Her Stolen Son by Rita Herron

another woman, infuriated her.
    Her phone jangled, and her pulse jumped. She raced to answer it, but checked the caller ID first. Another news station.
    She’d already had three calls from newspapers across the States, and two from other clients. Disappointed, she let the message machine pick it up and paced to the mantel.
    She studied the family photo of her, Parker and Petey, again wondering if the happy family she’d believed she’d had had been a figment of her imagination. When she’d lived on the streets, her experiences had taught her not to trust.
    Yet she had trusted him. Had she been a complete fool?
    Had Parker’s undercover work taught him to lie so well that he’d tricked his wife?
    DM. Dasha.
    What if this Dasha woman had kidnapped Petey? Perhaps she’d wanted a family with Parker and decided to steal the son that had been left behind?
    Worrying her bottom lip with her teeth, she pacedacross the room again, contemplating that theory. But if Dasha had wanted what was left of Parker, why wait two years after his death to steal her son?
    Her bones throbbed from fatigue and lack of sleep, but her mind refused to rest. Petey had been sheltered from the streets because she’d wanted to spare him the cruelty that others could inject upon those less fortunate or weaker.
    Where was he now? Would he survive this ordeal? And if he did survive, would he be emotionally scarred for life?
    Â 
    C OLT CHECKED IN with GAI as he neared Sanctuary. “Rouse suggested that Stover was investigating something other than drugs,” Colt said. “I’m going to track down Stover’s former partner and see if he can give us some information.”
    â€œGood idea,” Gage said. “I’ll call my buddy with the Bureau and find out if he has an idea what Stover had stumbled into.”
    â€œI looked into Rice’s former cell mates,” Ben interjected. “His first cell mate died in the pen. Second one was released on probation and has disappeared. A third one was killed two weeks ago in a boating accident off the coast of Florida.”
    Colt frowned. “Two dead and one in the wind? Sounds suspicious.”
    â€œTell me about it,” Ben mumbled. “Slade offered to interview the other prisoners who knew Rice. Maybe he’ll come up with a lead.”
    â€œThanks. I’m headed to Rice’s house to search the premises. Maybe I’ll find something the cops missed.”
    â€œIt’s possible,” Gage commented. “Especially since they thought they had the killer in Serena and might not have dug too deeply.”
    â€œAny tips from the hotline worth checking out?” Colt asked.
    â€œNot yet.” Gage sighed. “We’ll keep you posted.”
    Colt disconnected. Nearing Sanctuary, he took the turn toward the condo Rice had rented. Crime-scene tape glimmered beneath the moonlight as he approached, and he slowed, scanning the streets and perimeter for officers assigned to guard the scene, or curious spectators interested in a murder in Sanctuary.
    Another possibility niggled at him. The murderer might return to the scene in search of evidence he’d left behind.
    Or a lead to the money, if that had been part of his motive.
    Colt parked down the street from the condo, tucked his gun inside his jacket for protection, then walked briskly between the rows of units, and circled to the back of the condo. A privacy fence encompassed a tiny yard. He scaled the wood railing, dropped to the bottom and crept toward the back entrance. Darkness shrouded the interior as well as exterior, but he removed a flashlight from inside his pocket and shined it on the lock, then picked it and slipped inside.
    The temptation to turn on an overhead light or lamp to speed up his search was strong, but he couldn’t chance a passerby spotting it and calling the cops.
    He shined the flashlight across the kitchen. An L-shaped design with built-in