Читать книгу The Toddler's Tale - Rebecca Winters - Страница 10

IF MAX hadn’t referred to Chelsea as the black widow of television earlier, she might have taken those words as a backhanded compliment.

Forcing herself not to watch his hard-muscled frame as he pulled Traci toward the house, she reached for the cup of coffee he’d brought her. The liquid had cooled enough to drink the contents in a few swallows.

By the time the siren had stopped and she could hear doors opening and closing behind her, she’d arranged the tarp around her head and shoulders to provide a little more warmth. With night coming on, she could tell the temperature had already dropped a degree or two.

She hated to think of Traci’s little girl down there in the dark. She was only fourteen months old. What if she’d broken an arm or leg in the fall? Maybe she was bleeding. Chelsea felt sick in the pit of her stomach.

When footsteps sounded, she whirled. Four uniformed policemen and a similar number of firefighters in full gear approached her at a vigorous pace.

“Thank goodness you’ve arrived! Over two hours ago a toddler fell down in the excavation right below me. She’s trapped in a pipe. You’ve got to get her out!”

Chelsea didn’t recognize any of the men staring at her, but the malignant glance the police captain flashed her sent a message that needed no translation.

“Ms. Markum. How is it you arrived here first? Where’s Max Jamison? The dispatcher told us he called it in.”

Don’t let this man’s rudeness get to you, Chelsea.

She pulled the edges of the tarp a little tighter, as if to cloak herself with an invisible shield. “He’s next door with the mother and needs two policemen over there right away. I was asked to wait here so I could show you where to start looking for her daughter.

“Mr. Jamison and I were both leaving the Lord ranch when my car wouldn’t start. He offered to give me a lift into Reiser for help. When we turned down this road, the mother ran out to us. Look, Captain, he’s already been down there and says everything’s ready to collapse. If the little girl has crawled somewhere else, she could be killed by falling debris!”

There was no change of expression. “What’s the tot’s name?”

Some men possessed a surly manner by nature. Chelsea didn’t know if the captain fell in that category or if she was the one who brought out this boorish behavior in him.

“I don’t know. The mother was so hysterical, he couldn’t coax more than a sentence or two out of her.”

“Did he actually see the child?”

“No.” Chelsea struggled to keep her voice level. “But when he climbed down in there, he heard her through the pipe. She cries on and off.”

Petrified because Betsy hadn’t made any sounds for the last couple of minutes, Chelsea moved closer to the edge. “Sweetheart? It’s Chelsea and Mommy! We love you! Do you want me to sing another song? Would you like that? Sweetheart?” she cried louder.

While she listened for a response from the child, she heard the captain give orders to start the rescue operation. Relieved that two of the officers were told to head for the house, she concentrated on maintaining a connection with Betsy.

“Can you say mama? Come on, honey! Say mama for me so the nice men will know where to find you!”

By now the firefighters had been to their truck for equipment. A couple of them had climbed inside the framework with heavy-duty flashlights. Their progress must have disturbed some kind of roost because several free-tailed bats flew out, startling her.

Chelsea had forgotten how prevalent they were in this area. Though the creatures played a role in insect control, she couldn’t abide them, and prayed there weren’t any near Betsy.

“Sweetheart? Come on and talk to Chelsea! Come on! I know you can do it! Say mama! Mama!”

In a minute she heard whimpering, then another round of infant tears, which were enough to break her heart all over again.

The last firefighter to descend saluted Chelsea before he followed his partner into what at this point was a black hole.

Swallowing hard, she listened as the men talked baby talk to Betsy. Their voices sounded kind and loving. No doubt some, if not all of them, were married with families.

Her eyes smarted when she thought how brave they were to risk their lives for someone else’s little girl. Any one of them could easily be at home with a nice, safe day job.

In the background she could hear the captain on the patrol car radio. He was too far away for her to make out actual conversation. The other officer was busy setting up road flares near the vehicles and fire truck.

