Izzie didn’t hear him muttering, “Love you more.”

She passed out in his arms.

She freaking passed out from the pleasure he had given her.

Torn between exhilaration and worry, he gazed at her relaxed features, tracing her swollen lips with the tip of his index finger.

“Fuck! I do love you,” he croaked.

He had never stopped loving Izzie. He got that now. Everyone was right. He had hurt so badly, for so long, because he had never gotten over her. Sorting out a future together presented challenges, no doubt about it. The logistics would be complex, but if Izzie loved him, like she confessed just now, nothing would stop him from getting her back.

And their son.

His son.

He inhaled deeply, and let the air out in a slow sigh, doing his best to calm down the flapping wings of the butterflies that had made their home inside him since he found out Arthur was his son.

Tomorrow he would finally meet him.

He tightened one arm around Izzie’s waist, and draped the other over his face, willing himself to sleep. The following day was going to be long and tiring, and the alarm clock would go off in a few hours.

* * *

As he dragged his feet along the terminal’s endless corridor, Tristan looked sideways to find Izzie’s expression as drained as his probably was. “I didn’t remember the flight being this long.”

“Because you haven’t taken it in so many years. Not even the first-class service made it less exhausting this time.”

“The old seats didn’t help either,” Tristan agreed. “I mean, where were those pods that morph into beds I had seen on their website?”

“Apparently not in this route, they aren’t,” she snapped in her best midwestern rendition.

Despite the fatigue, he laughed and was reminded, not for the first time, of her delightful sense of humor. Gone were the worries and self-doubts of a couple of months ago. The previous night had been magical, but when they slept through the alarm, and rushed out of her hotel, their only concern had been making to the airport in time. Neither mentioned the L word, or the fact they had said it.

During the flight, in the relative privacy of their first-class seats, they talked their heads off, but didn’t touch the subject. Tristan decided to wait for Izzie to bring it up by herself. He now believed she had said the words in the heat of their lovemaking. He would rather hear them again, when she was thinking clearly, before surprising her with his own feelings.

Right now, he was eager to meet their son for the first time, even though the excitement was almost shadowed by the anxiety of the first encounter.

“You think he’s going to like me? What if he hates my guts? I mean, he must think I abandoned you and him.”

Izzie rolled her eyes. “Again with this shit? I’ve told you a million times, and I’ll repeat it another million times until you get it through your thick skull. Arthur is an awesome kid. He’s incapable of hating anybody, and he’s not going to start with you. You’re saving his life, for fuck’s sake.”

They reached the Passport Control lounge, so they stopped, and searched the carry-on external pouches for their passports. Neither noticed a couple in dark suits standing a few feet away until the woman spoke. “Ms. Anderson? Mr. Knight? I’m Special Agent Cooper, this is Special Agent Morales. We’re with the FBI, we need you to come with us.”

Snapping his head up, Tristan ignored the rectangular pieces of printed paper the couple was trying to hand in to him. Frowning, he demanded, “What do you mean? What happened?”

Although the United States counted with a myriad of distinct police enforcement agencies, which made it hard for the average citizen to keep track of who watched over what, the FBI did not patrol borders. That much he knew.

“We need to debrief you about the situation, so Customs and Border Protection made a meeting room available for us to use. We’ll take you there. Also, you’ll want to avoid the barricade of press members and fans that’s waiting for your arrival. We’ve parked at the back, so we can get out of here quickly, once we’re done with the debriefing.”

Tristan’s head was reeling, none of it made any sense, but before he could express his confusion, Izzie spat out, “What the hell are you driving at? What situation?” Panic made her naturally soothing voice turn squeaky.

“My apologies, ma’am. I thought you knew about it.” The tall red-headed federal agent exchanged a look with her sturdy partner. “Mark King kidnapped your son yesterday.”

If Special Agent Cooper had kicked him in the nuts, it would not have been as painful. He looked into Izzie’s eyes and blurted out, “This time I will kill the motherfucker.”

“Nobody is killing anyone. Get us out of here, please. You can debrief us on the way. I want to find my son.” Izzie didn’t flinch as she spoke, but a muscle twitched in her cheek.

