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After a month, he’d still been too shaken by the experience to go back on active duty. Despite the urgings from his superiors to remain with the department and take a desk job for a while, he couldn’t see himself sitting at a computer eight hours a day. Not when it was his nature to live life on the edge.
Eventually he resigned from the force and went to work as a PI. It meant he could handpick cases in which children weren’t involved. Or so he’d thought.
He pressed on the gas, realizing he might have to drive all the way to Reiser to find a phone. The unincorporated hamlet of less than two hundred people had a German pub. On more than one occasion, he and his best friend, Michael Lord, had driven out here for a beer on their off-duty time as police officers—before Michael had gone to work for Maitland Maternity Clinic. It had been a great place to kick back, shoot a little pool.
At moments like that they’d shared a few laughs and talked shop. The subject of women was taboo. Michael was a confirmed bachelor. As for Max, the high school sweetheart he’d planned to marry had been killed in a car accident.
That painful period eventually passed, but it had left him changed. Though he enjoyed women as much as the next man, he had no desire to settle down. After working so hard to save the little boy who’d died despite all efforts to save him, Max had been running on automatic pilot.
As the memory of that failed rescue attempt assailed him once more, he broke out in a cold sweat. He still suffered nightmares because he’d reached the child too late.
Evidence of civilization ahead jerked his torturous thoughts to the present. A tiny general store with one lone gas pump materialized on his right, and he pulled in.
With the motor still running, he leaped from the cab. God willing, he wasn’t about to lose Betsy!
“TWINKLE, TWINKLE, Little Star,” was a tune Chelsea hadn’t heard for years. “Do you like the song Mommy just sang to you? I’m right here, Betsy, honey, and I’m not going to go away. You’re being such a brave girl, Mommy’s going to sing you another song. Would you like to hear ‘Jumbo Elephant?’”
Huddled with Traci beneath the dry side of the tarp, Chelsea listened to the young woman’s tireless efforts to comfort her baby. As long as she sang, the little girl didn’t cry as much. The connection between the two of them was strong and touched Chelsea deeply. She’d never experienced that kind of bonding with her own mother. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to ward off more painful memories.
It seemed as if Max had been gone forever. Though the rain had stopped, it was cold enough that the tarp created much-needed warmth. Chelsea was grateful Max had provided them with this much protection against the elements, even if she had been furious with him at the time.
And hurt.
But she refused to think about the pain he’d inflicted. Right now both the mother and child were frightened. Hunkered down as they were directly above the place where they heard Betsy crying, Chelsea could observe Traci Beal at close range. What she saw disturbed her.
The extreme pallor of the young mother’s skin, stretched tautly over sharp cheekbones, and the heavy circles beneath her lusterless blue eyes convinced Chelsea she had been suffering long before the accident had happened. She looked exhausted and ill-nourished.
Chelsea shuddered to think of Traci’s innocent, helpless little child caught down there beneath all that old lumber. Some of the boards had creaked and settled more during the worst of the downpour, making her realize how unstable everything was. No wonder Max had gone for help before he attempted any kind of a rescue.
Wanting to be useful, Chelsea took off her jacket and placed it around Traci’s thin shoulders, hoping to infuse her with some of her own warmth and strength. If only the other woman would stop shivering.
At first Traci stiffened, then relaxed a little. Encouraged because she didn’t try to pull away, Chelsea kept an arm around her and rocked her back and forth, singing to Betsy herself. Anything she could think of.
Since Traci had exhausted every English nursery rhyme, perhaps something different would distract Betsy for a while. Chelsea started out with “Frère Jacques,” one of a dozen little French songs she’d learned in her youth at her boarding school in Switzerland.
“Those were pretty,” Traci whispered as Chelsea ended with “Sous le pont d’Avignon.” “You like that, don’t you, Betsy!” she called to her child. They couldn’t hear any baby noises. “Betsy?” she cried louder.
Chelsea clasped her a little tighter. “I’m sure she fell asleep for a few minutes.” I pray that’s all it means. Max, where are you?
“Traci? I have an idea. Why don’t you run home for a coat and get something to eat. I promise I’ll stay right here and keep singing to Betsy.”
“No! I’m not leaving my baby!” Terrified blue eyes stared into hers.
Chelsea heard—felt—Traci’s fear.
How foolish of her to suggest the other woman leave the site when it was obvious this child was her very life! But then Chelsea had to remember that not every child had Rita Maxwell for a mother.
“You don’t have to go anywhere. I’ll go up to the house and fix you some food and bring it back along with a jacket or a blanket. It’s probably going to rain some more.”
“No!” she cried again. To Chelsea’s surprise she felt the younger woman clutch her hands in a death grip. “Stay with me!”
“But I’ll only be gone a few minutes. You need help, Traci.”
“I’m f-fine.”
The more Traci protested, the more Chelsea knew the woman’s fear wasn’t only about her child. Something else was going on here.
Traci’s behavior reminded Chelsea a lot of herself back in Hollywood when she’d had to keep quiet about her fear of the men who lived with her mother. Especially Anthony.
Chelsea’s horrific experiences had given her uncanny instincts about people, and right now they were telling her Traci needed rescuing every bit as badly as her child.
Playing a long shot, she said, “Will your husband be getting home from work soon so you can take turns watching over Betsy?”
Traci’s features froze before she shook her head.
“A boyfriend then?”
“No. There’s just Betsy and me.”
The definitive response sounded like fighting words. But there was a tragic forlornness in her voice that reached a secret place in Chelsea’s heart.
“I’m here for you.” She felt compelled to assure Traci, then gave her another squeeze. “Max will get your baby out of here soon.”
“Max?” The younger woman sounded abnormally jittery. Almost paranoid.
“Mr. Jamison. The man who went to call for help. He used to be a police officer. Now he’s a very fine private investigator here in Austin, and a friend of mine,” Chelsea added, afraid to alarm this anxious young mother any more than necessary.
Not by any stretch of the imagination did Max consider Chelsea a friend or anything close to it, but Traci wasn’t to know that.
“He and I had just come from a case he was working on when we saw you.”
Traci’s frightened gaze found Chelsea’s. “Who are you?”
The tremulous question meant the other woman hadn’t recognized her from her television show. It proved her fright stemmed from something or someone else.
“I’m Chelsea Markum, a television journalist here in town.”
Like a wounded animal emerging from the forest who’d been blinded by headlights, the woman stared at Chelsea while her thin body shook helplessly.
Chelsea recognized the look of fear well enough. Throughout her life she’d seen its reflection in her own mirror often enough before she put on another face to meet the world.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Traci,” she vowed in a firm tone. “If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll prove to you I can be trusted.” Grasping the other woman’s hand, she said, “Shall we sing another song? I think I can hear Betsy. She must have wakened again.”
CHAPTER TWO
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.