It Takes a Baby (Superromance)

by Holmes, Dee

  Except she hadn’t been arrested. Hanes’s wife had escaped, and as long as she wasn’t in jail, the case stayed open and his own operation was on hold. Days and weeks had passed with no sign of the woman, despite police searches and bulletins. He was losing money, irritating contacts and sending his own stress level into the danger zone.

  It was then that the Rainmaker had dispatched his own people to find her—primarily Pony and his pals. Any meager confidence he’d had in the lizard-booted idiot had soon grown from frustration into brittle fury.

  He wondered how long it had taken the Hanes woman to learn of her husband’s death and find out she was wanted. It had to have been soon, for no one, legal or illegal, had had any luck in picking up her escape route.

  Not only must she know she was a fugitive, but she had to be the smartest broad on the planet. The Rainmaker didn’t like smart women, and he sure as hell hadn’t expected to find one on a desolate piece of ground in Wyoming. Then again, if she was so brilliant, why had she been married to an ass like Hanes and living like some martyr? But at the same time he couldn’t see her as stupid. More than six weeks had passed, and they were no closer to finding her than they’d been hours after Steve had been eliminated.

  He blamed Pony’s incompetence, but he blamed himself, too. Benevolence toward a dying partner and protecting his own operation had not been compatible.

  Now the Rainmaker glanced up as the door opened. Pony sauntered in, arrogant and smug, his tinny laugh making the Rainmaker wince. The waitress placed the Rainmaker’s drink in front of him while Pony got himself a beer and slipped into the seat opposite.

  “By the grin, can I presume your report is going to make me happier than I’ve been the past few weeks?”

  “Man, you’re gonna love what I got,” Pony replied.

  “Good. Spare me the preening and get to the point.”

  “Her brother in California? You know the queer one?”

  “Let’s dispense with the name-calling, Pony. I spoke with Clarke, and he doesn’t know where she is.”

  “He was lyin’, man.”

  “Really. And how did you determine that?”

  “Me and the boys beat the shit outta him.”

  The Rainmaker sipped his drink. Giving Pony a second opportunity to do the job had been a chance decision. He seemed more likely to screw up than a brain surgeon using a screwdriver, but perhaps, the Rainmaker thought, his benevolence had finally reaped some rewards. “No one saw this persuasive tactic, I presume. Witnesses would be a problem for you and your friends.”

  “Jeez, Mr. Smith. Give me some credit, huh?”

  The Rainmaker raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t had much cause to praise you for efficiency and getting to the heart of the problem in the past, Pony.”

  “This time we got the broad nailed.”

  “Very well. And just where have you nailed her?”

  “In Ohio. Outside of Cleveland. Her brother said so.”

  “And?”

  “I got the guys there and they’re trackin’ her down.”

  “An address?”

  “The brother didn’t have one. She’s called him a few times, but he claimed she never said exactly where she was.”

  The Rainmaker sighed. “But he gave you a general area.” Now that he thought about it, “idiot” was too kind a description. “ ‘Outside of Cleveland’ could mean any place from Youngstown to Buffalo.”

  “Ain’t that in New York? I said she was in Ohio.”

  The Rainmaker rolled his eyes. “Why do you suppose she would have said even that much?”

  “Cuz she’s a dumb broad and trusts her pretty-faced brother,” he said dismissively.

  “No, Pony, we already established at our previous meeting that the lady was not dumb. Unlike you and your friends.”

  Pony choked on the beer he’d just swallowed. “Man, that ain’t fair!” Coughing and wiping his mouth on his forearm, he added, “We know where she is, we just gotta pick her up.”

  “When exactly did you find out she was in the Cleveland area?”

  “Uh, about a week ago. Lotta people live in Cleveland. It’s gonna take some time.”

  The Rainmaker sighed. “I’m not interested in waiting for you to check out the entire population of Cleveland and its environment. My guess is that Clarke might have sent you on a merry chase so you’d quit beating him.”

  Pony shrugged. “Naw. We said we’d be back if he was lyin’.”

