Читать книгу The Toddler's Tale - Rebecca Winters - Страница 9

WHEN JANELLE SAW PETEY come out of one of the dozens of farmacias along the busy, noisy street, she reached across the seat and undid the car door’s electric lock.

“Get in quick!”

As he slid behind the wheel, Janelle glared at the small sack. “You were supposed to buy enough baby food and diapers to last us a couple of weeks! What happened?”

“We’re in a lousy border town full of scalpers, honey. Our funds are going to have to last for a long time. There’s no way I’m paying the prices they’re charging. I got us enough stuff until we come to another town farther inland to do our shopping.”

“We’d better find one soon!” she shouted, then turned her head to the back seat to see if she’d wakened Chase. Relieved he was such a sound sleeper, she darted Petey another glance. “By now Megan has the FBI on our tail. We step one foot on Texas soil and that’s the end for both of us.”

He revved the engine before moving into the mainstream of traffic. “Then you shouldn’t have brought the kid along.”

“I stole him for us, you stupid idiot! Megan wants him back. She’ll pay any price we name. What we need to do is hide out for a few weeks. That ought to up the ante. When she’s at her most vulnerable, that’s the time we’ll make contact.”

“Well, we sure as hell aren’t sleeping in this car another night. I figure if we drive a hundred miles south, we can find us a nice little hacienda to hole up with maid service and all the tequila we can drink.”

“First we’ve got to get more baby food and diapers!”

“Hold your horses, Janelle. Before we do anything else I figure we should get the car painted. Then we’ll find a town where we can buy the things we want dirt cheap.”

Sometimes Petey surprised her. “That’s the first good idea you’ve had since we crossed the border.”

“Damn it, Janelle! Aren’t you forgetting those license plates I stole off that junk car last night? I thought that was pretty good thinking on my part if I say so myself.”

“They make me nervous. Now the Mexican authorities are going to get suspicious.”

“No, they won’t. They’re looking for drugs at the border. We’ll be out of this town before nightfall. Besides, as soon as our vehicle is a different color, we’ll get lost in the woodwork.”

“It’s too bad we didn’t figure out a way to get a lot more money out of the account Megan set up for us.”

“Stop complaining and make the most of it!” Petey said, squeezing her thigh. “Right now I’d like to pull up to a nice motel with a freezing-cold room, a six-pack of beer on ice and you in my bed.”

“You’ve got a one-track mind, Petey.”

Their whole scheme had been working so well. Megan Maitland had bought into the story that Petey was Connor O’Hara, returned to the family fold, and Janelle the loving mother of their son, Chase. They had her hook, line and sinker—until the real Connor showed up. And if only that blasted Lacy—the kid’s real mother—had cooperated and died after Janelle knocked her on the head and left her in the alley.

“Yeah? Well, I can recall at least one time this week when you couldn’t think about anything else, either, Janelle,” he teased.

“That’s not the point. Chase is with us, remember?”

“Relax. I told you I got enough stuff for him to last until tomorrow. First we get the car camouflaged.”

“I thought it took a long time to do a paint job!”

“Not when you’re on the run. A quick spray is all we need. Keep your eye out for a body shop. Then we’ll get out of here and find us a town where they won’t charge us an arm and a leg for what we need. Once we find ourselves the right pad, we can have some fun and start to plan how to get our hands on the rest of Megan’s money.” He hit his fist against the steering wheel. “Damn that Connor for showing up and ruining our plans!”

“I don’t know, Petey. The family was starting to get real suspicious when I kept stalling about the birth certificate. I just wish we’d had time to load up on the things we needed for Chase before we left Austin.”

“I’m just glad I didn’t need to knock out anybody to get to Chase. I might have done too good a job. Thank God he was at the day care. That was smart of you to ask Megan if you could take him for a walk in the park. Man, she must be kicking herself. I figure we did a first-rate job.”

“Maybe.”

“What do you say we enjoy life for a while now?”

“I don’t see how we can do that when we’re driving around in one of Megan’s cars.”

“In a couple of hours no one’s going to recognize it. We’ll tell the body shop to rip off all the chrome and trim.”