It wouldn’t be long before every radio and television reporter would be out here, seizing on any angle for a story that would boost their ratings. Without help, Traci and her child couldn’t hope to withstand the media.

For the first time since Chelsea had come to Austin to take the job at Tattle Today, she was seeing this situation from the victim’s perspective. She wasn’t sure she liked what she saw.

COME ON, Michael. Pick up.

On the sixth ring Max was ready to click off when he heard his friend’s voice answer with a rather terse hello.

“Michael?”

“At last! Where are you, Max? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“My cell phone died on me. I didn’t have a moment to call you until just now. How’s Garrett?” Michael’s brother, Garrett, had been shot the previous night at the remote cabin on his ranch where Vince Eckart had tried to kill his ex-wife, Camille.

“I just talked to him on the phone. He feels like the devil, but he’s going to be okay. Thank God the bullet got him in the shoulder instead of the heart. It’s because of me he was hurt at all. I should never have let him leave the cabin. He’s a rancher, not a former cop.”

Max inhaled sharply. “Don’t do that to yourself, Michael. Everyone’s lives were at stake last night. Any one of us could have taken a bullet. No one is to blame. Do you hear me? Let’s just be glad Eckart died before he could kill anyone else.”

“You’re right. It could have been worse.”

“It could have turned into a bloodbath, and you know it. Since we’ve been assured Garrett’s going to recover, what else matters?”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It is.”

“All right,” Michael agreed, though he didn’t sound convinced. “So what about you? What have you done with the menace from Tattle Today? Jake told me he saw you toss her over your shoulder and take off hell-bent for your truck with a wicked smile on your face. I hear her camcorder took a direct hit. Apparently it was a sight forever emblazoned in his memory.”

At the time, no one had enjoyed the experience more than Max. He’d taken particular pleasure in carting her away from the crime scene Neanderthal style. She’d had it coming for a long, long time.

But life had a way of dealing you a double whammy when you were least expecting it. Since they’d discovered Traci at the abandoned excavation, Max knew things had changed. It was possible the black widow had another side to her. For several reasons he was no longer laughing.

“Max?” his friend prodded. “Don’t tell me she jumped out of the truck and got away from you?”

“She tried. I have the claw marks to prove it.” In fact she’d fought him with some moves that made her difficult to subdue. Whoever had trained her had done a good job. But he had no weapon against her feminine grace, which was far too seductive for his liking.

He gritted his teeth. Though she had a glaring flaw he couldn’t abide, it didn’t make him blind to certain truths. Like the fact that Chelsea Markum was a raving beauty.

For a long time now he’d been fighting that image of her. There’d been too many occasions in the last year when they’d tangled with each other, and he’d enjoyed it too much. Every incident had left him a little more affected in ways he didn’t want to explore.

Lately he found himself anticipating their confrontations whenever he had the job of keeping her away from people or places he’d been assigned to guard. But today marked a first—he’d held that breathtaking body in his arms, all five feet nine inches of her.

In truth he admired the immaculate care she took of herself, the elegant clothes she wore. He noticed details like her perfectly manicured nails, the scent of her French perfume, the flowery fragrance of her short, stylishly cut auburn hair.

Just now in the rain, the silky strands had taken on the patina of deep, rich Spanish mahogany. Her matching brows framed dark-lashed crystalline green eyes, and in his opinion, her flawless skin and features made her more beautiful than any movie star.

Since she craved attention, it was too bad she hadn’t pursued a career in film. Instead, she’d offended so many people with her aggressive, indomitable desire to ferret out a story, he wondered if she had many friends.

“What did you do with her?” Michael’s question broke his reverie. “How soon can I expect her to show up at the clinic with a new camcorder, ready to poke her nose into the Maitlands’ business? Does she know about Chase’s disappearance?”

“Not yet.”

“We can be thankful for that, at least,” Michael muttered.

