Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

looked up at his cousin.  He had that worried, lip-biting expression that suggested he was about to impart Something Bad.

“Will you get mad if I tell you something?”

Uh-oh, Rogan thought dismally.  Maybe the kid didn’t like Copeland.  He’d seemed to well enough, sure.  But who knew what went through a little kid’s mind?  “I’d never be mad at you for telling the truth.”

“I’ll still be your friend,” Max said gravely.  “But I think Mr. Clay might be a better daddy.  I used to want Mommy to marry you, but she said cousins can’t marry each other.  I hope you’re not too awful disappointed.”

Rogan laughed, a short burst of surprise.  The kid had actually thought…?

He bent down to Max’s level.  “I think I’ll be able to manage.”  Then he tweaked the little rug-rat on the nose.  And wondered if either Tate or Clay suspected the grand plans he’d hatched for the three of them.  “Now how about you and I go touch ourselves a couple of sharks?”

They pushed their way through the throng near the escalator, and Rogan noticed the stairs weren’t as crowded.  Grabbing Max’s hand, he started that way, and felt a prick on his ass from behind.  What the hell?  It felt like someone had stuck him with the business end of an upholstery needle.

He turned around to gauge the situation, thinking some kid was playing a none-too-funny joke.

But his vision tunneled, went blurry at the edges, and the hand holding Max’s went limp.

He found himself going boneless, as if he were just melting right into the floor.  The stairs were there, right under his feet, and the next moment just slipped away.

Max’s little face, filled up by frightened green eyes, was the last thing he saw before he fell.

 

CLAY turned away from the computer, which was doing its thing to narrow down the possibilities regarding the owner of that partial thumbprint, when his cell phone began to dance in his pocket.

He slipped it out, checked the caller ID, and noted an incoming from Justin.  The guy probably wanted him to clear the rest of his crap out of the guest room since it was beyond obvious he was no longer staying there.

“Justin,” he said with a hint of sheepishness, “you calling to kick me out?”

“Clay, I need you to get to the hospital.”  There was absolutely no humor in the other man’s voice.  “I don’t have long to talk, because I’m needed in surgery, but Tate’s here, and you need to be with her.  She’s not hurt,” he assured him, before Clay could ask “but the situation is pretty critical.  Someone hit her cousin, or pushed him down the stairs – I’m not entirely clear on that part – and… it appears they’ve kidnapped her son.”

Clay’s heart stopped beating.  Just bam! – gave up thumping inside of his chest.

“I guess it happened when they were at the aquarium,” Justin continued, unaware that Clay couldn’t hear him over the roar of denial in his head.  “Anyway, she would have called herself, but I had no choice but to give her a sedative.  Her cousin Kathleen – have you met her? She’s a Charleston PD detective – well, she’s here, and she’s asked me to call you.”  He paused, just a moment, to listen.  “Dude, you need to say something so that I know whether or not you’re still there.”

“I’m on my way.”

Clay was amazed he could speak, with his heart lodged so firmly in his throat.  Now that it had started pumping again, it was trying to push its way out of his body.  He stood, legs like rubber, and had to catch himself on the back of the chair.  From across the room, Kim saw his face, and immediately hustled over.

“Did Rogan,” Oh God, “say anything?  Do you have any idea how this happened?”

Kim reached him, and helped him get moving.  He was as wobbly as a three day drunk.

“The guy was unconscious when they brought him in.  He’s banged up pretty badly from his fall.  But Kathleen’s partner’s down at the scene, interviewing witnesses.  She might have something more to tell you when you get here.  I’m sorry, man, but I have to go.  I’ll try to catch up with you later.”

When the line went dead, something inside Clay clicked.  He saw the life he wanted – a life with Tate and Max – hanging in the balance before him.

“We’re going to MUSC Hospital,” he told Kim, as he handed her the keys to his truck.  “Drive like a bat out of hell, sweetheart, because we need to go find my son.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

JR laughed as he pulled off the wig.

It had been so easy.  Ridiculously, pitifully easy.  He’d lingered around the dining room that morning just long enough to hear all their plans.  He’d even finagled an introduction to the boy, courtesy of his over-proud grandma.  All the better to get the kid to trust him.  Make getting him out of the aquarium that much easier.  What’s not to trust about a sweet little grandma, and especially one that you met just that morning?

God, kids really were gullible.  Even easier than teenage girls.  Offer ‘em some candy and a few soothing words, and they’ll go wherever you want.

By the time their parents’ warnings about accepting candy from strangers kick into gear, you’ve already got them tucked right next to you in the front of your truck.

And telling them that the cops would see them if they tried to get out of their seatbelt, probably send their mama to jail – no threat could perform more effectively.

Little kids, they sure loved their mamas.

Even when they were hateful, falling-down drunks.

And hey, thinking about falling down, that hippy sure took a digger!  He had to have cracked a few bones.  Maybe even broken his neck.

Then all those Good Samaritans, rushing to his aid, creating a diversion that JR couldn’t have paid for.

And he – helpful old lady that he was – had led the little boy away