“Who is it?” Grady asked.
“Guy by the name of Shane Cromwell.” The officer stared up at her. “Does that sound familiar?”
A wave of dizziness hit hard. She put a hand on Grady’s arm to keep herself from collapsing to the ground. No wonder the young waiter’s eyes looked familiar. “Yes. Jerry Cromwell was the man who kidnapped me twenty-five years ago. I think Shane must be his son. Or maybe a nephew.”
“Does Jerry have other children?” Grady asked, a sense of urgency in his voice.
“I have no idea.” She felt as if she’d been sideswiped by a semitruck. “I didn’t know Jerry had kids at all. Last I heard, his wife divorced him after he went to prison. He didn’t have kids back then.”
“This guy’s ID says he’s twenty-four years old.” The cop rose to his feet. “Could be that Jerry’s wife was pregnant when he went to jail. Had the kid after the divorce.”
“Run the license plate,” Grady said, and repeated the series of letters and numbers. “See if it’s owned by Cromwell.”
The officer spoke into his radio collar. Through the static, she could hear the dispatcher’s response. “The car is registered to Simon Cromwell. According to the registration, he’s twenty-four years old. Do you want his address?”
“Yes, give it to me.” The officer listened as he looked at what was written on Shane’s driver’s license. Then he nodded. “Okay, it’s a match. They must be brothers.”
Again, her knees threatened to buckle. Her baby had been taken by the twin sons of the man who’d kidnapped her twenty-five years ago.
Was this about money? Or revenge?
Likely both. And that scared her the most of all. Jerry Cromwell hadn’t physically hurt Lauren back when she’d been taken. All he’d wanted was money. She remembered staring up at his eyes, though. Eyes that he’d passed down to his son.
She had no idea if Simon Cromwell would treat Lucy the same way. Or if he’d hurt the little girl.
All she could do was pray they’d find Lucy very soon.
“Lauren?” Grady’s low voice had her turning to face him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, giving her a brief hug. “You’re shivering. Let’s go inside.”
“W-what a-bout the p-police?” Her teeth were chattering so much she could barely speak. She couldn’t imagine how she’d function if Grady was arrested for killing Shane Cromwell.
“Detective Kramer is here.” He nodded to where the detective was talking to the patrol officers. “He said I’m free to go.”
That was a relief. She nodded and allowed Grady to walk her back to the doorway. Only to discover it was locked. Her feet were numb, and she stumbled a bit as he steered her toward the front of the building.
“Wait a minute, are you barefoot?” Grady didn’t wait for her to answer but swept her into his arms, carrying her like a child. She wanted to protest, but a glimpse at her bloody feet kept her silent.
The doorman let them in. Grady thanked him, then crossed the lobby of the Cultural Center to set her down on a plush chair. She frowned at her blood-stained feet, realizing she must have cut them during her dash down the stairs and outside.
“Stay here. I’ll get towels from the bathroom.” Grady turned and quickly strode toward the restrooms. She didn’t care about her injuries; all she wanted was for Lucy to be returned unharmed.
The police needed to be out there searching for Simon Cromwell and Lucy. Would he be stupid enough to go home? Probably not, but she hoped the police would check there anyway.
It was at that moment that Lauren realized she didn’t have her phone. Her real phone, not the disposable one Grady had purchased for them. What if Cromwell called with a ransom demand? She pushed to her feet just as Grady came back holding damp towels in his hands.
The Cultural Center did not use paper towels in their bathrooms.
“Sit down. Let me take care of your feet.” Grady narrowed his gaze when she shook her head. “Lauren, please.”
“I need to get home to grab my phone for when Simon Cromwell calls with a ransom demand.”
“I’ve thought of that. I asked Rex to bring a replacement device for you in case yours is out of power.” He gently pushed her down. “Let me take care of your feet. Then we’ll get out of here.”
The fact that Grady had already thought of a replacement phone had her sinking back down on the chair. He knelt at her feet, setting her feet on the damp towel. The warm water felt good, but as her toes warmed, she was aware of the stinging sensation from the cuts she’d sustained.
A man wearing a black jacket with bright yellow FBI letters embossed on it strode into the lobby. Glancing over, he quickly headed toward them. Flashing a badge, he said, “I’m Agent Braun. I know you’ve already gone through this with the local police, but I need to know what happened.”
He was roughly her age, maybe a few years older. He wasn’t wearing a suit, likely because it was after hours.
