Protecting Her Secret Son. Regan BlackЧитать онлайн книгу.
was a Victorian remodel,” he said. “You had the patience of a saint, painting that detail work.”
She smiled. “Aiden was about a month old. I was going a little stir crazy alone in the house. Ed saved my sanity. Aiden napped in his car seat through most of that job.” It was bittersweet, thinking of those days, full of such pure relief and endless joy that she was a mother, raising her son her way. “The fresh air put him to sleep every time.”
“Ed was smart to bring you on. You did great work on that job. And every job since.”
“Thanks.” She wasn’t sure how she felt about him taking such notice of her particular efforts. She’d noticed him, of course, and for several reasons that were far less professional. “I’d ask for a reference for when I leave, but I couldn’t use it.”
“Leave? What are you talking about?” His gaze went razor-sharp as he stared her down. “You’ve made a good life for yourself here.”
“It’s common sense. Once I have Aiden back, I’ll have to relocate. I can’t count on my ex or his enemies leaving me alone after this. I won’t let him have anything to do with Aiden.”
“You’re planning to run away?”
“Relocate,” she repeated stubbornly. She refused to call it running, wouldn’t give Bradley that much control, even in her mind. “Isn’t today proof that it’s not safe for people to know who I married, who fathered my son?”
“Running.” He scowled again. “That’s no life for you or Aiden.”
She didn’t care for the judgment in his tone or the subtle disapproval in those deep blue eyes. In self-defense, she ignored him and moved on down the hallway and peeked into each of the three bedrooms, two baths.
As if she wanted to leave Philly. She’d done well here, rebuilding herself from the inside out and providing for her son. There was no reason for her to pop up on the radar of someone looking for her ex, yet somehow his enemies had stolen her son simply for the sake of leverage.
“Shannon, I’m sorry,” he said, blocking the doorway of the hall bathroom. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just wrong for this to drive you away from a good, stable situation.”
“I agree.”
“Then stop planning to leave. Focus on how you’ll stay.”
His intensity had her leaning back, looking for a way around him. Although he didn’t understand what he was suggesting, she was too weary, too grief-stricken to try and explain further. Her plans to leave Philly weren’t a result of defeat or self-pity, it was simply her reality. Only someone who’d been close to Bradley could comprehend the fear he invoked in those who disappointed him or went against his wishes.
“It was a miracle he granted me a divorce in the first place,” she said. “If he decides he wants to know Aiden, everything I’ve worked for falls apart.”
Daniel started to say something and stopped when they heard voices in the front room. “That would be the stagers. I’ll get them started. You keep thinking positively.”
Shannon was positive she would have to make a move, have to take some action or she’d never take another easy breath. She couldn’t raise her son while looking over her shoulder, waiting for his father to strike.
With her phone set to full volume, she tucked it in her back pocket and said a prayer the kidnappers would call. It had been almost six hours without any contact. No amount of spinning could turn that into a positive.
Unable to stand around idle, she made herself useful hauling in counter stools, chairs and abstract art for the mantel. Dreamer that she was, she and Aiden had occasionally been through the houses Daniel flipped, so she had a feel for the easy, transitional style he preferred.
She stepped back, eyed the mantel and then stepped forward to make another minor adjustment.
“Can’t sit still, can you?”
“Could you, in my shoes?”
“Absolutely not,” he admitted. “You have a good eye.”
“Hmm. It’s not a stretch to know what you’re after,” she said without thinking.
“It’s not?”
He didn’t miss a detail, something that surely worked for him in both his careers.
“After a few years with Jennings, I’ve picked up a thing or two.” At his cocked eyebrow, she gave him the fastest reason she could come up with. “Come on. Staging a house is basic logic. The goal is to make it feel like a home and present the space as stylish and roomy without driving away potential buyers.”
“Let me guess, you worked in staging somewhere along the line.”
His tone, light and friendly, made her smile. “No, but I’ve seen several examples. On television,” she added before he pegged her as a real estate stalker. To get out of the way while the stagers tweaked the furniture placement in the front room, she retreated to the kitchen and he followed.
She didn’t feel comfortable admitting how she appreciated his understated style. He went beyond the boring beige palette when he flipped houses and he delivered quality on his remodeling projects. She admired the dedication and organization he and his father used that kept Jennings crews hopping and sites well managed. Daniel in particular had cultivated a winning manager in Ed, who kept things moving while Daniel was on shift at the firehouse.
Maybe she should follow his example and be bolder when she relocated. With four years of experience, she could accelerate the timeline of owning a home and a business. “How long did it take to get your general contractor’s license?”
His gaze narrowed. “You don’t need a contractor’s license to flip houses if you partner with someone reasonable and reliable. Better not to shell out all the capital anyway, especially if you’re new to the business or the area.”
No, he didn’t miss a detail. She bit her lip, keeping more questions to herself for the moment.
“We’re nearly done here,” Daniel said. “Then you can unpack. Take the master.”
The shrill ringtone from her cell phone prevented a reply. She pulled it from her pocket, showed Daniel the Blocked message on the caller ID. He urged her to pick up, to use the app that would record the call.
“Hello?”
“Your son is safe.” It was the same mean man who’d contacted her earlier.
“I want to see him,” she said. “Another video.”
“Not yet.”
Daniel moved to usher out the stagers and closed the front door behind them. When he walked back into the kitchen, she put the phone on speaker.
“What do you want?”
“Everything,” the caller said. “All you have, in fact.”
Terror turned her knees to jelly. Bradley had given her those very words on their third date. At the time she’d found it romantic, since he’d promised her she’d have all of him. Why hadn’t she seen through him? How could she have ever mistaken his greedy and possessive nature as love? “My son is my everything,” she said, her throat dry and tight. “And you have him.”
“Good.”
She stifled a whimper at the cruel sound in that single syllable. Demands backed up in her throat, along with useless threats and promises, but she held her tongue, waiting for the caller to say something. “Can I talk to him?” Maternal worry eroded her patience.
“No. What you will do is follow my instructions to the letter.”
“Yes.” She rifled through her purse for pen and paper.
“First, you will maintain your routine as if nothing is wrong.” Each word