Chapter 40

Grant searched under the keyboard, the monitor, the drawers. Nothing. But then he got down on the floor and peered under the desk. Gotcha! The fastidious Mr. Channing wouldn’t want anything as untidy as scraps of paper lying about. Instead, there was a tiny envelope, pasted in precise alignment to the underside of the desk. Grant slid the card from it and stood. Working as fast as he could, he retrieved the tablet from his briefcase, typed on it furiously, and then returned the card to its hiding place.

He hurried to the couch, praying his spur-of-the-moment idea would work. If it didn’t, his only fallback plan was the tank.

Ten minutes later, Channing entered the office. “We’re ready for you, Director. If you’ll accompany me, please?”

Grant rose and followed the man out the door, to the elevator, and down to the basement. He shivered at the chill emanating from the concrete walls. Why the hell had they brought Rafael here? They made their way to the end of a hallway where Channing paused and opened a door. “After you.”

Grant walked in and stopped short in dismay. They’d converted a storage room into a jail with a row of sturdy-looking steel bars dividing it in two. And behind those bars—inaccessible and isolated from him—was Rafael, seated in a tiny, dark cell not much bigger than a closet. A bare mattress lay in one corner, and in the other was what looked like a chemical toilet.

The only positive was they’d dispensed with the enticing robe. Instead, they’d dressed him in the familiar scrubs used in the children’s facility and seated him in a plastic chair, facing the bars. Grant winced at the sagging shoulders and the dazed, defeated look on the man’s face. He yearned to wring the life out of the people who’d made Rafael so sad.

Channing cleared his throat, bringing Grant’s attention back to the game at hand.

The alpha straightened and banished his wandering thoughts—Rafael’s life was at stake. All business now, Grant set his briefcase on an empty storage shelf and pulled out his tablet. “Mr. Vargas, I have a few questions for you.”

Rafael raised his head, his expression tense and uncertain.

Grant’s chest ached as he saw the doubt in his omega’s eyes. Of course the man didn’t trust him. Not yet at least. Grant opened the tablet and pulled up the sketch he’d done of the man involved in the kidnapping. He showed it first to Channing. Best to let the man feel he was contributing to the investigation. “This is our suspect. Is he at all familiar to you?”

Channing studied the image for a few moments and shook his head.

Moving close to the bars, Grant swiped to the next page and handed the tablet to the confused omega. “Mr. Vargas, do you recognize this man?”

Rafael’s forehead furrowed, but with trembling hands, he took the tablet and stared at it. Looking up, he mumbled, “Um, no. I don’t know him.”

“Take your time. Study the sketch.” With his back turned toward Channing, Grant risked a small encouraging smile for the omega. “If you cooperate, everything will work out, I promise.”

Grant turned to the beta, took the man’s elbow, and led him away from the bars. In a low voice he said, “I have to tell you I’m amazed—that scent remover works wonders—I can’t tell he’s an omega. You certainly know your business.”

Channing came perilously close to smiling. “I’ve been doing this for many years. It’s satisfying to know my expertise is appreciated. But now, Director, please finish up. I have many duties awaiting me.”

“Of course.” Grant returned to stand in front of the bars and asked a few more meaningless questions about the kidnapping. Holding his breath, he reached his hand into the cell for the tablet. Had Rafael done as he asked? Was the man lucid enough to have understood?

With a blank expression on his face, the omega placed the tablet in Grant’s hand. Thank God—Rafael had understood—all Grant held in his hand was the case. The tablet had disappeared.

Refusing to give in to the excitement surging through him, Grant tucked the case out of sight and sighed. “Well, that was a waste of time. I had hoped I’d learn something from him. But I’ll keep at it until we recover the children, I promise you.” As he headed for the door, Grant wouldn’t allow himself to turn for a last glimpse. It was too great a risk. But he’d see his omega soon. At least if Rafael was coherent enough. And skilled enough. And lucky enough.

It was out of his hands now.

All Grant could do was wait. 22

Sitting in his cell, Rafe hugged himself tight, relishing the hard rectangle of the tablet digging into his chest. A chance. He had a chance now to elude the hulking rapist who’d bought him. His gut contracted at the thought of Tommy Morton’s hands on him. What a hellish life they’d chosen for him! But now, thanks to Grant, his heaven-sent alpha, he had options.