  The Rainmaker’s benevolence drained out of him like sand through a sieve. Pony was simply not going to work out. Telling his old partner was going to be difficult, but the Rainmaker didn’t want to waste any more time. His backup plan was now a necessity.

  He raised a hand and signaled. Another man rose from two booths away and came forward. “Pony, I believe you know Max.”

  Pony stared, swallowed and then not surprisingly, he began to shake. “Oh, my God. Please, Mr. S-Smith, p-please, you ain’t gonna do th-this to me.”

  The Rainmaker said to Max, “He apparently knows your reputation.”

  Max smiled confidently. He was tall, sleek and handsome enough to make most women look twice—until they saw his eyes. Cold, dead, distant.

  He had done work for the Rainmaker in the past, and his failure rate was zero. Max was expensive, silent and thorough. Bringing him in to find the Hanes woman would have struck the Rainmaker as overkill a few weeks ago. In fact, he’d taken on Pony to indulge his own good-heartedness. The kid could get this done and make his uncle proud.

  “Pony, you’re fired,” the Rainmaker said.

  “Huh?”

  The Rainmaker handed him an envelope. “There’s a bonus in there for you. Think of it as an incentive not to trouble your dying uncle with your incompetence. Now please vacate the booth. Max and I have business to discuss.”

  “He ain’t gonna waste me?”

  “Consider this your lucky day.”

  “My lucky day. Yeah, sure. Sure.” He slid from the seat, making a wide arc around Max.

  Max grabbed him by the shirt, twisting the fabric. “Keep your mouth shut, kid, or you’ll be lunch for the rattlers I keep for pets.”

  Pony’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and his eyes looked like popped rivets. “I ain’t seen nothin’. Don’t know from nothin’.”

  Max let him go, and Pony was out the door in four steps.

  Max slipped into the opposite seat. The Rainmaker sighed. “Please tell me you have something worth my time.”

  “You’re too good a man, Mr. S. You shoulda cut him loose weeks ago.”

  “I know.” He sighed again. “Have we lost an impossible amount of time?”

  Max laid down a bulging manila envelope. “On the contrary. She should be nice and comfy and believing she’s got this gig aced.”

  The Rainmaker relaxed and ordered another drink. For the first time in weeks, he felt confident his operation would once again be making him money.

  “What do you have for me?”

  Max dumped the envelope, and mail spilled out. “This is hers. I’ve been picking it up at the house. These provide some interesting connections that should put us in her face in short order.”

  The Rainmaker leaned forward, excitement on his face. “What kind of connections?”

  “Insurance, for one. Her mother had an insurance policy that left a small sum to Kathleen. It’s in an account with the company, and Kathleen can write checks against it. These are the account statements through June. I found them at the house. Since the July statement was missing, she must have contacted them about a change of address.”

  The Rainmaker straightened. “Max, you are brilliant!”

  “Yes, I am, Mr. S.”

  “What else?”

  “She had one credit card that hasn’t been used. The bank sends zero balance statements. I thought that was curious, because if she’s starting out in a new place, it would seem likely she would use a credit card.”

  “Not if she’s as smart as I’m
beginning to think,” the maker grumbled. “Too easy to trace.”

  “Lucky, Mr. S. Not smart. If she’d been smart, she’d have ditched Hanes years ago.”

  “I like your confidence, Max.”

  Max sniffed. “She’d be coolin’ her brains in a county jail now if you’d put me on this right away.”

  The Rainmaker wasn’t convinced of that, but he stayed silent. Indulging Max’s ego was preferable to dealing with Pony’s incompetence any day.

  “We’re on the right track now,” the Rainmaker said forcefully.

  Max sniffed again and continued. “Likely she’s working or someone has taken her in. But I did find this.” He held up a gas-card statement. “She charged gas in a number of states all headed toward the East. The last place was along Interstate 80 in Pennsylvania. I got some men trying to track her down from there.”

  “What about the Cleveland area?”

  “That’s in Ohio.”