“Let’s paint it a faded dark blue like all the local cars around here. Nothing shiny. Maybe they ought to put on some rust spots just to make it look a little more beat up.”

“Smart thinking, Janelle. Hey—what’s that you’ve got there?”

“A quilting kit. I picked it up at Lana Lord’s baby shop.”

“Why?”

“To prove I was being a good mother. She showed me what to do. Do you know she thought it was real sweet of me to make a quilt for my baby? You should have heard her go on and on about the precious heirloom it would be someday.”

“That’s a laugh. So what are you doing with it now?”

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m looking at it because I’m bored!”

He flashed her a knowing glance. “I plan to keep you plenty busy for the next few weeks, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m talking about while we’re in the car.”

“Then I’ll turn on the radio for you.”

“No! It’ll wake Chase.”

“Janelle, honey, in case you didn’t notice, he’s already making noises and I can’t drive with a howling kid in the car.”

“All right. Don’t get in a panic.” She tossed the kit aside, then undid the seat belt and turned to give Chase a fresh bottle of apple juice from the sack. What a pain this trip was turning out to be.

BETSY STARTED to whimper again. Traci cocked her head to listen. Like Max Jamison had said, as long as Betsy was making any noise at all, Traci should be thankful her daughter hadn’t become unconscious.

“Please,” she urged Chelsea, gripping her hand tighter. “I can tell Betsy’s been responding to you. Try another one of those French songs. Betsy? It’s Mommy! Chelsea’s with me and she’s going to sing some more.”

As the other woman began the tune “Dominique,” Traci marveled at the television reporter who seemed as beautiful on the inside as she looked on the outside. Could this woman who was singing her heart out to Traci’s little girl in that lovely voice be a person capable of betrayal?

I don’t know if I dare trust her. I don’t know. I’m so scared. I’m so tired. Please, God, if You’re there, if You’re listening, tell me what to do. Give me some sign that this woman really wants to help me. Save my baby.

The singing continued, bringing Traci the first comfort she’d felt in days.

You trusted that nice elderly couple when you first got away from Nate, an inner voice whispered.

But this time it was different. Even though the PI had gone for help, he’d once been a police officer and could decide to take matters into his own hands by making Traci go back to her husband under the threat of the law.

She would rather kill herself and her baby than ever face Nate again, which meant sticking to her plan to get away from here. But until Betsy was freed from that pipe, neither of them could go anywhere.

Since it didn’t look as if Chelsea was going to leave her alone, Traci had two choices—say nothing and disappear as soon as she could with Betsy. Or risk trusting the other woman enough to enlist her help once Betsy was free. If only she knew she could trust the other woman…

After a few more rounds Chelsea stopped so they could listen for Betsy’s voice. That’s when Traci asked, “Where did you learn to speak French like that?”

“In Switzerland. I think it’s a beautiful language. Even if she doesn’t understand the words, I hope Betsy likes the songs.”

“I know she does. How come you went there?”

“It—it’s a long story, Traci. Suffice it to say I was sent to Neuchâtel to get an education in a place where I would be safe.”

Her head lifted. “Safe? From what?”

She heard Chelsea suck in her breath. “From certain dangers at home. The happiest day of my life was the moment I boarded the plane and flew far away. That’s when my whole world turned around.”

Traci blinked in surprise. “Do you feel safe now?”

“Yes.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“I wish Betsy and I could fly away like that.” Traci’s voice shook.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you.”

Her hands twisted together. “Yes.”

“A long time ago someone helped me so I could get away. Maybe if you told me what’s wrong, I could help you.”

Traci could feel the other woman’s sincerity. Chelsea would never know how much Traci wanted to trust her.

“T-there’s a man after me.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Because no man can frighten a woman quite like an abusive lover or spouse. Is he dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Is he in the house? Is that why you won’t go over there and don’t want me going over there, either?”

Traci struggled. If this woman turned out to be an enemy…

“It’s all right, Traci. Because I was so helpless when I was younger, I learned how to use a firearm in college. Since then I’ve worn a concealed weapon on the job and can defend myself if necessary.”

With a sob Traci muttered, “I wish I’d had one of those a long time ago. Where do you wear it?”