Tristan admired her control, as the four of them made a beeline to an electronic passport scanner. After Tristan and Izzie got clearance to enter the country, the agents led the way through a labyrinth of corridors until they were out of the terminal. A black SUV with tinted windows was the only vehicle in sight. Agent Morales got behind the wheel and his partner climbed onto the passenger seat. Izzie and Tristan sat behind them.

Agent Cooper’s auburn hair was made in a tight bun at the back of her hair. For some weird reason, Tristan focused on the neatly arranged strands. Maybe she chose an austere hairdo to make up for her inexperience. He bet she had just left the academy, she didn’t look a day older than twenty-five. Way too young to spearhead a case like Arthur’s.

What the fuck?

She turned around to face them, a sympathetic smile curving her eyes, but a determined glint tinkling in her brown eyes. “I’m aware this is a lot for you two to process. The most important thing to focus on right now is that you’re in good hands. The best, really. My team has handled dozens of kidnappings, among other crimes. We know what we’re doing. We need you to stay calm, let us do our job, and we’ll get Arthur back to you in no time.”

“Thank you, Agent Cooper,” Izzie muttered, flipping the agents’ cards around in her hands. Tristan hadn’t noticed her accepting them. The woman’s strength kept surprising him.

“Please, call me Natasha, ma’am.”

Izzie nodded. “You said your team has worked cases like this before? You mean to say, you’re part of a team, or that you command it? I’m sorry, but I figured you were too young to have that kind of experience. I don’t mean to speak out of turn. It’s just that it’s my son’s life we’re talking about here. I need to know.”

Agent Natasha Cooper smiled, a genuine, warm grin. “That’s fine, ma’am. I get that a lot and I understand your concern. I’m fortunate enough not to show my age, but I’ve also advanced quickly in the Bureau. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Ms. Anderson.”

“Izzie.”

Tristan looked out of the window, Agent Morales was speeding up north on the 405; they should make it to the FBI building shortly.

Natasha’s stare zeroed in on Izzie’s face. “Ms. Rostoff, your personal assistant, called the police. When her cell phone pinged, and the internal camera showed her that someone was in the house, she recognized your ex-husband. Apparently, he isn’t allowed in, correct?”

Tristan wondered how much of the agent’s focused attention was meant to reassure Izzie she was qualified for that job, and how much of it was interrogation technique. He settled for both.

“Mark King isn’t Arthur’s real father, and he never gave a crap for the kid. When we divorced, I got full custody. That isn’t the issue here,” Izzie affirmed.

“He hasn’t made any demands yet. In fact, he hasn’t contacted your house or your manager at all.”

“I see where you’re going with this, but he didn’t take Arthur because he wants him,” Izzie spoke through gritted teeth as she fumbled with her phone. “I turned this piece of crap off during the flight and haven’t turned it back on again. Maybe he called me?”

Tristan noticed Natasha’s forehead wrinkles multiplied.

Izzie punched codes to access voicemail and set the loudspeaker on. She had gotten over a dozen voicemail messages. She played them, then skipped them, until they heard Mark’s voice. He slurred, “Hey, beautiful. Calling to let you know I’ve got your baby. If you want to see him again, you’ll transfer two million dollars to my account. You still have the routing number, right? I guess that godforsaken place you traveled to must have some kind of internet connection. You should be able to transfer the money in time for little Arthur to get back home and take his meds. I mean, I can’t afford any. He’s counting on you, gorgeous. Don’t let him down. Again. Oh, I don’t need to tell you to keep the cops out of our little arrangement, do I?”

Izzie swiftly scanned the remaining calls. None from Mark. She tipped her chin up and gazed into the FBI agent’s intent stare. “Mark isn’t allowed in my home because he’s a lowlife vermin. I’ve got a restraining order a couple of years ago to protect my family. Anastasia has been working with me for years, she’s aware of the situation and I trust her. I can’t figure out why she was out of the house, though. I told her not to leave Arthur alone.”

