and gestured to the phone. “On it. You want to take the helicopter?” Rogers already knew the answer.
“Get the helicopter in the air. Find that guy. The cars are on their way.”
Rogers nodded.
Miles sagged. “I want to go home now. ”
“I know you do.” Kennedy led him to a rock and hoisted him up on it, then climbed up to sit close beside him. “But we have to find that guy so he doesn’t come back for you again.”
“And the lady,” Miles said.
“The lady?” With a gesture, Kennedy summoned Rogers. He told him, “There’s a woman, too.”
Rogers nodded and went back to his team, organizing and dispersing them in the hunt.
Kennedy turned back to Miles. “Tell me everything, right from the beginning.”
Miles stumbled a little at the beginning, but he bravely admitted he had gone with Miss Allen because she offered to take him to his father. They’d met the two men at the airport, and they had been kind to Miles … until they escorted him onto a private jet. Then they overpowered him, pushed him into the lavatory, and locked him in. When they landed, they dragged him out, wrapped him in a throw, and carried him off the airplane.
“I fought, Uncle Kennedy,” Miles told him. “I hit the big guy in the ’nads with my head.”
“Good for you!” Kennedy refrained from exclaiming about the swollen, purple bruise on Miles’s cheek. Tabitha would do enough exclaiming when they got home.
The kidnappers dropped Miles into the trunk of a car and drove him forever, in the heat and the dark, over roads that knocked him around. “And you think I get carsick in the backseat,” Miles said. “I tossed my cookies all over the place!”
“I noticed,” Kennedy said drily. The kid reeked. “But you tied your necktie to the trunk to leave a sign that you’d been there.”
“I was trying to break through the taillight, but a Mercedes … they’re tough.” Miles was clearly chagrined.
“Well-built cars,” Kennedy agreed. “What happened when you got here?”
His nephew’s eyes got big and scared, and he swallowed twice before he could reply. “They pulled me out of the trunk. They had guns. Guns .”
“Pistols?”
“Yeah. They were arguing about … about whether they should shoot me there, and how to place me so you would see me. They didn’t want the … didn’t want the wolves to drag my body away before you got here. There was some other stuff, but I was … I was crying. And sick. I was sick. I couldn’t hear … what they said.” Miles was embarrassed.
Kennedy pressed his shoulder. “It’s okay, Miles. You did good. How did you get away?”
“You told me if I was ever in trouble to not panic. You said to think . I was trying, I really was, but I couldn’t figure out what to do.”
“You did good.” Kennedy hugged the boy again. “You got away.”
“Only because there was this lady.”
Kennedy leaned back. “I thought the lady was one of the kidnappers.”
“No! No, she was just … I don’t know who she was. I didn’t see her at first. Neither did they. But all of a sudden, papers started blowing from behind that boulder.”
“Papers?”
“Yeah. Big papers.” Miles measured them with his hands, then looked across the road, hopped off the boulder, and ran to the other side.
Kennedy held himself back. He would not follow his nephew. He would not frighten Miles with overprotectiveness. If the boy could forget so soon, and race away from the safety of Kennedy’s arms, let him go.
Miles rushed toward a flapping white sheet of paper caught on a dense clump of grass, retrieved it, and ran back. He handed it to his uncle.
Kennedy helped him back on the boulder, then examined the stained drawing incredulously. The sketch was, he supposed, of the mountains. But it was, in its way, awful. Well drawn; the effort was clear. But stiff, awkward, off-kilter somehow, with the landscape looking vaguely warped and humanoid. This landscape would certainly be almost
“Get the helicopter in the air. Find that guy. The cars are on their way.”
Rogers nodded.
Miles sagged. “I want to go home now. ”
“I know you do.” Kennedy led him to a rock and hoisted him up on it, then climbed up to sit close beside him. “But we have to find that guy so he doesn’t come back for you again.”
“And the lady,” Miles said.
“The lady?” With a gesture, Kennedy summoned Rogers. He told him, “There’s a woman, too.”
Rogers nodded and went back to his team, organizing and dispersing them in the hunt.
Kennedy turned back to Miles. “Tell me everything, right from the beginning.”
Miles stumbled a little at the beginning, but he bravely admitted he had gone with Miss Allen because she offered to take him to his father. They’d met the two men at the airport, and they had been kind to Miles … until they escorted him onto a private jet. Then they overpowered him, pushed him into the lavatory, and locked him in. When they landed, they dragged him out, wrapped him in a throw, and carried him off the airplane.
“I fought, Uncle Kennedy,” Miles told him. “I hit the big guy in the ’nads with my head.”
“Good for you!” Kennedy refrained from exclaiming about the swollen, purple bruise on Miles’s cheek. Tabitha would do enough exclaiming when they got home.
The kidnappers dropped Miles into the trunk of a car and drove him forever, in the heat and the dark, over roads that knocked him around. “And you think I get carsick in the backseat,” Miles said. “I tossed my cookies all over the place!”
“I noticed,” Kennedy said drily. The kid reeked. “But you tied your necktie to the trunk to leave a sign that you’d been there.”
“I was trying to break through the taillight, but a Mercedes … they’re tough.” Miles was clearly chagrined.
“Well-built cars,” Kennedy agreed. “What happened when you got here?”
His nephew’s eyes got big and scared, and he swallowed twice before he could reply. “They pulled me out of the trunk. They had guns. Guns .”
“Pistols?”
“Yeah. They were arguing about … about whether they should shoot me there, and how to place me so you would see me. They didn’t want the … didn’t want the wolves to drag my body away before you got here. There was some other stuff, but I was … I was crying. And sick. I was sick. I couldn’t hear … what they said.” Miles was embarrassed.
Kennedy pressed his shoulder. “It’s okay, Miles. You did good. How did you get away?”
“You told me if I was ever in trouble to not panic. You said to think . I was trying, I really was, but I couldn’t figure out what to do.”
“You did good.” Kennedy hugged the boy again. “You got away.”
“Only because there was this lady.”
Kennedy leaned back. “I thought the lady was one of the kidnappers.”
“No! No, she was just … I don’t know who she was. I didn’t see her at first. Neither did they. But all of a sudden, papers started blowing from behind that boulder.”
“Papers?”
“Yeah. Big papers.” Miles measured them with his hands, then looked across the road, hopped off the boulder, and ran to the other side.
Kennedy held himself back. He would not follow his nephew. He would not frighten Miles with overprotectiveness. If the boy could forget so soon, and race away from the safety of Kennedy’s arms, let him go.
Miles rushed toward a flapping white sheet of paper caught on a dense clump of grass, retrieved it, and ran back. He handed it to his uncle.
Kennedy helped him back on the boulder, then examined the stained drawing incredulously. The sketch was, he supposed, of the mountains. But it was, in its way, awful. Well drawn; the effort was clear. But stiff, awkward, off-kilter somehow, with the landscape looking vaguely warped and humanoid. This landscape would certainly be almost
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