Читать книгу Hero For Hire - Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

“Who calls you Ronnie?”

Veronica stopped at the head of the stairs and turned to look at Chad uncomprehendingly. “What?”

“The voice on the other end of the line called you Ronnie.” He didn’t see her as a Ronnie. Ronnies were dark-haired women who excelled in competitive sports and laughed out loud when something tickled their funny bone. The woman before him looked far too sophisticated to manage more than a small smile. “Who calls you Ronnie?” he repeated.

Her response was immediate. “Nobody.” And then she stopped, backtracking. Remembering. “Robert did. And sometimes I do—in my mind when I’m frustrated,” she added. “But nobody else does.” That wasn’t altogether true. “Except for Stephanie,” she amended. “That’s my younger sister. She was the first one to call me that when she couldn’t wrap her tongue around ‘Veronica.’” That seemed so long ago now, she thought. She found herself wishing her sister was here, instead of on the other side of the country.

She hadn’t mentioned a sister before. Getting information in dribs and drabs was not something he was unaccustomed to. “And where is your younger sister?”

Veronica could feel herself growing defensive. “In New York. She’s a curator at the Museum of Natural History. And not a candidate for suspicion.” He was wasting time looking in directions that led to dead ends.

He could almost read the thoughts crossing her mind. “I’m just trying to get a clear picture, that’s all, Veronica.”

She was vaguely aware that he’d stopped addressing her formally. “The picture is crystal clear. Someone, not my sister, not my brother-in-law, but someone,” she emphasized, “came to Andy Sullivan’s birthday party and walked off with my son.”

According to her, there had been a great many people at the party. Still, children that age did tend to shy away from people they didn’t know. “Would he go off with a stranger that easily?”

Feeling suddenly weak, Veronica leaned against the wall. She ran a hand over her pounding forehead, but the throbbing continued. The headache was nearly blinding. She should have been stricter with Casey, should have made him more wary of people.

She could feel the sting of gathering tears again and willed them back.

“I wish I could say no, but other than a phobia of clowns, Casey is the world’s friendliest kid. I’ve tried to tell him over and over again not to talk to strangers, but…” Helpless, she tried to ward off the feeling with a shrug.

That one simple gesture transformed her from a regal queen into someone who embodied vulnerability and frailty. Chad felt something distant stir within him, prompting responses that were nearly foreign to him. It made him want to comfort her.

The best comfort she could possibly have would be the recovery of her son. He pushed on. “And there’s no one else who calls you Ronnie?”

Fighting her headache, she straightened again. “No, why? Is it important?”

He shrugged noncommittally. “Might have narrowed the playing field a little. ‘Veronica’ is rather a formal name while ‘Ronnie’ is on a different, more intimate level.”

She gave a laugh, short and without humor. “Which is a polite way of saying that ‘Veronica’ sounds like a snob.”

Memories from her past, cruel ones with taunting children who took painful shyness for aloofness and used insults and gibes to make themselves feel better, surfaced. She pushed them aside. This wasn’t the time for that, or for feeling sorry for herself.

She rarely felt sorry for herself. Hadn’t felt the inclination since Robert had died. Now the emotion waited for a moment of weakness to suck her in.

“My word would have been ‘regal,’” Chad told her easily. “‘Ronnie’ sounds familiar. As if whoever’s on the line knows you.”

The idea was completely foreign to her, completely unacceptable. When she finally spoke, her voice was hollow. “I don’t know anyone who would do something like this. It’s not hard to get money from me, Mr.—Chad. I’m a soft touch.”

Soft wouldn’t be the first word he’d think of, looking at her. But it had definitely suggested itself in the first few minutes.

He studied her for a moment. “Are you?”

“Yes.” She thought of Robert. The few times they’d had words, it was over her largesse, her tendency to be taken in by every sad story, not so much because she believed it word for word, but because she hated seeing people worried over money matters. Money was there to ease suffering, not be the cause of it. Robert disagreed. “So much so that my husband took over the finances when we were married. He said that otherwise, I would single-handedly get rid of money in a decade that took three generations of Lancasters to accumulate.” She dismissed her generosity of spirit with a single disparaging sentence. “I’m a sucker for any sob story.”

