Chapter 1

What was I doing in this small town in Arkansas? I was going to stick out like a sore thumb while I looked for the child I had been sent to find and return to his mother. I stopped at a sign that said "Diner" and decided to go in for some food since I had been driving all night. I figured since it was the only place I had seen to eat, it would also be a good place to hear all the local gossip.

Before I go any further, I think I had better fill you in a little on what I do.

My name is Jon Morgan and I am called a protector by Children's Services. I take on the jobs the local authorities won't bother with. Like hunting for children that spouses have taken without the court's permission or looking for dead beat parents who won't pay support or help their kids out. That pretty much is the meat of most of the jobs I accept.

I am thirty two years old and single, and have lived in France for most of that time. My parents were killed in an automobile accident while on holiday there, and I was put in an orphanage. I was three at the time and had no papers or passport. They had all burned in the accident. When I was sixteen, I ran away and lived on the streets of Paris for over a year until I was befriended by a Captain in the French Foreign Legion. He talked me into joining so I spent the next eight years in the service of France. I traveled all over the world, mostly spending time in the armpits of war and countries that didn't want us there. I made squad leader in my fourth year and was in charge of my own unit. We were in Ethiopia when I rescued a family that was about to be executed by some rebels. The man I rescued was a manager for a Nigerian Bank who had gone there to get his family out to give them a better life. I was lucky enough that he spoke French and was able to give me his name and where he lived.

We escorted him and his wife and kids to safety. Before he left us, he told me if I ever needed his services, all I had to do was contact him. I didn't know it at the time, but he would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me. We went from Ethiopia to Algiers to help control the drug trade and to try to stop some of the smuggling going on.

It was in Algiers that I lost my whole squad, but gained much after I got over the grief of losing the men I had been so close to. We were on patrol in jeeps in a little burg along the ocean, when we saw several cars parked near an abandoned barn. We went to check it out and as soon as we got close, we were caught up in a gun battle with the owners of the vehicles.

To make a long story short, we won, but I was the only survivor of my squad. I had been wounded three times, but they were not crippling wounds. As soon as I stopped the bleeding, I called for assistance for my men. When I went into the barn, it was apparent why they had opened fire on us. There were more than a hundred kilos of high grade raw opium and hashish on a table inside the barn. That's when I found six duffel bags of U.S. Dollars to be used to pay for the dope. I didn't know how much was in them, but being the only person still alive, I hid them until I could figure out what to do with all that money.

By the time the investigation was over it was almost three months later. I found myself being discharged from the Legion because of nerve damage in one of my hands. I was sent back to France for further medical treatment and that's when my mother's father found me. It seemed he had been looking for me for all those years, thinking I was dead along with my parents, but was hoping I wasn't. He had my DNA checked to confirm my identity and I was given dual citizenship because of my service in the Legion. He went back to the U.S. where I was supposed to join him as soon as I was discharged from the hospital. I went to Algiers first and recovered the money I had hidden. I took it to Nigeria and let the man I had rescued take control of it. He promised me he could double it in a few years by using offshore accounts and wise investments. I gave him ten percent off the top for his services and he said that was more than enough to put his children through college. His name was Quanta Mutamba and he was true to his word. I am now a multi-millionaire three times over, thanks to his good management of my investments and stock portfolio. I have it mostly in offshore accounts that he set up and I use a credit card for anything I want to buy. I live in my grandfather's house in Virginia and have a maid and a handyman who live on the property. My grandfather passed away five years after I came to the states and left it to me since I was his only relative.

Thanks to his contacts and friends, I was able to get a Federal Gun Permit and I was appointed as a National CASA representative for all states. I get called in when a case is at an end because of interstate flight or they can't get cooperation from the state they are trying to get the kid or kids from. It's not a glamorous job, but it has its moments.

Now that you have been brought up to date on my history, let's get back to the case I am working now. I was contacted by the Tennessee Department of Children Services about this one. A child had been taken away from his mother by the father who was a drunkard and an abuser. She had full custody and when he found her, he put her in the hospital and took the three-year-old with him. The local law was related to him and refused to cooperate with Tennessee in recovering the child, so they called me and asked if I would try to get him back. I visited the mother in the hospital. Her story and condition helped me make up my mind to take the case. I got the court order from CASA in case I needed it, and headed for Slagston, Arkansas. I had stopped to make a courtesy call at the State Police and told them who I was and what I was doing there. I was warned by them that I was on my own until I got out of that county. If I needed help anywhere else, then they would come running. This was nothing new and I had been in the same situation before.

I had the father's address and directions to get there, but I had been told by the mother that he was always hanging out at the diner. I got out of my truck and walked into the diner. As was common in a small town, I was eyeballed by the four or five people sitting inside as I walked in. I took an empty seat at the counter and ordered coffee and the breakfast special. I was asked a couple of innocent questions by the waitress, and I answered her loud enough so that everyone could hear. This seemed to take the attention off me as I figured it would, so I just sat and listened to the old men talk. I was sipping my coffee when the boy I was looking for came in the door with his dad. I could tell he wasn't happy, because he was dirty and his dad was yanking him by the arm to come inside. They sat down in the empty booth to my right where I could watch them out of the corner of my eye. I was looked over pretty closely by his dad because I was a stranger, but he didn't seem to be suspicious of me. I don't know what the little boy said, but his dad reached across the table and slapped him hard and he started crying. It was all I could do not to go over and slap the asshole silly, but I knew I would have my chance later.

I finally got my food and to my surprise, it was excellent. Whoever the cook was, he knew what he was doing. The eggs and bacon were cooked better than most of the expensive restaurants I had eaten at in Virginia. I took my time eating and kept watching the two of them as I did. He had to have been one of the most foul mouthed parents I had ever heard as every other word out of his face was a cuss word. The little boy was miserable from the way he was acting. I watched as the waitress tried to cheer him up but his dad said he was just a little cry baby and needed to get toughened up.

The boy was three and was being treated like he was full grown. I think the topper of it all was when his dad pulled out a bottle of whiskey, poured it in his coffee, and then tried to get the little boy to drink some. I was almost ready to explode after watching all of this, but I knew I had to act like I didn't know them in order to affect the rescue I had planned.

I looked up when the door opened and a uniformed officer came in and sat down with the father, pushing the boy over against the wall so he could fit into the booth. The dad then offered him some whiskey for his coffee when the waitress set it down on the table. To my surprise he accepted, smiling as he did. Man, no wonder the State Police didn't want to come in here. The way this was accepted by the other people, it must have been an everyday occurrence here.