The Bravo Billionaire Part 24

"Mom. You love me, don't you?"

"I certainly do."

"That's good. 'Cause I love you, too."

He had slid off the rocker and gone to wash for dinner.

And he had forgotten all about the red truck.

Until now. Until five minutes after two in the middle of the night.

He should go back to sleep. He knew that. He could get it later. After the sun came out, at a time when a boy was supposed to be awake.

But it just bothered him. He wanted that truck.

Jonas sat up in bed. The wind was blowing outside a little, moving the tree branches so that the shadows waved at him from the wall of his room. He decided not to look at them. Not to think about how late it was and how dark and if there was such a thing as a creature in the closet or a monster under the bed, well, this would be the right time for something like that to be awake and looking for a kid to grab and carry away somewhere, wherever monsters came from, the dark places, the scary places, where a kid would never see his mom or dad again.

Stop thinking about monsters, he told himself silently. There are no monsters. No creatures in the closet. No such thing. Not in real life. Uh-uh. Nosiree.

Jonas pushed back the covers and swung his bare feet to the floor.

Slippers. He thought about slippers and then decided to skip them. He could tiptoe a lot better without them, and he did want to be quiet when he went into Russy's room. He didn't want to wake up the baby or Paloma, who slept in the room on the other side of Russy's. If he woke Russy, Russy might cry. And if he woke up Paloma, or if Russy's crying woke her up, he might get in trouble.

He wasn't sure about that, about the trouble part. He hadn't exactly done this kind of thing before, so he'd never been told that it was a wrong thing to do, sneaking into Russy's room in the middle of the night.

He'd never been told it was wrong. But he thought maybe it might be. So he decided it would be better if he just kept real quiet, snuck in, got his red truck and snuck back to his bed. No one would ever have to know, and the getting in trouble part wouldn't even have a chance to happen.

Careful not to look at the swaying shadows on the wall, Jonas tiptoed to the door that opened onto the hallway. He wrapped his hand around the doork.n.o.b and turned it, very carefully. The door gave inward as he pulled on it. It didn't make a single sound. He stepped out into the hall, onto the hall rug, which had pictures of leaves and flowers all over it, though right then, in the dark, the leaves and flowers were hard to see. They looked a little like snakes in the dark, snakes in the rug, wiggling and wrapping all around each other, snakes that might come alive in the rug, come alive and curl around his ankles, slither up his legs and- No. Stop. No scary thoughts.

The rug was just the rug. It had flowers and leaves on it and he wasn't even going to look at it anymore right now.

There were small lamps on the walls, with lightbulbs shaped like candle flames at the top of them. But they didn't help any, because they were all turned off. The only light came from either end of the hall, silvery moonlight glowing in the high windows there. It wasn't much, but it was enough that Jonas could see where he was going.

Very quietly, keeping to the middle of the rug where he imagined he'd be less likely to cause any creaking sounds, he moved down the dark hall toward his baby brother's bedroom. It wasn't far. There was his room and then the big playroom where he kept most of his toys, and where there was also a table for studying. He was old enough now that he had to study sometimes. He was "very bright." His mother said so and his teachers did, too. Most people, when they were six, were in first grade. But he was studying some things that a lot of kids learned in third.

And someday, he and Russy would share the playroom. And when his other brothers came, and his sister, they would share it, too.

Sharing, he thought. That would be another thing that he would have to teach them. Little kids needed to learn how to share. He would say things like, "This is my red truck. If you promise not to break it, you can play with it, too." Jonas smiled to himself, pleased to think what a good big brother he would be, how he would- He blinked. And his plans for his future as a big brother flew right out of his head. Something wasn't right. His brother's door was open. There was a shadow of emptiness, the darkness of Russy's room, where the closed door should have been.

Well, and that was okay. Wasn't it?

He wasn't sure. For some reason, it didn't feel very okay.

He thought he could hear noises in there, in Russy's dark room rustling noises, noises that spoke of secrets and of hurrying. The kind of noises the monster under the bed might make or the creature from the closet.

He tiptoed closer. Then, without even really deciding to do it, he stepped toward the wall and flattened himself against it, right next to the dark hole that was the doorway to Russy's room.

More rustling. Something fell to the floor one of Russy's rattles. Jonas recognized the sound it made.

As the rattle dropped, a man whispered in a voice that sounded like a snake hissing, "d.a.m.n you, Lorraine . Quiet."

Jonas shrank against the wall, biting his lip to hold back a whimper. There were no monsters in his brother's room. There were strangers in there.