He sincerely doubted if the dictionary definition of the word was applicable to her. “Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged you as a sucker.”

This time her laugh was softer. She raised her eyes to his, surprised he could make a kind assessment. He looked very hard to her. As if nonsense was something he hadn’t even a nodding acquaintance with. “Which just goes to show that appearances are deceiving.”

His point exactly. “Right. I want you to remember that.”

She felt like someone who’d fallen into a trap without seeing any of the telltale signs. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that someone around you might have decided that a handout wasn’t enough. They realized that they now want the whole hand.” He studied her face, watching for any giveaway. “Know anyone like that?”

That same defensive feeling rose again, higher this time. She refused to believe what he was telling her. Veronica had spent years building up her confidence, convincing herself that there were people who wanted things from her other than just her money. That they were satisfied with her company.

She raised her chin defiantly, her eyes daring him to prove her wrong. “No.”

She was lying, he thought, and wondered why. Was she reluctant to reveal something to him because he was an outsider? It wouldn’t be the first time. Hiring a private investigator was a mixed bag. You were asking a stranger for help in exchange for money. Along with that money, you were being forced to bare your soul, something that didn’t come easily to most people. Certainly not in times of crisis.

Chad took no offense. He was accustomed to being on the outside. It had become his personal niche over the years, standing on the far side of everything. It made him an observer. And good at his job.

He pushed a little. “I’m on your side, Veronica,” he reminded her. “If there’s someone you think you’re protecting…”

“Why in heaven’s name would I hire you and then try to protect someone?”

It wasn’t so farfetched. Megan had had a case where the kidnapper had turned out to be the ex-husband. His wife, their client, had gone on defending him to the end. Chad fixed Veronica with a long look. “I don’t know. That’s for you to tell me.”

“I’m not. Protecting anyone,” she added after a beat. “You have to believe me, nothing and no one means as much to me as my little boy.” Veronica waved her hand around the well-lit hall with its collection of paintings that could easily have been housed in a museum. “I’d give up everything in a blink of an eye to have him back unharmed. As for protecting anyone…”

Veronica stopped for a moment. She pressed her lips together, debating. Her eyes slid over the photograph she still held in her hand. The one that Chad was going to have copied to show to people. Casey’s photograph. The scale tipped.

There was fresh resolve in her eyes when she looked up at him. “I know several people with cash-flow problems and one person who is being blackmailed.”

Blackmail. Someone being blackmailed could turn desperate. Discreetly pressing the record button on the tape recorder in his jacket pocket, he took out a pencil and began to write on a fresh page in his notepad. “I’m going to need names.”

Second thoughts sprang up. She didn’t want to put anyone through more than they were already enduring. “None of them would take Casey. They wouldn’t have to. I’m a very loyal friend, Chad.” If she had it, she’d give it. The word no was not in her vocabulary when it came to money.

“I’ve no doubt you are.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, he entertained the thought that it might be nice to have a friend like Veronica in his corner. If he was ever in a position to need friends. Which he wasn’t. His job required a certain amount of networking, but that was apart from the concept of friends. He even kept his distance from Sam and Cade, as well as Megan and Rusty, although he was as close to them as he was to anyone. “Your loyalty isn’t in question here, but as a rule, people can do some very ugly things when they find their back pressed to the wall. Ugly things even they wouldn’t dream themselves capable of.” She was wavering.

He could see it. “Let’s start with the blackmailing victim.”

Veronica sighed, giving up the name. “Erica Saunders.”

He wrote it down. “Does Erica know who’s blackmailing her?”

Veronica shook her head. “It’s being done over the computer.”

Chad shook his head. “Ah, the benefits of technology.” He’d settle for an old-fashioned typewriter any day. He looked down at Veronica. “What is she being blackmailed for?”

She hesitated, but knew it was useless to keep silent. She’d already given up Erica’s name. “She had a fling with someone on a vacation she took.”

So far, that didn’t sound like anything to try to hide. There had to be more to the story. “And?”

Veronica felt as if she was betraying a trust. She looked away. “And she has a jealous husband. A very jealous older husband. At first she could manage the money, but now…” She spread her hands wide, imitating a gesture Erica had used when she finally broke down in her living room and told her story.

“And she came to you.”