“I understand. She reported that Arthur felt dizzy after they got home from dialysis, so he went up to his room to take a nap. She had to fill Arthur’s prescription, she called the store. The physician had not authorized the medication to be delivered, so the store set a time for Ms. Rostoff to pick the medication up. She never got to the store. The notification popped up on her cell phone on her way there. She immediately called the police, but by the time the responding officers got to your house, Mr. King was gone.”

Tristan interrupted her, “Agent Cooper, sorry, Natasha, time is a key factor. Not only because the longer it takes, the colder the leads get, which is common sense. But, Arthur has a serious health condition. He needs meds and dialysis regularly.”

A chilling pause ensued. He refused to glance sideways at Izzie for fear of crumpling if he spotted on her face a fraction of the dread that gripped him by the throat.

“He had a session yesterday. He’s set for a couple of days,” Izzie comforted him. Not only with her soothing tone, but with her fingers squeezing his fist as it rested on his knee.

He had not noticed he had balled his hands until her warm palm connected with his taut skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to simmer down the fury and frustration. He would become a liability instead of an asset, if he flew off the handle.

Izzie needed him sane.

Arthur needed him whole.

Maybe if he repeated those words a million times they would eventually sink in. One could hope.

When he opened his eyes again, he caught Natasha’s intent stare on him. She waited until he locked his demons in the dungeon before replying, “We’re doing all we can. In addition to my team, most of our field agents are working the case around the clock. We’re coordinating with local law enforcement to follow all leads we find.”

“What does that all mean?” Izzie whispered.

“Police officers are canvassing the neighborhood interviewing potential witnesses. We’ve got people watching hours of footage from surveillance cameras seeking to spot Mr. King’s car.”

Tristan glimpsed the exit 55 sign as Agent Morales changed lanes to take it. They would soon be at the FBI’s office. Impatient for information, Tristan asked, “What have you found out so far?”

Neither of the agents replied.

His stomach churned, he fought the burning sensation of acid crawling up his throat. Glancing sideways, he spied Izzie’s knuckles turn white as she fisted her hands. He pried her left hand open, and laced their fingers together, anchoring her as much as himself.

“That’s why we brought you here. We hope you might put some pieces of the puzzle together,” Agent Morales clarified, while they hasted to the elevator.

Once out of the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor, the small group turned right, and the agents led the way. A distraught blonde came out of nowhere and wrapped herself around Izzie. Almost as tall as Tristan, and heavily built, she made Izzie look like a tiny china doll. He refrained from stepping between the two, when Izzie’s hands hooked on the blonde’s broad shoulders, squeezing them in a tight embrace.

A faint Eastern European accent colored her speech when she stepped back and apologized, “Izzie, forgive me. I was so stupid. I should have never left Arthur’s side.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Anastasia. We’ll find him. Everything will turn out fine.”

Tristan wished he shared her confidence.

Natasha showed them to a meeting room. On the brief walk through the open plan office, Tristan took in the frenzied activity, along with images on various types of screens and boards that confirmed the agents’ commitment to finding Arthur.

In the meeting room, Natasha waited until they settled in the leather chairs. Although the long mahogany table was set for at least twelve people, Tristan, Izzie, and Anastasia chose chairs on the same side, to the left of Natasha. She stood at the head of the table, a large screen behind her showed an enlarged version of the FBI’s seal. It framed her as she debriefed them.

“Evidence shows that Mr. King had watched the house for quite some time before he made his move yesterday. He saw a chance and grabbed it.”

Tristan spied Izzie’s hand clutching Anastasia’s under the table. His heart swelled at the small gesture of reassurance. Amid her nightmare, Izzie took the time to let her assistant know she had no blame in the matter. Mark would have found another way in, even if Anastasia had not gone to the store.

Natasha went on, “We have been able to trace his movements up to a point. His car was last seen on the 210, a little after the exit to downtown San Bernardino. The trail went cold there. There is a big junction in the area. He might have driven north to Nevada or south to San Diego.” She paused as if to gauge their reactions.

Izzie and Anastasia had their eyes trained on the agent, barely blinking. Tristan cast his down intently studying his hands crossed on the table. His heart skipped so many beats he lost count, air left his lungs. His mind raced with disconnected pieces of information chasing after one another. He didn’t know which way was up anymore.