Jonas wanted to turn and race away down the hall. He wanted to hide, somewhere safe, where the man with the snake-hiss voice could never find him. And he wanted to get his daddy. To get his daddy to protect him. Protect him and Russy from the strangers in Russy's room.

But his daddy and mommy were sleeping two long hallways away. It would take him forever to get there. By then, the strangers could be gone. By then, they might have hurt Russy. They might- His mind seemed to freeze up. And his body moved kind of all by itself. His foot just stepped out and he turned around. All of a sudden, he was standing right in the open doorway to Russy's room.

He saw the two strangers. They both wore clothes as black as night, clothes that covered them all over, so hardly any skin was showing. And black stocking hats, the kind Jonas's mother had made him wear last winter when they went to the snow, the kind that pulled down all the way over their faces and had cutout places for their mouths and their eyes.

One of the strangers had Russy. It was a lady, that stranger. He knew that. She was shaped like a lady and the man with the snake-hiss voice had called her a lady's name: Lorraine .

The other one, the man, saw him first. The man had scary eyes. He looked at Jonas and Jonas looked at him.

And Jonas wanted, again, more than just about anything, to turn and run away.

In order not to do that, he ran forward he ran straight at the man with the terrible eyes. He jumped on him, he shouted, "No!" He would have shouted a lot more, but the scary-eyed man clamped a hand over his mouth.

"My G.o.d, Blake..." whispered the woman.

"Shut up," the man hissed.

Jonas kicked and tried to hit and even bite the bad man who was holding him. But the bad man had gloves on his hands and he cupped his palm in such a way that Jonas couldn't get his teeth in it. And he was strong, the bad man.

"We'll have to take them both," the bad man whispered, as Jonas continued to kick and wiggle and squirm.

"No way," whispered the lady. "A baby's one thing, but a kid..."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"I don't... Oh, G.o.d. I don't know..."

"If we don't take him..." The bad man got Jonas around the throat. He started squeezing. Jonas sucked for air, he grabbed the bad man's gloved fingers, tried to pull them free.

The lady went on whispering, a whisper so scared it was like someone screaming, "No! Don't. You can't. He's a child..."

Little lights seemed to dance and pop inside Jonas's head. He couldn't get any breath in his mouth and his throat was shut off, closed tight by the squeezing hands of the bad man. He was dizzy and he wanted to keep fighting, but his body was getting strange and heavy and Russy's room was starting to go away.

Now the man was holding him with just one hand, holding him around the neck, off the ground. And he felt so limp and weak. He was supposed to help his brother. But he wasn't helping. He wasn't helping at all.

The bad man reached behind him, pulled out something he'd had tucked in the back of his belt. Jonas stared. A gun. A black gun. The bad man was going to shoot him. Jonas looked right in the bad man's terrible eyes and remembered.

The pictures. The pictures on the table in the front room downstairs, and the ones on the piano in the music room. The man in the pictures who had the bad man's eyes.

"Who is that, Mommy?"

And Mommy's voice, sad and serious, "That's your uncle Blake, my darling. He pa.s.sed away a while ago..."

Pa.s.sed away. Jonas knew what that meant. His uncle Blake was dead.Or he was supposed to be dead.Pa.s.sed away. Gone to heaven or maybe, if he'd been as bad as the look in his eyes, to the other place. So why was he here in Russy's room? Why was he stealing Russy? Strangling Jonas? Going to shoot him with a big black gun? Jonas hung there in that powerful gloved hand, held by his neck, waiting for the shot. It never came. His dead uncle only brought the gun down hard on the side of Jonas's head. Little stars seemed to wink bright and burst all around him. And then there was nothing. * * * It was dark when he opened his eyes. The room was very quiet. He wasn't sure where he was. But then he recognized the legs of his brother's crib. And a shadow beneath it, a shadow of red.

"My red truck..." he whispered to the silent room. It hurt, doing that. Whispering.

What was he doing here, in Russy's room? He didn't remember. His head was hurting and his throat was very sore. He put his hands flat on the floor, to push himself up. But it was no good. His hands wouldn't push. He laid his head down with a sigh and the world went away again. * * * He woke seconds later in the bed in his cousin's house in Norman , Oklahoma , the sweet warmth that was Emma close at his side. For a time, he didn't move. He lay there on his back, staring into the darkness at the shadowed shape of the ceiling fan overhead. His headache was gone. Emma sighed and snuggled closer, her arm sliding over to wrap around his chest. He should probably let her sleep.

But then again, he would go stark, raving mad if he didn't tell her everything immediately.

"Emma?" He turned on his side, cupped her nape and nuzzled his nose against hers.

