Baby Carter (Baby Grand Trilogy, Book 3)

by Dina Santorelli

  “I think so.”

  When they got to the wooden porch of the main house, Jamie stamped her shoes—she could already feel the snow seeping through the cotton of her socks. She rang the doorbell. Who did Bailino say she was supposed to say she was? The owner’s wife and daughter? She couldn’t remember. Would the man let them stay in the guest house?

  “There is so much space here, Momma, look …” Faith twirled around with her arms out. “Do you think I can have my own room here? There looks like there are so many rooms in the house.”

  Jamie wondered if she’d ever feel safe enough to let Faith sleep in a room by herself. “We’ll see, honey,” she said. She rang the doorbell again and knocked on the door.

  The wind howled from a group of trees, making the legs of a tiny porch accessory in the shape of a frog spin. No one seemed to be home. She peered into one of the windows, cupping her hands around her eyes. The rooms looked empty—no furniture, just clean, swept floors. It looked abandoned.

  “Is anyone home, Momma?” Faith asked. The little girl had her arms wrapped around herself. Jamie had to get her inside somewhere fast.

  “It doesn’t look like it,” Jamie said. She flipped up the welcome mat, thinking for some reason that there might be a key there, but there wasn’t. She didn’t see any car and thought maybe there was one in the garage, but there were no windows on the garage door, and the freshly fallen snow had covered any tracks that there might have been.

  “Do you smell that, Momma?” Faith asked. “It smells like fire.” She was trying to use her tongue to catch the falling snowflakes, which were piling on top of her dark hair like a crown.

  Jamie inhaled and realized Faith was right. She feared it was a brush fire but then saw a faint plume of smoke coming from the guesthouse chimney. She took Faith’s hand again, and the two walked the few yards to what was a miniature version of the main log cabin. She was about to knock on the door when a sound caught her ear, and she instinctively pulled her daughter toward her.

  “Momma, what was that?” Faith whispered.

  “Shhh … sweetie. Let mommy listen.”

  Jamie scanned the snow-covered ground and didn’t see anything but then heard the sound again—it was like intermittent heavy breathing and the sifting of snow. She reached for the gun in her calf holster, thinking perhaps it was a bear, and tried to remember what to do when confronting a bear or other wildlife. She couldn’t remember a thing, and in this weather, the damn thing was probably hungry.

  She nudged Faith behind her as the sound grew louder, and clearer, like the paced breath of a runner. She pressed herself and Faith against the front door of the guesthouse when a giant animal pounced onto the far end of the porch, its large eyes on them, its breath turning to vapor.

  Faith screamed and clutched Jamie’s leg as Jamie pointed the gun at the animal, which resembled a big wolf of some kind. The creature shook the snow off its coat and then stood there, eyeing them curiously. One of its eyes was missing, the skin neatly flapped over the eye socket, as if it had surgery. She waited for it to attack, but it didn’t show any signs of aggression when she heard the sound of crunchy footsteps again, and before Jamie could prepare herself for facing another animal, a large person in a black parka climbed onto the wooden porch and stopped short at the sight of them.

  Jamie immediately pointed the gun toward the individual, who, based on his physical size, appeared to be a man. He stood beside the animal, a large pair of mirrored sunglasses wrapped around his eyes, and put his hands into the air.

  “Hello,” Jamie said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to have this pointed toward you. I won’t use it unless I have to. I’m looking for the person who lives here.”

  The wolf started to walk toward them, but before Jamie could move the gun, the man whistled and the animal stayed where it was and sat down. The man gestured at his parka hood.

  “Okay, but, please, no sudden movements,” Jamie said. “I’m faster than I look.”

  The man brushed the snow from his black hood, which he pulled down from his head, and removed his wraparound sunglasses. Jamie stared at his face, the weathered features slowly forming a familiar picture, and she gasped. Standing before her, with the sun setting behind him, was a bearded and sunburned Don Bailino.

  CHAPTER 7

  There weren’t many times in Don Bailino’s life when he was stunned, but this was one of them. He assumed that the car motor he had heard while hiking with Lucky belonged to Goodwill and was somewhat pissed at himself for not listening more closely. Damn country living was making him soft. However, he had more pressing matters at the moment—particularly, the expression on Jamie Carter’s face. He kept his arms raised, wondering if Jamie would lower the pistol now that she knew it was him. She didn’t.

  “I don’t understand …” she said.

  “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not,” she answered, although the gun was shaking in her hand. “You’re alive? How? I saw that building come down.”

  “Put the gun down, please.”

  Jamie looked at the dog.

