Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,24

married was a concept that was going to take some getting used to. Dawson drank his coffee in silence.

Finally, Travis took a deep breath. “I left Walter Reed AMA,” he said.

Dawson nodded. “Against medical advice,” he muttered.

“Yeah. I’d been on a mission—a long one.” He shook his head. “I don’t need to get into all that right now. Suffice it to say, I walked out, bought a car and drove down here.”

“When was that?” Dawson asked, studying the plastic lid of his cup.

“I got here last night. Went to Kate’s. Kate Chalmet is a psychiatrist. She—”

“I know her,” Dawson said.

“You do?” Travis was a little surprised. Although he shouldn’t have been, he supposed. Dawson worked as an independent investigator, but it made sense that he came into contact with the D.A.’s office and the people who worked there. Kate had already told him she had had dealings with his baby brother Harte, who was a prosecutor.

“Sure. She works for the D.A.’s office. Right now she’s supposed to be making an assessment about whether Myron Stamps was insane when he shot Paul. Did you know he shot Paul Guillame?”

“Yeah, I heard,” Travis said.

“So I’m guessing you weren’t seeing Dr. Chalmet professionally?” Dawson looked up with a twinkle in his eye.

“Nope,” Travis said. “She and I lived together for a long time while we were in college. It ended badly.” He took a deep breath. “Look. I’ll cut to the chase. Kate has a son—Max. He’s four years old and he’s—” To his dismay, Travis felt his voice catch. “He’s mine,” he said thickly, then swallowed hard.

Dawson’s gaze went sharp. “Four years old?”

Travis nodded. “I came home on furlough five years ago and we—hooked up,” he finished harshly. “I didn’t know until this morning that Max is my son.” He waved a hand. “So anyway, you know Kate is evaluating Stamps. I don’t know the whole story but apparently it’s in Stamps’s best interest, or someone’s, anyway, to be acquitted on grounds that he was temporarily insane when he pulled the trigger.”

Dawson stayed quiet.

“Well, yesterday afternoon, somebody abducted Max.”

Travis was surprised again when Dawson didn’t react. But he supposed Dawson had heard it all.

“He disappeared from child care,” he continued. “The child-care personnel were frantic, so they called Kate. She had just hung up from talking with the abductor. He had warned her that if she said anything to anybody, they’d kill her son—they’d kill Max.” Travis cleared his throat. “She told them that she’d popped in and picked up Max without telling anybody. She said the girl who had called was so desperate to believe that Max was with his mom and okay that she had accepted Kate’s explanation without question.”

“When was that?”

“Around four o’clock yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t heard anything since.”

Dawson finished his coffee, then looked at Travis. “Did you tell anybody you were coming here?”

“What? Here?”

“New Orleans.”

“No, I didn’t. You think— No. Not a soul. Not even the used-car dealer.”

“Okay, so the kidnapping is not about Delanceys. That’s good. What can I do?”

Travis laid Kate’s phone on the table. “This is Kate’s phone. The phone the kidnapper called her on. I’m hoping you can trace where his call originated, or figure out where he bought the phone or something.”

“Sure.” Dawson reached for the phone.

“But first,” Travis said. “There was a car outside Kate’s house this morning. I can’t say how long he’d been there. But he was there when she left for work, and he was still there, taking pictures with his phone, as I was getting into my car. He had a magnetic sign on the side of his car, advertising a real estate agency.”

“Can you describe the car or the man?”

“I was trying to play it casual, so I couldn’t get a good look at the man, and the license plate was obscured by mud. But I got the first two numbers and the last. Also, the sticker on the windshield was pretty distinctive. It had three stacked emblems on the left half, with two light blue stripes down either side.”

“Good eyes,” Dawson said.

“I was trained to notice everything and remember it.”

Dawson nodded as Travis handed him a piece of paper where he’d written the car’s make, model and what he’d seen of the license plate number. He’d sketched his description of the left half of the sticker.

“So he’s from out of town. He’s a pro.”

“A pro?”

Dawson nodded as he tucked the note into his pocket. “A professional. They imported him. He must be awfully good at