After the gentle, protective, nurturing way she’d been behaving with Traci, Max almost lost it when he thought of her reverting to form once this ordeal was over.

He let out a deep sigh. “Michael, I’m calling for a different reason.”

There was a pause. “Is something wrong? Did Chelsea damage your truck or something? Because if she did—”

“No, no.” He broke in before his friend’s anger took over. At this point Michael had zero tolerance for Chelsea. And who could blame him? Ever since Chase had been found abandoned on the steps of Maitland Maternity Clinic the previous fall, Chelsea had harassed the clinic and the Maitland family, trying to find out who had parented the mysterious baby.

“It’s nothing like that,” Max went on. “While I was driving around on a back country road spelling out a few home truths to Ms. Markum, we met up with a hysterical mother at a deserted excavation site. Her fourteen-month-old daughter is still trapped in a pipe.”

There was a pronounced silence, then Michael breathed the words, “Dear God.” No one in the world understood Max’s pain better than his friend.

“Yeah,” Max whispered. “Ironic, isn’t it, after I quit the force so I wouldn’t have to deal with this kind of situation again.”

“Drive away from there and don’t look back! Let the paramedics handle it.”

“You know me better than that.”

“Unfortunately I do. What a hell of a time to have Chelsea Markum in tow! Give me the location and I’ll get rid of her so fast she won’t know what hit her.”

“Believe it or not, that’s the last thing I want you to do. Chelsea’s been an amazing help so far.”

Michael made a noise that sounded more like a bark. “Come on, Max. It’s me, your closest buddy. We’re talking about the woman who’s been hounding the Maitlands for over a year. She’s poison.”

“I know.”

Max raked a hand through his hair. He couldn’t say he was sorry about kidnapping her. He’d been forced to do something drastic before any more people had gotten hurt. But he’d said some pretty harsh things, and he wasn’t too pleased over his own behavior.

Even if it was true, his reference to the black widow had been unkind. In hindsight he realized he’d gone too far. That was the problem when he got around Chelsea Markum. She was like an inflammation that flared up with increasing frequency despite all the precautions he took to stop it.

Oddly enough, he knew nothing about her private life. If he’d wanted to, he could have used the resources at his disposal as a PI to find out if she was married or single. So far he hadn’t given in to that temptation.

One thing was certain. There’d never been a breath of personal scandal attached to her name, only the scandal she created and exposed on “Tattle Today.”

If she had a husband, it was Austin’s best kept secret. As for Chelsea being romantically involved with someone in town, that would be news to Max, as well. But he couldn’t fathom a female as attractive as she was being without a man. He supposed she could be dating her boss or a colleague.

The idea of Chelsea having a lover put him in a foul enough mood that he preferred not to think about her at all. Unfortunately that was easier said than done. Especially since he’d seen her comforting Traci. He couldn’t forget the pleading in her eyes when she’d begged him to trust her for Traci’s sake.

“Michael? Just hear me out on this.” In a matter of minutes he’d told his friend everything. “As it stands, I have no idea how soon we’ll pull Betsy from that pipe. Hopefully before tomorrow. The press is going to be converging on every major hospital in Austin trying to learn the whereabouts of the child, so what I need from you is permission to have Betsy flown to Maitland Maternity Clinic. That’ll at least buy us some time.”

“You’ve got it. In fact as soon as we hang up, I’ll alert the necessary staff. Ford Carrington is one of the best pediatricians around. If the child requires surgery, then she’ll be in good hands. What else can I do for you?”

“Traci ought to be seen by a doctor, too.”

“You can count on Abby to give her a thorough physical.”

“Good. Traci’s been a hostage in her own home for a couple of years and I’m thinking maybe psychiatric counseling wouldn’t go amiss, if she’s willing.”

“If anyone can convince her to seek professional help, Abby’s the one to do it. She’ll also know which specialist to refer her to in case there’s a serious problem beyond her expertise as an OB. Anything else?”