  “Never mind.”

  “I don’t think she’s in Pennsylvania, either.”

  The Rainmaker scowled. “I’m not going to like this. I can tell.”

  “She sold her car in a town south of Williams-port. She wanted cash, but the dealer refused. He gave her a check, but instead of just leaving with it, she opened an account in a local bank, deposited the check, waited the three days for it to clear, then cashed it and closed the account.”

  “The woman is beyond brilliant,” the Rainmaker grumbled, finishing his drink. “So she hasn’t used a credit card, has an insurance account and knows better than to open any local bank account and start writing checks. I need someone like her running my operation.”

  “She’ll mess up, Mr. S.”

  “My hope is that I’m still alive to see it. How much did they give her for the car?”

  “Under two grand.”

  “Chump change. Damn.”

  “Now, relax, Mr. S. I’ve got something else.”

  “What?”

  “Something she cares about more than money. Something that will lead us right to her front door.”

  By the time Max had finished, the Rainmaker was smiling and ordering a third drink.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  KATHLEEN PULLED THE pan of blueberry muffins from the oven and wrapped them in a clean dishcloth to keep them warm. She then gathered her bag and the new sheet music she intended to look through once she got Lisa settled for a morning nap.

  She locked the apartment and climbed the stairs to Booth’s. It was exactly 8:00 a.m.

  He had the door open before she got there.

  “I’m not sure which smells better—you or what you have wrapped up.”

  She smiled. “Why don’t you take these. Is Lisa up?”

  “No, but I could be.” He gave her a lecherous grin while taking the warm muffins.

  “Really, Booth. Don’t you guys ever think about anything but sex?”

  “No.” He folded back the dishcloth and sniffed. “Unless a lady brings fresh-baked muffins.” He plucked one from the pan and took a bite. “Besides, I’m in a great mood. Just got off the phone with Oscar Roanquist.”

  “Pamela’s father?” Kathleen put her bag and sheet music on a table.

  “Yep. She called after the Nashville police paid her a visit at her friend Diana’s house. After I talked to you we contacted Nashville. They checked out the Grand Ole Opry for anyone working there with a sister named Diana. Once they had that, all the pieces fell into place.”

  “Oh, Booth, I’m so glad. What about the other girls?”

  “With Pamela. Oscar and the other two fathers are flying down to bring them home. From what Roanquist told me, they got a healthy taste of life on their own with little money. Apparently Pamela’s friend lived in some dumpy one-room apartment, and the girls all had to sleep on the floor. Food consisted of cornflakes and canned beans.”

  Kathleen shuddered. “Poor kids.”

  “But an educational experience. And this time, thank God, a happy ending.”

  Kathleen nodded. “What about the boys who were with them in Hartford?”

  “They abandoned the girls in some Jersey rest stop. We’ve got an APB out to pick them up for transporting minors across state lines.”

  “Oh, God, don’t tell me the girls hitchhiked to Tennessee.”

  Booth touched her back, urging her into the kitchen. “Can’t say for sure, but it’s likely. However they got there, they’re okay, and thanks to you, about to be reunited with their families.”

  “I’m just glad I knew something worth repeating.”

  “So am I.” He went to the cupboard and brought down two mugs. “I made some coffee. I just looked in on Lisa, and she’s still conked out.” He poured coffee, put a carton of cream on the table and straddled a chair opposite her.

  Kathleen took a sip and grimaced. “This stuff could be exchanged for the oil in my old car.”

  “Yeah? Sorry. I can make a fresh pot.”

  She shook her head. “It just takes some getting used to.”

  “Down at the station we’re used to it tasting like sludge, so I make it the same way here.”

  “Won’t this keep you awake?”

  “Naw.” He picked up a second muffin and bit into it. “Don’t know much about baking, but I’ll wager these didn’t come from a box.”

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Who taught you to cook?”

  “My mother.”

  “She was a brilliant pianist and a great cook.”

  “She was both and more. She passed away a number of years ago.”