  “She won’t hurt you. Trust me, she wouldn’t hurt a fly. She doesn’t realize how big and terrifying she is.” The dog looked up at him while he spoke, not sure of what to make of this detour from their routine. “I need to show you something,” he said to Jamie.

  She watched him carefully. “What?”

  “Why the Feds think I’m dead.”

  Slowly, Bailino twisted his left hand upward, the sleeve of his fleece jacket falling until the stump of his left arm—the skin, hardened and scarred, where his hand used to be—rose above the cuff. “Does anyone know you’re here?” he asked.

  Jamie stared at his arm. After a few seconds, she lowered the gun. Her fingers worked the mechanism quickly, adjusting the safety. She had been practicing. The little girl, whose head was leaning against her mother’s waist, watched him closely.

  “I asked if anyone knows you’re here,” he said, lowering his arms. Her answer, he knew, was important: If she said yes, he would have to pack his things immediately and get them all out of there. If she said no, it meant that they had some time and also that she still trusted him, at least enough to drive cross-country to find the address he had told her. Unless, of course, she was lying, but despite that little hiccup in judgment with the car, Bailino was still confident he would be able to tell if she was.

  “No,” she said. “No one knows we’re here.”

  “The president?”

  “He only knows we’re out west for a few days.”

  “Edward?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

  Bailino nodded and brushed the melting snow off his jacket. “All right, then. Let me get you inside before you both freeze to death.”

  He crossed the porch toward the front door as Jamie stepped aside. He could tell she was shivering, and he didn’t know if it was because of the cold or because of whatever had driven her onto his doorstep—or maybe it was learning that he was alive. He turned the knob of the front door. “It’s unlocked, by the way,” he said. “You should always check.” He motioned to the dog. “C’mon, Lucky.”

  Lucky stopped first to sniff their guests, and Faith let out a yelp, hiding behind her mother’s legs.

  “She won’t hurt you, cupcake,” Bailino said as Lucky scampered into the room and went straight toward the fireplace, curling herself up on the worn spot of the area rug. Bailino pulled off his jacket as Jamie and Faith watched from outside, their eyes glued to his left arm. Most days, he forgot that he no longer had a left hand. Moving to Wyoming from the East Coast had been more of an adjustment than learning to live without it.

  “It’s much warmer in here, you know?” he said with a smirk, but Jamie stood where she was. He let her be, and by the time he had a teakettle of hot water on the stove, she had stepped into the cabin with Faith behind her and closed the door. If Bailino harbored any lingering doubts about Jamie feeling safe with him, they d
issipated as soon as she turned the deadbolt, locking them inside. He placed two mugs and a plastic cup on the table. “Can I take your coats?”

  “We’re okay right now,” Jamie said, standing near the door.

  Bailino nodded. “What happened?” he asked. “In D.C.?”

  Jamie motioned to Faith, who was still behind her, staring at him.

  “Hey, sweetie, do you want to watch some TV?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you,” she whispered, her finger twirling a strand of her hair.

  She had changed so much in the last three years. Her features had become more defined, and her hair was long and straight. Only her eyes were the same—a deep and piercing dark brown that sucked in her surroundings like a vacuum. Although the First Lady tended to parade her two children around like trained monkeys, Bailino never managed to catch a glimpse of Faith on television or in the papers. Jamie had always kept her out of sight. And he was happy for it.

  Bailino’s cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He looked at the caller ID, saw the name Ellie, and declined the call. “Do you want to play with Lucky?” he asked Faith, putting the phone back into his pocket.

  The little girl eyed the dog, which was probably twice her size.

  “What happened to her eye?” Faith asked.

  “I don’t know. I think somebody tried to hurt her, but I took her to the doctor, and now she’s fine. Probably sees better out of that one eye than we do with two.”

  Faith’s eyes appeared to soften, but she stayed safely behind her mother.

  “Here,” Bailino reached into a cabinet over the sink, “give her one of these, and she’ll be your best friend.” He walked toward them with his hand out, holding the dog biscuit, and slowly Faith reached out to grab the treat, her tiny hand red and cold from being outside. As she did, Lucky came running over, and the little girl recoiled.

  “Her name is Lucky,” Bailino said. “She’s a nice dog.” He petted the top of Lucky’s head. “Go ahead, tell her to sit. Say, Lucky, sit.”

  Upon hearing Bailino’s command, the dog sat in front of them, her eyes on the treat in Faith’s hand. Faith dropped the treat to the floor, and Lucky ate it in one bite. The dog continued to sit, her eyes looking up at the little girl, until Bailino said, “No more,” and then returned to her place on the area rug.

