Pet for Christmas by Rachelle Ayala

Author:Rachelle Ayala [Ayala, Rachelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: animals, military, dog, Christmas, Action & Adventure, veteran, single parent, afghanistan, christmas adventure, ptsd hero
Publisher: Rachelle Ayala
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

~ Kelly ~

The trading desks are blowing up over the surprise earnings miss by Shopahol, one of the companies I’m monitoring. What glues me to the screen is the shorting of Shopahol stock earlier this week—a sign of insider trading.

I’m fielding a call from my boss while running data analyses through the spreadsheets when my cell phone rings. Bree had complained about a sore throat this morning, but I had used up all my sick days for baby appointments.

“I have to call you back,” I say to my boss. “My daycare could be calling.”

I extract my phone from my purse, and my heart freezes. It’s the number from Afghanistan. Sweat pops from every pore of my forehead, and I tap the answer button. It could be Tyler.

“Hello? This is Kelly.”

“Hi, I’m Arman. I’m not supposed to call you, but I listened to your messages.”

“Is Tyler okay? Have you seen him?” My hands are shaking so hard I’m afraid to drop the phone or accidentally touch the end call button.

“He’s okay.”

“Where is he? What happened?” I have to keep this kid on the the line. Hopefully the FBI is tracing the call this very moment.

“My father rescued Tyler, but now, the Taliban know where we are.”

“Do you need help? Can you tell me where you are?”

“I’m home with my family.”

“Where’s home?” I’m fumbling on my desk for a pen. “I can send help.”

“No, you can’t. My father will be mad if you send the Americans. I’m only calling to let you know Tyler is alive.”

“Thank you. Will your father protect Tyler? Will he be safe?”

“Yes. He’s safe with my father. I gotta go.”

“Please, don’t hang up. Can you tell me what happened? Was there an explosion?”

“Yes, and the Taliban are blaming Tyler. They want to pay my father to take him, but my father says they can’t pay as much as the Americans.”

A cold bucket of ice slams over me, and my stomach lurches. “Pay? How much?”

“I heard them when they were smoking. They offered fifty US dollars.”

“How much does your father want?” My throat is tight, and I fight to keep my voice audible.

“I don’t know, but I gotta go. They don’t know I have a phone. They’re still looking for a phone so they can call the Americans.”

“Don’t let them have it.” I’ll say anything to keep him on the line. “Wouldn’t your father be proud if you could get the money? We can pay more than fifty dollars. How much do you need?”

“I don’t know,” the boy pauses. “Wait, I have an idea. My father needs a diamond ring. How much are those?”

“A diamond ring? How large?” This is strange. Is his father trying to get engaged? I thought men in those parts of the world gave sheep, goats, or cattle as bride prices.

“Large enough so my mother will come back.” There’s a catch in the boy’s voice. “She left two years ago.”

From the sound of his voice which hadn’t deepened yet, he couldn’t be much older than twelve or thirteen.

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