“Mr. Knight, does this information ring any bells, sir?” Natasha’s expression turned razor sharp. He knew she knew he knew something.

“Maybe, not sure,” he mumbled, not bullshitting her as her squinted eyes suggested. He held her stare. “It stirred something in the back of my mind, but I can’t say what exactly.”

Natasha’s eyes relaxed. “That’s okay, it happens. You’re tense, and our memories are fluid. However, any little thing that might not make sense to you may be useful. Tell me what you remember.”

The pieces fell into place as she spoke. Tristan had a hunch as to where Mark had taken Arthur. If he told the FBI, he wouldn’t have a chance to wring the motherfucker’s neck as he was dying to do. What would be the odds of the agents giving him ten minutes alone with the bastard before they took him into custody?

Slim to none.

Mark had threatened Izzie if she called the cops on him. Tristan had to consider that as well.

Izzie’s stare focused on his, hope and despair warring in her green eyes. He averted his.

If he lied, maybe he could get there ahead of the police. He just needed enough time to punch a hole through the fucker’s face. He didn’t care if he got arrested for it. Mark deserved to have his perfect features rearranged.

“Mr. Knight?” Natasha’s tone had gained a sterner pitch.

If he got to the cabin and assaulted Mark, what kind of fucked up example would he set for his son? One where laws didn’t matter, and violence was a valid way of solving issues. Not to mention he would be gambling with Arthur’s life. God only knew what kind of shit went on inside Mark’s addled brain.

“Spill it, goddamn it!” Izzie blurted.

He blinked his way out of the hellhole his mind had taken him to. His eyes landed on Izzie’s and he choked.

“Fuck! I’m sorry,” he pleaded, pulling her rigid body against his in an awkward embrace. He cut his stare to Natasha’s. “My apologies, agent Cooper. I don’t remember the exact directions, but Mark’s parents had a cabin in Lake Arrowhead when he was growing up. He took me there once or twice. The place had been sold years before, but he liked to boast about it. That’s not much to work with, but it’s all I’ve got.”

Izzie scowled at him and he raised his hands in the air. “I promise, love. That is all I remember. I’m not trying to solve this on my own.”

“That would be a first.” She eyeballed him for a moment, then her shoulders relaxed. She laced their fingers together again. “I believe you.”

He kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”

While they talked, Natasha punched a number on the internal phone. “Check the Lake Arrowhead area for any properties belonging to the King family going back fifty years.” She hung up and addressed them. “Thank you. There’s little more you can do right now, I’ll ask for a car to take you home.” She raised a hand, when Tristan tried to counter the offer. “We’ll work faster and more efficiently, if we don’t have to worry about your well-being. A patrol unit has been assigned to your house since yesterday. You’ll have round-the-clock protection from Mr. King, any unknown associate of his, and the press. In the meantime, we’ll follow this lead. It’s the most solid one we’ve got and I’ve a feeling it might do it.” She stretched out her hands and held Izzie’s when they got up from their chairs. “I promise we’re not going to rest until we bring Arthur back to you.”

“Thank you.”

* * *

They rode to Izzie’s home in tense silence. Tristan feared any of them might crumble if the other said something. He kept his mouth shut and his eyes trained on the landscape outside the tinted windows.

Once inside, Anastasia offered, “Can I get you anything, Izzie?”

“Thank you, hon. Waiting is awful, but there’s nothing much to do. Go home, hug your family. I’ll keep you posted.”

The women shared a tight embrace, Anastasia waved to Tristan on her way out, and they were left alone to wait for the FBI’s call.

Smashing Izzie’s antiques was not an option, even though Tristan had the urge to break things to get the frustration out of his system. Instead, he stood in the middle of her living room, feet disappearing in the thick cream rug, and held his arms wide open, inviting her in.

“Why don’t you follow the wise advice you just gave Anastasia? Hug your family,” Izzie wrapped herself around him and broke down crying. She had been holding the emotions in, putting on a brave face, and now she let them loose. Her sobs shook her small frame, but Tristan gladly absorbed the shocks, smoothing her hair and back. “Let it out, love. You don’t need to be strong for me,” he whispered.