“Can you arrange for Traci to be in the same room with her daughter?”

“Of course. And we’ll up the security. We’re getting used to it.”

Max closed his eyes. “Thanks, Michael.”

“You’ve done more for me, so forget it.”

“That’s not possible. Anyway, I’ve got to go. But first, tell me what’s happening with Jake and Connor?”

“Jake’s spending a little private time with Camille.”

“It’s long overdue.” As an FBI agent, Jake Maitland had guarded Camille for the past six months, and finally the two had acknowledged their love.

“That’s for sure. As soon as he’s free, I’ll contact Connor, and the three of us will put our heads together to figure out a plan to find Janelle and that creep who’s been posing as Connor.”

“What’s the FBI’s take on things right now?”

“Nothing we know about yet. But we’re not waiting on them.”

“I hear you.”

“It’s not your worry, either. You’ve got enough on your plate. Just keep me posted. When you arrive in the helicopter, I’ll be waiting for you. Then I can fill you in, and we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds good. You’re one in a million, Michael.”

“The feeling’s mutual. Good luck. And, Max—”

“Yes?”

“I know you’ll get to the little girl in time. I feel it in my bones.”

“I pray to God you’re right.”

“I’ll pray, too.”

“Thanks, bud.”

Max clicked off.

Everything was in place. All they needed now was a miracle.

He handed Officer Keaton the cell phone, then left for the site on a run, pleased to see that the other officers had sealed off the house and the excavation site. Any onlookers or press would have to stand outside the tape, which would keep them a good ten feet from the edge of the pit.

“CHELSEA?”

At the sound of Max’s low, vibrant voice she let out a soft gasp and jerked her head in his direction. The darkness created an intimacy in which she could imagine they were the only two people for miles around.

“Things are under control. The officers at the house know the truth. They’ll do their part to protect Traci. One of them will get hold of the realtor and go for supplies. Is Betsy still making noises?”

“Yes. She just started crying again.”

“What did you tell the police captain?”

You mean the one who can’t stand me? She sucked in her breath. “Exactly what you told me to say. When it came to giving him names, I played dumb. If he asks, you can make up whatever you like,” she added in a quiet voice.

“Good girl.”

Those two unexpected words caused warmth to flood her system.

Perhaps Max didn’t realize what he’d just done, but this was the first time since she’d known him that he’d said something kind to her without hesitation or any hint of censure. Almost as if they were partners. It was a moment to cherish.

Don’t count on there being another one, Chelsea.

His eyes were still searching hers when one of the firefighters walked up to them.

“Hey, Jamison—long time no see.”

“That’s the truth.” The two men shook hands. “Since I arrived on the scene first, I want to help.” The blood was pounding in Max’s ears. “I have to get that little girl out. You know what I mean?”

The two men eyed each other while a stream of unspoken words passed between them. Brent had been one of the firefighters at the scene when the child who’d lost his life in the laundry chute had been pronounced dead.

“Sure. I’ll inform the guys. Grab the equipment you need off the utility truck when it gets here.”

“Thanks. I’ll owe you big-time for this.”

“It’s okay,” Brent said in a subdued voice, and patted Max’s shoulder. “No one walked away from that other case unaffected. This time the outcome’s going to be different.”

That’s what Michael had said. Max was starting to believe it. Realizing introductions were in order, he said, “Chelsea, meet Commander Brent Lewis, the battalion chief. In the past we’ve been on the scene of many a case together. Brent, this is Ms. Markum of ‘Tattle Today TV.’”

The other man broke into a wide smile. “I’ve seen your show plenty of times. You’re the best at what you do.”

“Thank you.” Chelsea supposed his comment could have been taken several ways, but she was too worried about Betsy to analyze the remark.

“Commander, I know it’s not that cold for us, but is there any way to keep the baby warm while you’re trying to get her out?”

“Yes. I’ve already sent for the utility truck. We’ll have floodlights, and fans to blow warm air through the pipe.”