  He stopped eating, lifted his mug and sipped. “That’s tough. You miss her.”

  “Yes.”

  “It shows in your eyes. Like you lost a close friend, too.”

  Kathleen looked at the floor. “You see too much.”

  He chuckled. “Actually, you’re very good at keeping a distant expression—a ‘Don’t look too closely because I’ll run you out of my life’ look.”

  “You don’t seem to have a problem probing.” She took one of the muffins, broke it in half and took a bite.

  “Nope. Too busy trying to figure out why you’re running.”

  Kathleen set the muffin aside, her appetite gone and a sudden tightness in her chest. She couldn’t flee—it would be too obvious. Besides, Booth was just looking for some reflex action from her. He couldn’t know, or he wouldn’t be sitting here this calmly. Just tough it out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He leaned forward and touched the corner of her mouth with his finger, pushing a crumb between her lips. “You’re lying, babe.”

  And for a dangerous moment, she almost nodded, almost blurted out why she was here, why she was so evasive, why she didn’t trust cops. But to what end? The only one hurt would be her. Booth might be curious, he might have some sexual desire for her—as she did for him—but ultimately he would do his job and arrest her.

  “The thing is, I don’t know what you’re lying about.” He watched her closely, and she made herself return his gaze. “I ran a check on you down at the station.”

  Kathleen dropped the muffin. “A police check? Like I was some criminal?” She was stunned by his bluntness and terrified of what he might do. She felt her entire body go on alert, her mind scrambling for a way out.

  His tone of voice remained casual. “I wasn’t going to tell you because I hated that I had to do it.” He glanced at her before refilling his mug. “But you have acted strangely—the incident when George approached me at the grocery-store parking lot was too odd. Cops get itchy at odd behavior.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came. Fear had evaporated all the moisture from her throat. She reached for her mug, then put her hand into her lap. She was shaking too badly.

  “So I ran your name through the national computer network.”

  Her head pounded, and she wanted to run and hide from the anger and horror she knew would be in his expression. She raised her e
yes, expecting to see him looming over her.

  “It came up zero,” he said in easy dismissal.

  Relief pumped through her. No one in Wyoming had dug deep enough to find the name Yardley. Careful, she warned herself. Be very careful. You’re not home free yet. Booth might have hit a dead end in one place, but that hadn’t ended his curiosity over her behavior.

  Time to take the offensive. “Really. I’m offended and irritated that you’d do such a thing just because I don’t fit some mode of behavior you expect.” This time she rose from the chair.

  “I did it to eliminate the possibility in my own mind.”

  “And did it?”

  He shrugged. “Cops deal in facts, and I can’t argue with the results that came back.”

  Her decision on a last name had worked. What name to use had been a real dilemma. She couldn’t use Hanes, and she’d considered her maiden name of Brown, but that, too, was risky. So she’d chosen her mother’s maiden name, instead. No one in Rodeo, never mind the local cops, knew the name, and obviously the choice had paid off. She felt almost buoyant. But she couldn’t let Booth off the hook too quickly. She needed to play this out for a little while longer.

  Arranging a serious scowl on her face, she said, “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a devious man? Was this “problem” with Lisa a ploy to get me up here so you could tell me you’ve been reassured I’m not a criminal?”

  “I could have said nothing, babe, but I wanted to be up-front and honest with you. I ran the check three days ago, and believe me, no one was as happy as I was that nothing came back. And Lisa had been crying for days.” He scowled, then added tersely, “You volunteered to come up here and watch Lisa.”

  Kathleen scowled. He was right. She’d allowed this, she’d stepped into it. And she had learned she was safer than she’d dared hope. But that didn’t mean she could get careless or overly talkative. Booth might have been only temporarily satisfied, or simply decided to bide his time. She hated being so suspicious of him, but she couldn’t get past the fact that he was a cop—first, last, and always.

  He grinned. “Babe, I love watching you chew on the next approach to take with me.” He held up his hand to ward off denials. “Since we were on the topic of your mother, all your sheet music belonged to her, didn’t it?”