“No, actually I went to her. I dropped by and found her with a gun in her hand. Her husband’s gun.” Veronica looked at Chad, leaving the rest unsaid. “She told me because she knew I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

And now that she was, it was eating away at her, he thought. But there were more important things at stake than Veronica’s conscience. “Think of me as a priest. And remember Casey.”

Did he think she needed to be reminded? “I can’t think of anything else.” She looked around him at the telephone in the hallway. There were phones in all the rooms. Silent phones. “Don’t you think they should be calling back by now?” She could feel herself beginning to battle hysteria again. “How long does it take to get to a telephone?”

If downed lines had prompted the abrupt disconnection, that depended on how wide the affected area was. “Maybe the grid failure is widespread. Not everyone has a cell phone.” He saw her look at hers. “And even if they do, they’d be fools to use it.”

“Why?”

“Highly traceable.” He got back to the list. So far, there was only one name on it. She’d made it sound as if there were more. “Anybody else putting the touch on you? You mentioned several people with cash-flow problems.”

This time the hesitation was longer. He could see that her nerves were getting the better of her again, chewing away at her fragile hold on sanity as she stared at the telephone.

“My brother-in-law,” she finally said.

Since she didn’t elaborate, he made a guess. “Sister’s husband?”

She looked at him, realizing that she’d momentarily drifted off. She had to keep focused. “No, Robert’s younger brother.” She saw a look come into Chad’s eyes. He obviously suspected Neil again. “He made some investments. They’re not doing too well now…” At least, that was the story he’d given her when he’d asked her for a “loan.” But he was family, and she could no more turn him away than she could dance on the moon. “He has a trust fund, but he can’t access enough to—”

“Trust fund?” As far as he knew, trust funds were for children. “Just how old is your brother-in-law?”

“Twenty-five. No, he just turned twenty-six.” Not that the extra year had brought any extra wisdom to Neil. He was one of those people forever destined to be a boy trapped in a man’s body. “His father didn’t feel that he was capable of handling the money he inherited from his grandmother sensibly.” Robert had shared that opinion, she recalled.

“Father knows best,” Chad murmured, turning a page and continuing to make more notes.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, it struck him how utterly ironic the phrase was, coming from him. In his case, father hadn’t known best. Father had known only how to inflict torment on all those around him. And on some who were far away.

He returned to the empty space above the information. “What did you say your brother-in-law’s name was?”

“Neil. Neil Reinholt.”

The name was vaguely familiar. Something about an overnight stay in jail and a party that had gotten out of hand. He made a mental note to do a great deal of checking into Reinholt’s past. “Anyone else?”

There were a few more minor loans here and there, but nothing on the level she’d given Erica and Neil. She shook her head. “Nothing of consequence.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” When the cell phone rang, she nearly jumped out of her skin. He placed his hand on her arm automatically, as if that could somehow calm her down and reassure her. “That’s mine, not yours.” Hand still on her arm, he dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With a snap of his wrist, he flipped the cover open. “Andreini.”

“Are you anywhere near a television set?”

It was Savannah. The lady was quick. He glanced toward Casey’s room. “Close enough, why?”

“Flip on any channel,” she told him. “The story’s all over the news. They’re cutting into the local programming to make the announcement.” She saved him the trouble of having to watch. Sam had told her how much Chad hated to have things dragged out. “A truck swerved and catapulted off the 405 freeway overpass into some telephone lines. Lines are down through Newport Beach, Bedford and parts of Santa Ana and Tustin. They’re not sure how long it’s going to take to have them up and running again.”

Newport Beach, Tustin, Bedford and Santa Ana. That encompassed a pretty sizable area.

Turning on his heel as Veronica watched, Chad made his way back to Casey’s room and switched on the television set. The next moment, an earnest-looking young Asian-American woman dressed in a mint-green suit came on, her words captured mid-sentence as she went over the details of what Savannah had just told him.

“…and there’s no telling just how long this will continue. Local crews are out en masse, trying to rectify the damage. Stay tuned to Channel Six news for up-to-the-minute coverage of this story…”

He’d heard all he needed to know. “Thanks, Savannah.”

“Anytime. Anything else?”