She put a hand to her throat. “Thank goodness she won’t have to shiver down there much longer. Do you think I could fit inside the pipe since I’m smaller than the men? Maybe I could reach her.”

“No. It’s only a twelve incher. If we can’t make her crawl out, then we’ll have to free the blocked end so we can lift the pipe enough for her to slide out. That means getting a backhoe out here to unearth it. If that fails, we’ll have to cut the pipe.”

Chelsea shuddered. “Will you have to use one of those torches?”

“No. That would make it too hot. We’ll probably stick with the rotary saw.”

She bowed her head. “It’ll be dangerous no matter what you do.”

“Not if we’re careful. But that’s why we’d rather try coaxing her out first. We’ll go down there now. When I give the signal, start singing again. Your voice will comfort her,” he said over his shoulder before walking away.

“I’ll try to keep her responding.”

“If you get too cold or need to use the rest room, I told the officers to let you in the house,” Max murmured. “They’ll have plenty of food and drinks on hand.”

His thoughtfulness warmed her. “Thank you, Max. But I’m hoping she’ll be rescued long before I have to break my promise to Traci about leaving the baby alone.”

“Amen to that.”

He was gone in an instant.

Chelsea knew the man cared about people. She’d witnessed that concern and commitment on other cases. But just now the emotional intensity of his response led her to believe he’d been affected on a much deeper level by this crisis with Betsy.

She’d sensed that the circumstances under which Traci’s baby had come into the world had been as horrifying to him as to Chelsea. The fact that Betsy’s mother had been willing to face being murdered to save herself and her child from a fate worse than death proved what a remarkable parent she really was.

Some mothers didn’t have a clue.

Tears trickled down Chelsea’s cheeks as she remembered the wasteland of her own upbringing. Little Betsy had no idea how lucky she was to have a mother who loved her so much she would put her daughter’s welfare before all else, even her own life.

More than anything in the world, Chelsea wanted Traci to have the opportunity to raise her child in an environment of total love, not fear. Max wanted the same thing for them.

If either he or Chelsea had anything to say about it, Traci would be given that chance. Already Chelsea’s mind was filling with plans she would like to put into action once Max had restored Betsy to her mother.

While she waited for him to give her more directions, she ate the sandwich he’d brought her earlier. A few minutes later she noticed another fire truck roll up. Three more firefighters began unloading lights and heating equipment with their matchless expertise.

No matter what it took, Max would make the miracle happen. On that score Chelsea harbored no doubts. He was a man who lit his own fires. When she really allowed herself to think about it, there was no one to compare with him.

From her perch at the edge of the excavation, she followed Max’s progress to the utility truck. Behind it she spied a couple of television vans. It hadn’t taken them long. It never did, she reflected.

Before long the scene would turn into a media frenzy, but all she cared about was Traci’s little girl, who needed to be kept warm throughout her ordeal.

“Chelsea?” Max’s voice called a few minutes later. He had entered the pit. “Try talking to her, and then sing something.”

She spread the tarp on the ground, then lay down on her stomach so she could extend her head over the edge.

“Hello, little darling. It’s Chelsea. Come on out of there. Come on, sweetheart. Come to me and your mommy. That’s a girl. We’re right here. All you have to do is crawl closer. Show us what a big girl you are.”

Another song, “The Happy Wanderer,” came to mind. It was a tune she and her friends used to sing on their excursions into the Jura mountains above the Swiss vineyards.

“Did you like that, honey?”

“She’s imitating some of the sounds! Sing the song again! Maybe she’ll start crawling toward me!”

Encouraged, Chelsea did Max’s bidding. When she ran out of verses, she started again, then switched to “The Lonely Goatherd” from The Sound of Music.

“Well, well, well.” The familiar male voice came from the other side of the tape. “The boss is fuming because he hasn’t heard from you since you left for the Lord ranch ages ago. Unless this is a better story, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”