Page 65 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
“Good thinking,” I say. Then, “Larry?”
“I’m still here, boss. But they are hauling me over to City Hall for questioning. I’m not going to be allowed to do anything.”
“It’s all right,” I say. “Tell them everything, anything. Maybe it will get them moving. Meanwhile, help is coming.”
“Good to know. Gotta go, boss. And they are taking my phone and Miss Grace’s so we won’t be able to call anyone.”
The connection dies, and I grind my teeth. I long for my SEAL strike force. No doubt the local authorities are following procedure, but it makes me crazy just to think of my Cece in the hands of terrorists with some sort of axe to grind.
“It’s only five blocks from here to the police station,” Kate says. “We can get there faster by walking than if I call a car.”
“Got it,” I say, buttoning my shirt. I stuff my tie in my pocket. Time enough for that when we get into the waiting part of this dangerous game.
Kate hands me my coat, and we hurry to the elevators.
We collect the other five members of my security team from the hotel lobby and set out toward the police station, walking at a good clip.
It has started to snow, and the wind whips Kate’s hair against me as we power-walk — the best gait I can manage.
One of my team zips away and reappears in a minute or two, pushing a wheelchair.
“Here, sir,” he says. “I commandeered it from the hospital. Let’s put wheels under you.”
It galls my pride, but he is right. I sit, and what had been a six to ten minute walk now becomes a three minute sprint. A pair of orderlies bolt out of the hospital and run after us, but neither of them are in sufficient shape to catch up before we entered the police office lobby.
We all burst in at about the same time. The security guard who was pushing the wheelchair, me in the chair, Kate, my other four guards, and the orderlies bringing up the rear.
“What the hell!” a portly police officer at the front desk bellows. “You can’t come in here like that!”
“Where is my daughter?” I bellow. “Where is her sitter, my agent, and my security team? What are you doing about finding her?”
I have to give the guy credit for balls. He smirks at me and says, “If you’ll just fill out this form . . .”
I reach across the counter and grab him by his tie. When that comes off in my hand (lousy, cheap clip-on), I shift my grip and got the guy by his shirt-front.
“Hey! What the hell!” the desk sergeant yelps. “That’s assaulting an officer! You can’t do that.”
Kate runs up beside me and lays a hand on the arm that is gripping the officer’s shirt front. “Charles, he probably doesn’t have any idea what has happened. Officer, pleaseforgive Mr. Emory, his daughter has been kidnapped. He’s a little distraught.”
A splash of cold water couldn’t have done more to bring me to my senses. The desk sergeant steps back, brushing his hand over the bell-curve of his front. “Why the . . .heck didn’t he say so?” the fellow fumes. “I didn’t hear nothin’ about it. Fill out that form and I’ll put out an Amber alert right now.”
My hand is shaking so badly, I can hardly hold the pen. Somehow, I manage to fill in my identity, relationship to the child, and tick a bunch of meaningless boxes, while Kate calmly described Cece, the cute outfit she was wearing — pink jeans, a t-shirt with a candy-cane on the front, and a puffy pink jacket — her height, her soft brown curls, bright blue eyes, and her recent haircut and style. Every word is both a balm and a blow to my heart.
It is not until I have the last box filled in, and we have both settled into uncomfortable plastic chairs along one wall, that Kate leans forward and buries her face in her hands.
“My fault, my fault, my fault,” she sobs. “Selfish, selfish, selfish . . .”
“No, Katie, no,” I sooth. “I’ve been getting threats for months — ever since the Agri-Oil tower was damaged. Even though we did everything we could to relocate people, get them set up with convenient housing, and prevention maintenance on the building, I’ve had lawsuits coming out my ears.”
“Why didn’t you say?” she asks, sitting up and turning her face toward me.
“I didn’t want to worry you,” I say. “And I wanted Cece to have as normal a life as we could manage for her. James knew, but he didn’t tell Grace. But I thought she would be an added layer of safety for you and Cece.”
“Instead, we just put her in danger,” Kate whispers, tears streaming down her face. “I put them both in danger. I couldhave just told Cece she had to wait, and you wouldn’t have divided your security force.”
“You couldn’t know that,” I say, “We couldn’t know that.” I stroke her hair, damp from melting snowflakes back from her face which was wet with tears, while my own conscience thunders a counterpoint chorus of accusation at me.
I put my arm around Kate, and we wait.