He looked down at the notepad he was still holding. “As a matter of fact—” Flipping back the page, Chad glanced at the names he’d written down. “—I want you to see what you might come up with on an Erica Saunders.” He saw Veronica’s eyes widen and then annoyance enter as she placed her hand over the pad.

“Emergency or faster?” Savannah was asking.

He drew the pad away from Veronica. “The latter.” He shoved the pad into his jacket pocket for the moment. “You’re the best.”

He heard her laugh on the other end. “So I keep reminding Sam.”

“If he can’t remember that on his own, I’ll remind him for you.”

“It’s a deal. Call you when I have something.”

“Thanks.” Chad flipped his cell phone cover down, then tucked the phone back into his pocket. He read the wariness in Veronica’s eyes. “We’re all discreet at ChildFinders, Veronica. Mrs. Saunders’s husband isn’t going to find out a thing—and we might.”

It was asking too much for her to believe that her best friend had had Casey kidnapped. Erica was his godmother, for heaven’s sake. “I refuse to believe that Erica could be capable of—”

He cut her short. “No offense, Veronica, but you would be surprised what your friend might be capable of.” His gaze pinned her. “What even you might be capable of, under the right circumstances. Anyone looking at you would say you were too delicate to kill someone.”

She thought of the shiver that had gone through her just touching the gun that Erica had held in her hands. “What are you—?”

“But in the right situation,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her protest, “say, defending your son, you might be capable of just that.”

She knew he was right. To keep Casey safe, she would do anything, including kill someone. “Why are you trying to deliberately shake me up?”

It wasn’t to see that look in her eyes, although it did make her appear wildly vibrant, instead of gracefully refined. “Because I need you to be aware of things, Veronica. And I want you to tell me the truth. About everything,” he stressed. “No holding back for whatever reason. This is a puzzle…”

A puzzle? Did he take this to be just another game to challenge himself with? A game with a fat check as a prize at the end? “This is my son’s life,” she said to him hotly.

Chad’s voice remained calm. “This is a puzzle,” he repeated, trying to make his point, “in which even the smallest piece might trigger us to see the larger whole. I want and need every small piece you can get your hands on, so to speak. It’s important,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers. “We’ll just sit here and go over everything you can think of—until the phone rings again,” he added, knowing that was foremost in her mind.

She swallowed and found that her throat was completely dry. Veronica put her fears into words. “And if it doesn’t ring?”

No chance of that happening, he thought. “You’re lucky, Veronica. The kidnapper is not after your son as a keepsake. Casey hasn’t been selected because someone is trying to line their pockets by selling kids, or because some mentally unbalanced person thinks he’s her son brought back to life. Whoever took Casey just wants your money. The phone’ll ring,” he assured her with conviction that came from instinct and years of training.

He looked at the room they had already left once. This wasn’t the best place to conduct the rest of his questioning, he thought. Just being here pained her. It would be best if he got her downstairs on more neutral territory.

He indicated the hallway. “I’d love a cup of coffee.”

Training returned to her. Veronica pressed her lips together and nodded. “Angela’s gone for the day, but I think I can manage a cup of coffee.” She turned toward the doorway.

He followed immediately behind her. “Angela?”

“My housekeeper.”

There’d been no one in the house when they arrived. He assumed that the housekeeper didn’t live in. That would make it easier for the woman if she was behind this. “How long has she been with you?”

“Since I married Robert. Ten years,” Veronica added when she realized Chad was still waiting for a number.

He stopped at the bottom of the landing to jot down the woman’s connection. “What’s her last name?”

“Evans.” She watched him write it down. “You can’t possibly suspect Angela.”

Chad fixed her with a long, studying look. “Yes,” he replied quietly, “I can. I can suspect anyone. I’m a very distrusting person, Veronica. It’s what makes me good at what I do.”

She saw the merit in that, but knew how it could interfere with the rest of his life. “How do you turn that off?”

The answer was short, succinct. “I don’t.”

For the first time she looked at him as something other than an investigator. “Doesn’t that make things difficult for you?”

He smiled, knowing where she was going with her question. “I don’t dabble in those kind of things,” he answered. “My work keeps me very busy. There isn’t time for anything else.”

She’d heard that excuse before. It was one she’d given herself. Before Robert had come along.