” Cameron’s cheerful voice greeted him. The half-Asian twentysomething was one of the younger members of the team, an IT specialist who had been recruited, like the other members of Search Team Seven, because of his super-recognizer skills.

      “I’m doing great.” Jack rubbed his thigh, which burned with pain as a result of his pursuit of the thief and squatting to put himself at eye level with Ian McNeil. “There’s no reason I couldn’t come back to work right now.”

      “I’m guessing your doctor has a different idea,” Cameron said.

      “He says at least two more weeks of leave. But what does he know. How’s the case going?” The case—the sole focus of the team at the moment—involved a terrorist cell headquartered here in western Colorado. The suspected leader of the cell, a man named Duane Braeswood, had jumped from the Durango and Silverton tourist railroad two months ago, but a subsequent search hadn’t turned up his body.

      “We got a lead that a man matching Braeswood’s description had shown up at a hospital in Grand Junction,” Cameron said. “But by the time local law enforcement made it there, he had disappeared.”

      “So he was injured?”

      “Pretty badly, I guess,” Cameron said. “After a bit of a hassle, we got a copy of the medical report. He had a broken leg, some busted ribs, and a bruised liver and kidneys.”

      Jack winced. “So he probably didn’t get to the hospital—or out of it—on his own.”

      “That’s what we’re thinking. We got some security video but it’s pretty blurred. Typical cheap system that hasn’t been maintained. Nobody thinks about these things until they actually need the equipment to do its job. Then it’s too late.”

      “The man doesn’t seem to have any shortage of helpers,” Jack said.

      “Yeah, well, money buys a lot of things—even friends.”

      “Right. And speaking of friends, I need a favor.”

      Cameron groaned. “Something tells me I should say no before I even hear this.”

      “It’s nothing complicated. A friend of mine had her purse stolen while we were at lunch today.”

      “You have a woman friend?”

      “Don’t act so surprised.”

      “At least you’re using your leave productively. Who is she? How did you meet?”

      “Her name is Andrea McNeil. She’s a therapist.”

      “You mean the police therapist you were going to see? Man, what did you do, put the moves on her from the couch?”

      “We were having lunch. That’s all.” Though he definitely wanted more. A guy didn’t meet a woman like Andrea every day, and he wasn’t buying her argument that she didn’t want to date him. He understood her reluctance, given her history, but she must have felt the connection between them. And he thought he was savvy enough to have picked up that she hadn’t agreed to have lunch with him because she fell for his “I’m so lonely” line. She was really interested. All he had to do was take it slow and prove that exploring the chemistry between them was worth the risk. “I thought I recognized the purse snatcher. I think he’s in our database.”

      “Uh-huh. And what is this favor you want from me?”

      “I want a copy of the database so I can look for this lowlife and find him.”

      “That database is classified,” Cameron said. “It’s not supposed to leave this office.”

      “It’s not like you’re releasing it to a civilian. I’m a member of your team.”

      “Technically, you’re not on the team right now. You’re on medical leave. You’re not even allowed to come to the office.”

      “Because some bureaucratic pencil pusher is afraid of getting sued if I slip and fall on a wet floor or something before my doctor has cleared me to return to work. That’s why I need a copy of the database on my personal computer.”

      “Jack, it’ll cost me my job if anyone finds out.”

      “No one will find out. It’s not like I’m going to go around showing the thing off. I just want to track down this guy.”

      He thought he heard Cameron’s teeth grinding together. “All right. But don’t go all Lone Ranger on me. If you find anything, you bring it to us.”

      “I will. I promise.”

      “Okay. Meet me when I get off at six, at that tavern around the corner.”

      “The Rusty Moose.”

      “Yeah. Dumb name, good beer. You can buy me one and I’ll get you what you need. And hey, if your therapist friend has a friend, maybe you could introduce us.”

      “You have to find your own dates, Cam. That’s where I draw the line.”

      “Hey, I figured it was worth a try.”

      Jack hung up the phone and started the truck. He couldn’t shake the feeling the purse snatcher had been up to more than looking to steal a handbag. There had to be a connection to his case. Even if he was supposed to be on medical leave, that didn’t mean he couldn’t do a little investigating on his own. He was out of the hospital and doing pretty good. He had never been the type to sit around and do nothing, and he wasn’t about to start now.

      * * *

      BY THE TIME Andrea made it home from her meeting, she was drained. As much as she enjoyed sharing her expertise with groups, she identified a little too closely with the challenges faced by members of the Law Enforcement Spouses organization. She remembered what it was like to be in their shoes and deal with the constant worry about her loved one. Though she was happy to listen to their concerns and offer strategies for coping, she knew her words weren’t really enough.

      She was surprised to find the house dark when she arrived. Chelsea usually left the porch light on for her. She fumbled her way up the steps and opened the door. Silence greeted her—another oddity. Even though it was past Ian’s bedtime, Chelsea liked to stay up and watch movies or her favorite reality TV shows. “Chelsea? Is everything okay?” she called as she reached for the light switch.

      A half-eaten pizza sat on the coffee table, an almost-empty glass of root beer tipped on its side next to the pizza box, the brown liquid pooling on the table and dripping on the floor. One of the couch pillows was on the floor, too. Heart in her throat, Andrea took a step forward. Then she saw the blood.

      Or at least, she thought it was blood. The pool of brownish-red liquid on the rug beside the coffee table definitely wasn’t root beer. It could have been spilled syrup, except that no one would be eating syrup with pizza, would they?

      She reached for her phone to call 911, but of course, the thief had stolen it, along with her purse. “Chelsea!” she shouted, headed toward the kitchen and the phone there. “Ian!”

      She stumbled over something in the hallway—Chelsea lay on her back, her hands and feet tied, a gag in her mouth. She stared