"Umm? Jonas?" She smiled and she yawned.

He waited, watching her, as she came fully awake. Those green eyes met his. "What?" She blinked. "Somethin' has happened..."

"d.a.m.n right it has."

Her eyes widened. He said it.

"I had the dream."

Her smooth brows drew together.

He insisted, "I did."

"But you're..."

"Not standing in the middle of the room trying my d.a.m.nedest to suck in air? Not falling over, pa.s.sing out?"

She nodded, slowly, her eyes full of wonder, of growing hope. "That's right. You're not."

"I remember it all. Everything. About the night Russell was kidnapped. I remember what happened in Russell's room, I remember the kidnappers."

"Kidnappers?"

"That's what I said."

"There was more than one, then?"

He nodded. "My uncle Blake. And a woman. A woman named Lorraine ."

Chapter 20.

I n the morning, as soon as Kimberly left for school, Jonas told Marsh and Tory everything he'd told Emma the night before.

"I'm so glad you finally remember what happened that night," Tory said sincerely, when Jonas had finished telling the tale.

"But?" Jonas prompted, already knowing what she was going to say next.

"Well, I just wish you had more to go on than the woman's first name."

"So do I," he said. "But we'll go back to Blake's house this morning, look through his files again, this time with the name Lorraine in mind." It didn't sound all that promising, really. And they all knew it. He shrugged. "It's worth a try."

"We have a computer here, in the other room," Marsh reminded him. "And it does have a Zip drive. We could look through everything without having to go out to that shack, if you want to."

Jonas vetoed that suggestion. "We should check for a Lorraine in the file cabinet, too. And then we did mean to look through the rest of the house. We might as well just go on out there."

Tory left for her shop at nine-thirty. Marsh got a call from his manager at the new Oklahoma City branch of his limousine service a few minutes later. There was some crisis that just couldn't wait. So Marsh gave Jonas a garage-door remote and a key to his and Tory's house, along with more keys to the shack where Blake Bravo had lived.

"I'll join you there as soon as I can get away," he promised.

"No," Jonas said. "Go on and take care of your business. Emma and I can handle things for today. We'll meet back here this evening. You'll get a full report on what we found." a.s.suming, he couldn't help adding silently, that we find anything at all.

"You're sure?"

"Go to work. We'll be fine. You're only a phone call away if something comes up that we can't handle without you."

At a little after ten, Jonas and Emma turned into the dusty driveway that led to Blake Bravo's house. They parked the rental car behind the ancient pickup and headed for the house. Once inside, they went straight to the office, where Jonas booted up the computer and began scanning files and running searches.

Emma checked through the tall file cabinet behind the desk. She started with the A's, reading the label on each manila folder, seeking one with the magic first name, Lorraine, on it. She reached the Z's a half an hour later. He heard her close the bottom drawer and heave a long sigh. "Nothing in here that I can find." She came up behind him, put her hands on his shoulders. "Sorry."

"As if it's your fault," he teased, but he didn't take his eyes off the screen.

She brushed a kiss on the top of his head. "I'll just go on and start looking around the rest of the house."

He patted her hand. "Good idea."

She slipped out the door and into the hall. He could hear her, faintly, in the kitchen the rattle of flatware as she opened a drawer, the clatter of pots and pans, the sharp click as a cabinet door anch.o.r.ed shut.

She returned to the office maybe twenty minutes after she had left it. He became aware of her presence before he looked up and saw her hovering in the doorway.

He shut down the file he'd been scanning and glanced her way. "What?"

She was holding what looked like an old address book, a black one, dog-eared and worn. She had a smudge of dirt on the end of her nose and she was smiling so broadly, the little beauty mark on her cheek had slipped completely into hiding. "I found this in the junk drawer in the kitchen. You know, in with the box knives and scissors and screwdrivers and rusty nails, under a stack of maps and grocery store coupons that expired months ago."

"And?"

She came toward him, flipping the book open to the page she had marked with her thumb. She held it out and pointed. "Look."

He read the name she pointed to aloud. "Smith, Lorraine ." He met her s.h.i.+ning eyes again, watched a s.h.i.+ver of excitement go through her. He understood that s.h.i.+ver. He felt just the same way though he knew he probably shouldn't allow himself to get too worked up. At this point, it was nothing more than a first name that matched the name in his dream. It was more than possible that Blake had known more than one Lorraine in his life.

"Well?" She let out a nervous, thoroughly charming little giggle. "What do you think?"

He looked at the book again. "It's an Oklahoma City address. No area code on the phone number, so that's probably local, as well."

"That's good. Isn't it?"