Page 10 of Be Courageous

“Good. Good. Then call the local police. They’ll find him for you.”

She drew a shaky breath. “Okay. Thank you. It was good to hear your voice.”

She hung up abruptly, leaving him steeped in feelings of loss, longing, and helplessness. Lowering the receiver back into its cradle, he pushed his emotions away by sheer force of will.

His work was all that mattered now. He couldn’t afford to get involved with her again. He’d been so much a part of her life that he’d nearly lost the ability to turn off his feelings, and that gift was the only thing that had kept him alive after losing his family.

Turning his thoughts back to the projects screaming for his attention, Fitz pretended Faith hadn’t called him at all. He was opening the shared file on the local merchant with ties to the mob when the memory of the Buick sitting in Faith’s driveway the night he was babysitting flashed into his thoughts.

Could a peculiar incident that had happened over two months ago have anything to do with Grayson’s disappearance now?

Nah.Shoving the memory aside, he focused on the report in front of him.

CHAPTER3

Ishould have listened to Mom and put on a coat this morning.

Grayson’s thin gray sweatshirt, even with a sleeveless T-shirt underneath, did nothing to insulate him against the wet chill filling the car’s dark trunk. Thanks to his long arms, he’d managed to wriggle his entire body between his bound wrists, bringing the zip tie in front of him. Curled into a tight ball, forehead pressed to his knees, he vacillated between pretending he was still asleep in his own bed and trying to determine where they were headed by the roughness of the road and the speed at which they traveled.

He’d lost all track of time. Had he been stuck in this foul-smelling enclosure for an hour or for just a few minutes? Would the driver, Brian—if that was really his name—find him alive when he finally stopped and opened his trunk, or would Grayson die of hypothermia?

I can’t believe this is happening.

As reality crept over him, the gravity of his situation made him fight to break the restraints so he could potentially escape, but the plastic zip tie held tight.

“Dad? Help me! Tell me what to do!”

The memory of his father’s face was still vivid. Jerry was a big guy, over six feet tall with light-brown hair and blue, blue eyes. Grayson could still feel his father’s hands, heavy on his shoulders. He would look deep into Grayson’s eyes and say things that stuck with him.

Listen up. Concentrate on staying warm. Pull your hood over your head.

Wow! The voice resonating inside his head and all around him sounded more real than his crazy situation. Grayson hastened to obey the words. Reaching over his shoulder with his bound arms, he clasped his hoodie and worked it over his head. His fingers were stiff and uncooperative. There was no string to tighten the hood around his face, but the cloth around his skull warmed his ears immediately.

“Dad, don’t leave me. I’m scared.” He spoke the words through teeth that chattered.

I’m right here with you, son. I won’t leave.

Grayson burst into ragged sobs. A fog seemed to fill his mind.

He must have fallen asleep, for he came awake as sunlight shone through his eyelids. The realization that the car had stopped speared into his sluggish thoughts. But he couldn’t get his lids to lift.

“Kid! Wake up!”

Brian was shaking him roughly, but the concern in his voice penetrated Grayson’s awareness. Why would the man care whether he was dead or alive?—unless Brian was planning to ransom him for money. That was better than anything else he might be planning.

Grayson managed to slit his eyes open. His captor was bent over him, framed by hazy sunlight. “You good? Sorry, kid. I didn’t realize it was so cold. Can’t feel the cold, myself.”

With gentler hands than before, he helped Grayson to clamber out of the trunk. His joints ached as he drew himself vertical, peering around. Dismay filled him as he took in nothing but open farmland in every direction, as far as the eye could see. A long dirt driveway had taken them off the main road to a small, dilapidated farmhouse with a sloping roof and a little window over the wide front porch. Its metal roof, the peeling off-white paint, and boarded-up windows gave it a dismal air.

The front porch sagged like the porch at his own house used to before Fitz fixed the pillars under it. The branches of an enormous tree—his mom would know what kind—towered over the house, nearly touching it.

Brian jerked Grayson up the steps, not seeming to notice or at least not commenting on the fact that his hands were now in front of him. His backpack was apparently still in the car.

“Come on in, though it won’t be much warmer till I get the woodstove going.”

“Where is this place?”

Brian cast him a scowl. “You don’t need to know.”

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