Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,30

yourself. Who’s doing the dirty work? Is it Senator Darby Sills? The one with all the money? No.” Travis put his fingers to his chin as if he was thinking very hard. “No. It’s probably Congressman Whitley. He’s your newest recruit into the Good Ole Boys, isn’t he? Probably getting harder to find your kind of politician these days, isn’t it? Poor Whitley—having to perform your dirty little tricks.”

“I still have no idea what you’re talking about, Delancey. Now I’d suggest you get out of here. I do know a couple police officials who are not Delanceys.” Stamps reached for his desk phone.

Travis caught the senator’s wrist. His middle and ring fingers pressed the back of the wrist, his thumb was positioned right in the center of the front. “You want me to demonstrate my skills for you, Myron?” He applied pressure with his thumb, enough to force the senator’s fingers to curl. “I can break your wrist without straining an eyebrow hair. Want to see?”

Stamps started to pull against Travis’s grip.

“Careful,” Travis warned. “You probably should stay still. If you break your own wrist by moving like that, I can’t be responsible for the integrity of the bones. They might shatter and you’d never be able to use that hand again. I, on the other hand, know how to break it cleanly. No shattered bones.”

Stamps’s ruddy face turned a sickly pale purple color. “I demand that you let me go,” he croaked.

“I will, as soon as you tell me who set up the kidnapping.”

“I told you I—”

Travis moved his forefinger and thumb slightly.

“Aah!” Stamps cried. “Oh my word, oh my word. You broke it.”

“No. I just touched a nerve. Want me to do it again?”

“No!” Stamps bent over the desk in the direction of his hand, obviously hoping to take any strain off the bones. He was terrified that Travis’s hold would shatter his wrist. “I swear I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Not a good answer.” Travis glanced toward Stamps’s hand.

“No, wait. Please.” Stamps cleared his throat. Sweat trickled down his temple and ran into the creases of his jowls. “The only one who would do something that stupid is Whitley,” he mumbled.

“Whitley can’t be doing this alone,” Travis growled. “He doesn’t have the money to hire a pro. Is Sills paying for it, or are you?”

“I’m not! I swear.”

Travis groaned exaggeratedly. “My fingers are getting tired. When they get too tired, they start twitching. If they twitch in the wrong direction—”

Stamps’s mouth dropped open. He looked dumbfounded. “No—” he breathed.

Travis watched him, thinking if the senator was acting, he was doing a damn good job of it. Could he be telling the truth? Could the whole kidnapping have been dreamed up by Sills or Whitley, or both of them together? “No, what?” Travis asked, scowling at Stamps.

“They kidnapped somebody?” Stamps swallowed audibly, then coughed.

“Not just somebody. A child. A four-year-old boy,” Travis said.

What little color had been in Stamps’s face drained away pale. “I didn’t know.”

Travis studied Stamps closely. His face was still that light purple color. His lips were pinched and white at the corners. And his face and neck were dripping with sweat. His eyes were dilated, and through his fingers on the man’s wrist, Travis could feel his pulse, which was fast and shallow. The man had been a politician for fifty years, so Travis doubted he’d be this shaken if he were lying.

On the other hand, Travis had seen men react this way when threatened with death. Stamps might be a scumbag. He’d probably shot cousin Paul on purpose. But Travis didn’t think Stamps had known about the kidnapper.

He glanced at his watch. “It’s about three minutes to four. Your golfing buddy is probably here. Who is he?”

“It’s—” Stamps shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “It’s the mayor. We’re just—just going to work on our putts on my p-putting green for an hour, then head to a dinner meeting.”

“That sounds like fun. Your buddies Sills and Whitley going to that meeting?”

Stamps shook his head so hard his jowls shook. “No. I mean, I don’t know. This is a community thing. Not political at all.”

Travis squeezed gently with his thumb.

Stamps gasped and winced.

Travis smiled, but the senator didn’t look mollified. “Let’s not mention my visit, okay? Let’s keep this just between us. And remember, I might come to see you again if I don’t find out what I need from your buddies.” He let go of Stamps’s hand and the man