“On my thigh.” She pulled up her dress to reveal the feminine-looking holster strapped to her leg. “I go to the police firing range all the time to stay in practice,” she said before pulling the material down to her knees.

“I would never have guessed.”

“That’s the whole idea. Traci, does your husband blame you for letting Betsy fall down in the excavation? If that’s the case and he comes over here to harm you in any way, he’ll have to deal with me!” Chelsea vowed.

Traci believed her.

“He won’t be coming out of the house b-because I don’t live there.”

“What?” Chelsea sounded incredulous. “Then what are you doing out here on this deserted road?”

“I ran away from my husband ten days ago. Betsy and I have been hitchhiking ever since. I got dropped off here this morning. While I waited for another truck to give us a ride, it started to get overcast and cold. I put Betsy down just long enough to peek in the window of that house and see if there was someone who might give us something to eat. But the place was vacant. When I turned around, I—I couldn’t find my baby!”

Tears gushed from her puffy eyes, and she buried her face in her hands.

“I know he’s after us and won’t stop until he finds us. But I figure he’ll have a harder time if we get lost somewhere in Mexico.”

The shocking revelations left Chelsea gasping. “Where are you from?” She needed to know how big a headstart Traci had on this monster husband of hers. Anyone driven to these extremes had to be running from a living nightmare. Chelsea could relate. The desire to help this woman at any cost almost overwhelmed her.

“Bellevue, Washington.”

The poor thing had come such a long way alone. It was a miracle she and the baby had made it this far without something tragic happening to them before now.

“Does your husband have a car?”

“Yes.”

“What about a gun?”

“He has an arsenal of them, plus thousands of rounds of ammunition.”

The man sounded like a hunter, but he could also be one of those paranoiacs who believed doomsday was coming soon and had the right to be a one-man army for the final standoff.

“Didn’t you have a neighbor who could have helped you?”

She shook her head. “We live in a cabin in the woods outside the city. Nate doesn’t trust people.”

Chelsea didn’t need a picture to figure out Traci had gotten involved with an introverted survivalist. The dangerous kind who lived by one set of rules. His own.

“Listen to me, Traci.” She’d get the rest of the details later. “I have a plan to help you, but you have to trust me.”

The young mother stared at her for a long moment. “I’m going to have to, seeing as I’m trapped here until we get Betsy out.”

“I know exactly how you feel, but I swear I’ll be your friend if you’ll let me. You know that man who went for help?”

“No! Please don’t involve him. Please. He’ll turn me in or make me go back to Nate!”

“No, he won’t! He likes me and will do what I say.”

The irony of that statement would have made Chelsea laugh out loud if this weren’t a life-and-death situation. “We’re going to need his expertise, not only to rescue Betsy, but to hide you and keep you safe from your husband.”

Traci averted her eyes.

“You can trust him the same way you trust me. You have my word.”

“I’m afraid. How do I know he’ll listen to you?”

“I guess you don’t know—it’s a question of faith,” Chelsea asserted. “But I’d trust Max with my life.” It was only the truth, despite the problems between them. “He’s dealt with men like your husband before. He has resources and connections. Look—maybe your husband stopped learning to trust a long time ago, but I know you’re not like that. I know you’d do anything to help your baby. When Max gets back, do I have your permission to tell him the truth?”

She waited for the words to sink in, then murmured a sigh of relief when she felt Traci’s rigid body go limp. “I wish he didn’t have to know anything. I just want to die. If it weren’t for Betsy…”

“I know how you feel because I’ve been there, remember?”

Traci slowly nodded. “You promise he won’t turn me in to the authorities?”

“I can do better than that. I’ll make certain he keeps everyone away from you.” Please don’t let me down, Max.

The little girl began crying again, and the sound of her baby’s distress must have gotten to Traci. “All right,” she whispered.

WITH HOT COFFEE and sandwiches in hand, Max climbed out of the truck, which he’d parked in front of the excavation site.

The storm had passed. He was thankful for that blessing, at least. But with night fast approaching, darkness, not rain, would be their enemy. He’d been promised all the help possible, including an air-med helicopter when the moment came to transport the child to a hospital. Unfortunately, not enough time had passed for the police and paramedics to arrive yet.