She wailed, her voice muffed by his shirt as she crinkled it in her fisted hands. “The bastard took Arthur because of me. Me.” She stabbed her chest. “I’m the one to blame here. Nobody else.”

“I know that’s how you feel, but that isn’t true. Mark King is a sick bastard. He’s the only guilty party in all of this. He isn’t the smartest person either. I’m sure he took Arthur to that cabin. They’ll find them, throw Mark’s sorry ass in jail, and bring Arthur to us.” He wasn’t just saying that to appease her.

She hooked her arms under his and dug her fingers into his shoulders. Burying her face in his chest, her sobs ebbed. He kept stroking her until she sought his stare. “You believe that, don’t you?”

“I do, ma’am.”

She sighed and rested her chin on his chest, eyes still on his. “You wanted to go up there and beat the crap out of him, though. You almost lied to the FBI, didn’t you?”

“What’s with the third degree, woman?”

“Evasive response. That’s a yes in your world. I don’t blame you if you did, though.”

He realized he had held his breath when it came out as a sigh of relief. He chuckled. “You don’t?”

She shook her head, chin still buried in the middle of his chest. “Nope. It’s in your nature to protect the ones you love. You challenged the bullies in school when they singled me out. You stood by Noah, fifteen years ago, when his girlfriend broke his heart and helped him mend the pieces. You rearranged your life to take care of your mom. And you offered a kidney to a child you’ve never met, one you didn’t know existed until a month ago. In all these cases, you had an option. You could have chosen you. Instead, you chose the people you love.”

Tristan gazed into her eyes, mesmerized by the emotions she showed him and the image she made of him. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. “I wish I were half as good as you believe I am, but I’ll take the compliment. What? I’m learning,” he explained, when she raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Obviously.”

“Some of your social skills are rubbing off, I guess.”

“What are you driving at?”

“You amazed me earlier at the field office. The way you calmed Anastasia down, reassured her that she didn’t have reasons to blame herself for what had happened confirmed what I had suspected.”

“Which is?”

“That you’re an angel in disguise,” he kissed the tip of her nose.

She twitched it. “Or maybe a bewitching witch?”

“You’re not blonde enough.”

“I meant Serena,” she chuckled, but soon let it die out. “I shouldn’t be laughing and making jokes while my son is out there, God knows where.”

Tristan tightened his arms around her, then pulled away. She resisted, and he smiled. “My feet are going numb. Let’s move this to the couch. We’ll be more comfortable.”

He settled on the overstuffed black leather cushion, holding her by his side. She pulled her legs up and under herself, resting her head on his thighs. He resumed stroking her hair, and arms.

She sighed. “You make me feel safe.”

He didn’t get to reply because her cell phone rang. “Yes?” She closed her eyes as she listened intently to whoever was on the other side of the line.

His world stopped spinning.

He couldn’t read her, couldn’t tell if she was tense or relieved. His brain cells had deserted him. He had only emotions, and they chased each other around like psychedelic ponies in a fucking merry-go-round on steroids.

“Thank you, Natasha.” She hung up, dropped the phone on the couch, and buried her face in her hands.

He needed to know, but he didn’t want to pressure her.

He leaned down and whispered, “I’m here for you, love. You’re not alone.”

Izzie laced her arms around his neck and covered his face with kisses. She laughed and cried. The boulder on his chest lifted a fraction on an inch, enough to allow him to hope.

“They’ve found Arthur,” she shrieked. His lungs remembered how to breathe. “Natasha said he looks fine, but they’ve taken him to a hospital in Lake Arrowhead for precaution.”

“Let’s go. No, wait. Lake Arrowhead is more than two hours away.”

“Exactly. I’ll call Steve. He’ll get us a helicopter.”

“He’s still your manager?”

She shrugged as she swiped to unlock the phone. “I’m loyal that way. Hey, Steve. I need a favor.”

The Claddagh ring twinkled on her finger, while she paced the room and arranged the details with her manager. Izzie was right, she was loyal to those she loved. So was he. He recalled the promise he made to her on her senior prom night. She would always have his friendship, his love, and his loyalty.

All he had to do was convince her to accept them.