Read ROCKY MOUNTAIN RESCUE for Free Online

time to hurt the boy.”
    “No, please! I can’t risk it. He said at the first sign of the cops they would cut Carlo’s throat.” She choked back a sob, struggling to keep it together. “Can’t you go after them? You and I?”
    “We’d have a much better chance of catching them with the police involved. An AMBER Alert will have everyone in the state looking for them.”
    “They’ll see the notices on the news and Carlo will die!” Her voice rose, near hysterics.
    He slid the phone back into his pocket. “I won’t call them just yet. Tell me anything else you remember. Even little details might be important.”
    She nodded and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands. She’d taken off her makeup, so that she looked much younger. More vulnerable.
    A gentle tapping sounded on the door. “Ms. Jackson? Are you all right?” someone asked.
    “I’ll take care of this,” Patrick said. He rose and moved quickly to the door and peered through the peephole. The desk clerk stood on the other side, looking around nervously.
    Patrick opened the door. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “Oh!” The clerk looked startled. “I, uh, I thought this was Ms. Jackson’s room.” He frowned at the number on the next door over—Patrick’s room.
    “Ms. Jackson is fine,” Patrick said. “What did you need?”
    “One of the guests called the front desk and said they heard gunshots coming from this room.”
    “They must have heard a car backfiring.” The lie came easily; no need to involve this clerk until Patrick had made up his mind how to handle this.
    “They sounded really certain.”
    “I think I’d know a gunshot, don’t you?”
    “Of course. Of course.” He tried to see past Patrick, into the room. “And Ms. Jackson’s okay?”
    “She’s fine. But she’s not dressed for company.” He winked and the clerk blushed red. No doubt the guy thought Patrick’s story about conducting surveillance on Stacy had been an elaborate cover for an affair.
    “I’ll just, uh, get back to the front desk.” The young man backed away. “If you need anything, just, uh, call.”
    Patrick shut the door and hooked the security chain, then returned to the bathroom. Stacy had moved from the shower to the toilet, where she sat on the closed lid, head in her hands. She looked up when he entered the room. “Who was that?”
    “The front-desk clerk. Someone reported gunshots.”
    “What did you tell him?”
    “I told him it was probably a car backfiring.” He knelt in front of her. “Now tell me everything that happened.”
    She took a deep breath. “When I woke up, he was already in the room. He must have had a key or something, because I never heard a thing. Carlo was sleeping beside me and the guy already had hold of him, pulling him out of bed. That’s what woke me.”
    She put the washcloth back over the gash, which had slowed its bleeding. “I screamed and he ordered me to shut up. I was terrified, finding a guy in my room like that. ‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘What are you doing with my son?’
    “‘Carlo is coming with me, Mrs. Giardino,’ the guy said. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you won’t interfere.’”
    The guy might as well have told the sun not to shine. “Was there anything distinctive about his voice? An accent or anything like that?”
    She frowned. “Not really. I mean, he sounded American, but not from anyplace in particular. He told me if I called the police he would kill Carlo—that if anyone followed them, they’d cut his throat.” She bit her lip, fighting fresh tears.
    “What did you do?” Patrick prompted.
    “I tried to pull Carlo away from him. Carlo woke up and started crying. I wouldn’t let go of Carlo, so the guy hit me.” She winced, whether in real or remembered pain, Patrick couldn’t say. “I staggered back and he grabbed me and threw me in here, then ran out with Carlo. I heard more shooting in the parking lot.”
    “He was firing at me. Your