Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,25
what he does. What did he do when you drove away?”
“He pulled out behind me, but he made a left when I turned right. Left is the way Kate goes to her office. I’m guessing that his instructions are to watch Kate. But he wanted to see who owned the Maryland car. Once he got a good look at me and took some pictures with his phone, I’m guessing he headed for Kate’s office to keep watch on her.”
“I’ve got a computer whiz who can do anything. I’ll get Dusty on this as soon as I get back to the office. Now let’s look at Kate’s phone.” Dawson picked up the phone and pressed a couple buttons, studying the display. He pressed another one, then another. Then he nodded and pocketed the phone. “I’ll get Dusty started on this, too. We’ll have some information soon. I don’t know how much. What else?”
“How can I find Stamps? Do you know?”
“I know where his office is and Juliana can get his home address for you. Why?”
“I have to confront him and find out who took my son!”
“Hang on, Travis. It won’t do you any good to go throwing your weight around. I’d hate for Stamps to hang a harassment charge—or worse—on you. Why don’t I take care of it? I can send someone to watch his office and home, to see who comes and goes. Right now he’s taking time off from his legislative duties, from what I understand, and is working with his attorney to prepare his defense in his upcoming trial.”
Travis rubbed his face. “You can put somebody on him if you want to, but I’m still going to talk to him.”
“I thought you didn’t want anybody to know you’re here. If you piss off Stamps, it’s going to get around.”
“It’ll probably get around anyhow, since the Chicago guy took my picture, and it’s a cinch he’s reporting to someone Stamps knows if not to Stamps himself.”
“What’s the deal with hiding out from everybody? You haven’t even talked to your mom?”
“No, and I’m not going to until I get all this sorted out.” Travis heard his voice. He sounded stubborn, almost petulant.
Dawson assessed him for a moment. “So the only reason you checked yourself out of Walter Reed and drove all the way down here was to see Kate Chalmet? Did you want her to help you find a therapist here in town?”
“A therapist? What are you talking about?” Travis asked defensively.
Dawson shrugged. “It’s pretty obvious, kid. You’re suffering from PTSD.”
Travis laughed, but not with amusement. “No, I’m not,” he snapped, glaring at Dawson. “You think I need a shrink? I can assure you I don’t.”
“Hey.” Dawson held his hands up. “I wasn’t making a judgment. Just asking. So why’d you go to see her? You said you didn’t know about the boy.”
“That’s right,” Travis retorted. He grimaced, then unclenched his jaw. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m just a little on edge right now.” He sighed. “I went to see her because—” He stopped. He didn’t speak for several moments. To his relief, Dawson sat quietly.
Finally Travis took a deep breath. He didn’t want to talk about himself, but he figured if Dawson was going to help him, he needed to know everything.
“I wasn’t just on a long mission. I was captured,” he said finally. “It’s not important, got nothing to do with Kate and my—our—son. But the reason I drove straight to her house—” He stopped again.
Dawson picked up the tiny plastic triangle that he’d twisted off his coffee lid. He twirled it in his fingers, watching it.
“I was held captive for five months. It was beyond hell, and the only thing that kept me alive was thinking about the people I loved. My family—and Kate. Hell, Dawson. I don’t want to talk about all that. I’ll deal with it later. Now my priority is finding Max.”
Dawson nodded and smiled. “Not a problem, Trav. I’ll get right on it. Is that everything?” he asked.
“If you think it might help to tail Stamps, I’d like to know who all he sees and talks to.”
“I’ll put somebody on it.”
“Just bill me,” Travis said, and pushed back from the table.
“Hang on a minute. What do you know about Myron Stamps?”
“Me? Not a thing. Why?”
Dawson shook his head. “I’ll fill you in so you’ll know what you’re dealing with. Myron Stamps is a long-time state senator. He’s probably only ten years younger than our granddad. You probably never heard him talk about the Good