As he drew closer to the women huddled beneath the tarp, he could hear singing. The words sounded foreign. So far he hadn’t heard any cries coming from the little girl. The pit in his gut enlarged.

He picked up his pace, then came to a standstill when he saw something he would never forget. Chelsea Markum sitting on the ground, holding a tearful young mother in her arms while she sang to the child in a lovely, musical voice.

She’d given up her jacket to keep the other woman warm. Most amazing of all was the fervent expression on Chelsea’s face. With her eyes closed, she reminded him of a woman at prayer, reflecting an inner beauty he hadn’t expected.

Astonished by the sight, he hunkered down next to them. Chelsea must have felt his leg brush against the edge of the tarp because she opened her eyes. The second her singing stopped, the other woman raised her head.

“Help is on the way,” he explained. “We’ll have your little girl out of here as soon as we can. I brought something to sustain you both while you wait.”

He noticed the way Chelsea took one of the coffee cups and put it in the other woman’s hands, as if the mother were a little child who couldn’t do it by herself.

Max handed Chelsea a sandwich.

“It’s chicken salad,” she said, peeling off the wrapper and passing it to the woman. “It looks good. Please, eat something while I talk to Max for a minute. All right?”

The other woman eyed her hesitantly before nodding.

Chelsea darted an anxious glance in his direction. If he read her message correctly, she wanted a private conversation with him. Intrigued by her solicitous behavior with the other woman, he helped her arrange the tarp over the mother’s head and shoulders.

When they had walked a few feet away he whispered, “I can’t hear Betsy.”

“She cries on and off. It’s killing me to think of that precious infant alone down there, so I can only imagine how Traci must be feeling.” The wobble in Chelsea’s voice sounded real. It appeared she had blood in her veins, after all. Who would have believed it?

“The thing is, I can’t tell if her daughter keeps falling asleep then waking up, or if she’s been drifting in and out of consciousness. But there’s another problem just as serious.” He heard a slight hesitation. “You have to help me with it before the search and rescue people get here. I—I promised Traci.”

His brows knit in a frown. “What other problem? What are you talking about?”

“After the history between us, I realize you pretty well despise me. I can handle that. But I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t back me up in this one thing.”

“Go on.”

She shivered from the lack of warmth in his tone. “I— I need a favor from you. For Traci’s sake, do you think we could put our differences aside long enough to discuss it like two civilized adults?”

His gaze roved over her features. “It depends.”

“Please, Max. This isn’t easy for me.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t remain immune to the throb of emotion punctuating her speech. She might be playacting, but if that was the case, she was doing a damn good job of it.

“Traci’s terrified about something.”

“I am, too,” he admitted. “Betsy’s in a lot of trouble.”

“So is Traci.”

“All right. Tell me what’s going on.”

Finally she felt she had his attention.

“For one thing, I don’t believe Traci is her real name. Max, she doesn’t live next door. The truth is, she’s from Bellevue, Washington, and has been running away from a life-and-death situation.” Without wasting words, Chelsea told him as many facts as she could.

He doubted she was aware that her hands had gripped his arm with surprising strength. Imploring green eyes lifted to his.

“We have to hide her before the media people hear about this over the police band and come to video the rescue. If her real name is mentioned, or pictures are shown over the news, her husband will know exactly where to find her.

“I was thinking if you could break into that vacant house, we could hide her inside and pretend she lives there. As soon as you get access to a phone, you could contact the realtor and tell them you need the place for police business. I’ll pay the rent for the use of the house.”

Max was stunned.

It wasn’t the wild story as much as the fact that it was Chelsea Markum, of all people, begging him to help her hide Traci from the television crew she worked with. Hell. She was even willing to use her own money to cover the expense of breaking into the vacated premises next door.

None of it added up. The star of “Tattle Today TV” he’d locked horns with for over a year had to be pulling something.

THE LONGER she was forced to wait for a response, the greater Chelsea’s fear grew that Max wasn’t going to cooperate. If he refused to help, then she would have to protect Traci herself.

“Forget I asked,” she murmured in a dull voice, and started to turn away, but he grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him.

“Tell me about the rest of your plan.”

Relieved that he was still willing to talk about it, she let out the breath she’d been holding.

“You could give the police phony names and ages. Tell everyone she’s a widow who’s so upset over her daughter’s predicament, she’s too overcome with grief to be interviewed. I’ll do my part by explaining that the mother asked me to stay by the little girl and try to keep up her spirits.”

“What else?” He bit out the question. “I might as well hear the rest of it.”

“Well, there are several things. You need to ask a couple of police officers you trust to supply food and bedding and sneak it into the house. They’ll have to guard the entrances so that no reporters will be able to get inside to film her. I’ll pay for all the expenses and any hospital bills.”

Lord.

Max released her arms to rake a hand through his hair while he digested the unexpected twists and turns of a situation Chelsea Markum normally relished exploiting.

It was incredible enough that she would put her own selfish interests aside in an effort to protect Traci from her deranged husband.

But for Chelsea to inveigle Max’s help in deliberately shielding the terrified young mother from the press, when Chelsea was probably its most ardent, relentless proponent, was so far out of character as to be ludicrous.

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he realized that if she was willing to pay money from her own bank account to accomplish her objective, she had to have a hidden agenda somewhere.

No doubt when the crisis was over and, God willing, Betsy was safely rescued, Chelsea would do one of her sensational reports on “Tattle Today TV.”

It would be a real scoop, all right, revealing the true names and events in a situation no one else in the press had caught wind of. Her ratings would skyrocket, a coup Max was loath to aid.

What better way for her to get back at him for kidnapping her from the Lord ranch so she couldn’t get Camille and the baby on film.

On the other hand, if everything Chelsea had told him about Traci’s situation were true, then he shared her fear. The rescue attempt would be dangerous enough without the threat of an out-of-control husband arriving on the scene, capable of blowing everyone away. Domestic violence ending in murder happened every day somewhere in America. Chelsea hadn’t exaggerated about that.

But before he decided to go along with the rather devious yet brilliant scheme only a mind like Chelsea’s could have conceived, he needed verification from Traci that Chelsea hadn’t lied to him.

She grasped his arm. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but this is one time when I’m begging you to listen. Forget who I am and think of Traci’s pain. She’s so terrified, I didn’t think I would ever get her to open up to me. Now that she has, we can’t destroy her fragile faith in us, not when she has nothing to live for but her little girl.”

He took a deep breath. If he didn’t know better, he would swear she wanted to help and had no ulterior motive. But this wasn’t the time to try to analyze her psyche.

While he’d been talking to Chelsea, he hadn’t heard a peep come out of the child. If hypothermia were to set in now, the chances of the little girl surviving much longer were slim at best.

“If I do help her, I’m going to need a lot more information.”

He saw the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the becoming sleeveless dress before she let go of his arm, visible evidence of emotions held barely in check. Again he questioned what was at the bottom of this unprecedented display of concern.

Still reacting to the feel of her hands on his body, he walked to the other woman and got down on his haunches once more.

Traci cowered when he drew close to her. Her reaction was similar to the kind he’d encountered with other female victims in abusive relationships of one sort or another when he’d been on the police force.

Now that Traci knew he’d been told the truth, he could see she was frightened of his reaction. Chelsea hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said Betsy’s mother was fragile.

“Traci? You heard Chelsea discussing your situation with me. She’s told me enough that I want to help you.”

The younger woman lifted tear-filled eyes to him. “You won’t tell the police where I am and force me to go back to my husband?”

He swallowed with difficulty. “No. But first I need more background information. Is Traci Beal your real name?”

After a long hesitation she shook her head. “I made it up.”

“Then I need to know your legal name.”

“Why?”

“It’s important if I’m going to protect you.”

“I was Anne Morrison before my marriage.”

“All right. For the time being, we’ll continue to call you Traci.”

Chelsea gave her an encouraging smile, which Traci returned.

“Now, what’s your husband’s full name?”

“Nathan Stanhope. But he’s always gone by Nate.”

“Age?”

“Forty.”

“Tell me about his background, how he earns his living, that sort of thing.”

She kneaded her hands. “He was an only child. His mother died of cancer when he was twelve, and after his father was killed in a bus accident, he received an inheritance. As soon as the estate was settled, he bought a cabin outside Bellevue.

“We met while I was attending Washington State University. He was my political science teacher. After we married, he resigned from the faculty and said we were going to live at his cabin. At least that’s what I thought it was.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s built a secret bunker underneath it where he stores everything. When I questioned him, he got angry and told me it was just a basement. But since he’s always talking about a nuclear holocaust, I realized he’d made a bomb shelter.”

“Does he have other extended family or close friends who would be helping him look for you?”

She shook her head. “No. After we got married, I found out he didn’t like to associate with other people. He said they lied about everything, so we were going to have to live on our own and have nothing to do with them.”

Judging by the look of horror he saw reflected in Chelsea’s eyes, she felt as sickened by that revelation as he was.

“Give me a full description of him.”

“Nate’s six feet tall…lean, with dark blond hair that comes just down to below his ears. He has a short beard and mustache, and light blue eyes.”

“What about glasses?”

“He wears them for reading. They’re steel-rimmed.”

“Any distinctive birthmarks or tattoos?”

“No.”

“What about his car?”

“He drives an eighty-nine light green Chevy van.”

“When did he start keeping you a prisoner?”

“The day we got married.”

Max didn’t like the profile emerging on Traci’s husband.

“Where was your baby born?”

“At the cabin.”

“No doctor to help?”

“No. He said we were going to do everything the natural way.”

Little by little the color had left Chelsea’s face.

“How did you get away from him?”

“Last week some people in a truck camped near our cabin. It was late at night. Nate got so angry, he took his rifle and went outside to warn them off the property without remembering to lock the door. I’d been waiting for a chance like that. As soon as he was out of sight, I grabbed the baby from her crib and ran. When I got tired, I hid in some thick bushes.

“As soon as it was light, I started running again and met this nice old couple who were out camping. They fed us and drove us as far as Portland. We’ve been hitchhiking ever since.”

Max didn’t have to ask her why she hadn’t gone to the police for assistance. Women like Traci never did. Her husband had tyrannized her for too long. She had no faith that anyone could help.

“What about your family?”

“The aunt who raised me died before I got married.”

“Is there anyone you were close to before your wedding? A good friend your husband might have reason to suspect is helping you now?”

“Not really. He didn’t like my friends, so I didn’t see them anymore.”

“I still want their names and addresses. It’s for their protection. I’m going to need directions to find your cabin, too.”

He pulled his little notebook out of a back pocket. When she’d given him the information, he helped her to her feet. “Now comes the hard part, Traci. That siren in the distance means the police and paramedics will be driving up any minute to begin Betsy’s rescue. They’ll be followed by television reporters who want to take pictures and interview you.

“We’re going to have to hide you in order to keep your identity a secret so your husband can’t track you down. The best place for that would be the house next door. The only thing is, you won’t be able to talk to your little girl while we’re getting her out of the pipe.”

As Traci’s face started to crumple, Chelsea clasped the young woman’s hands. “Don’t worry. I’ll stay here every second and talk to her, sing to her, just as if I were her mother. She won’t be alone. I swear it. Will you let me do this favor for you, Traci? I want to do it.”

Max gritted his teeth. Why do you want to do this, Chelsea Markum?

The other woman bit her lip, then nodded.

Chelsea embraced her. “Quick! Go with Max.”

“Betsy? It’s Mommy!” Traci cried. “Chelsea’s going to stay with you for a little while, but I’ll be right next door, honey. I love you, baby!”

When the child made a whimpering noise, Max felt exquisite relief. The sirens were getting louder. He pulled Chelsea aside.

“You and I are going to have to tell the same story. When you’re questioned, just say that we were both leaving the Lord ranch when you discovered you were having car problems. I offered to give you a lift to a garage, and en route to Reiser we came across Traci.”

“That sounds perfect. But what shall I call the baby? I can’t use her real name without giving everything away.”

“I’m not worried,” he muttered. “The Chelsea Markum I know has always landed on her feet.” Turning to Traci, he held out a hand. “Come on. Let’s make a run for it while we can.”