  “How about you?” he asked Faith. “You want something to eat? I have soup, some leftover pizza, blueberries …”

  The little girl’s eyes opened slightly at the mention of blueberries.

  “Here, come sit down, and I’ll get them for you,” Bailino said.

  He opened the refrigerator, threading the stump of his left arm through the handle, grabbed a pint of blueberries, and ran it under cold water from the kitchen faucet. Faith was still watching him carefully, and his mind shot back to when he had served her blueberries at his father’s old house in Pennsylvania. Although she had been distrustful of him at first, she hadn’t been afraid of him. He wondered if she would be afraid now.

  He placed the blueberries in a bowl and onto the table. “Go ahead, cupcake, they’re all for you,” he said.

  Jamie took a few steps into the room, Faith hiding behind her, and pulled out a chair. “Want some?” she asked.

  The little girl nodded and quickly climbed on the chair, her attention pivoting between Bailino and the dog. She reached into the bowl and placed a blueberry in her mouth, her other hand firmly grasping her mother’s leg.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to take your coats? It gets warm in here pretty quickly.”

  “All right, thank you,” Jamie said. She unbuttoned Faith’s coat and her own, and she handed them to Bailino—careful, he noticed, not to touch him or come too close. He brought the coats into his bedroom and laid them on a chair. He stood in there watching as Jamie brushed the hair out of Faith’s face and planted a kiss on her forehead, something he had seen her do before, not only with Faith but with tiny Charlotte Grand. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t wondered whether Jamie would show up on his doorstep out of the blue, either because she was in danger or out of some kind of curiosity about the place—or perhaps because somehow, intuitively, she knew he would be there. Sometimes he wondered if that was why he was still living there.

  “How come you don’t live in the main house?” Jamie asked when he returned to the kitchen. She was caressing Faith, who had now turned her entire attention to the dog.

  “Yeah, never did make the move over there,” Bailino said. “Guesthouse suited me fine.”

  “What happened to the tenant?”

  “I got rid of him,” Bailino said. “Stabbed him with an ice pick.”

  Jamie’s hand stopped moving on the top of Faith’s head.

  “I’m kidding,” Bailino said. “His job moved to Seattle about a year ago. Never had any reason to rent it out again. I like the privacy.” He opened the fridge and placed a container of chocolate milk on the table. “I always keep a carton in the house.” He smirked.

  The milk got Faith’s attention, and she tugged on her mother’s arm.

  “Would you like some chocolate milk too?” he asked.

  “Yes, please,” Faith said, sticking another blueberry in her mouth.

  Bailino poured the milk into the plastic cup and set the carton back down on the table. “Do you have luggage in the car? Give me your keys, and I’ll go—”

  “It’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to mess you up. I really didn’t know that you’d be—”

  “You think I’m going to let you go now that you’re here?” Bailino asked, and, again, Jamie’s expression changed. “All right, relax … What I mean is … and I think you know this … you are safest here. With me. Right?”

  He could tell Jamie was thinking. She stared at him, into his eyes for a long time, fingering the gun, which she had placed under the waistband of her jeans. She looked down at her daughter. “Is that okay with you?” she asked. “Do you want to stay here?”

  Faith leaned against her mother’s chest, her eyes looking up at Bailino and then down at the dog. She nodded.

  “Good,” Bailino said. “It’s settled then. Are the car doors open?”

  “Yes, but I can—”

  “No, no, you stay here with the kid. Eat. Make yourself at home.”

  Outside, the air was clear, and although it was dark, the fallen snow made it appear like daytime. He followed the footsteps to the other side of the log cabin where Jamie’s car was parked. Because the car’s exterior was covered in snow, he didn’t recognize the model right away, but he could tell it was a rental based on the color variation of the Virginia license plate tucked under the front grill. He opened up the driver’s-side door and scanned the dashboard for an in-car GPS, but he didn’t see one, only maps on the passenger seat.

  Good girl, he thought.

  He pulled the three bags of luggage out of the car, closed the doors, and searched the property. Other than Jamie and Faith’s footprints and the rental’s single set of tire tracks, the snow was undisturbed. By the time he got back inside the house, Lucky was lying on her back near the dining room table.

  “She wants you to rub her belly,” Bailino said, placing the luggage down and closing the front door.

  Faith looked up at her mother. “Can I, Momma?”

  Jamie said, “Okay, but be careful.”

  Faith stretched her hand toward the floor, but she couldn’t reach far enough because she wouldn’t let go of her mother’s leg.

  “You’re going to have to get a little closer, I think,” Jamie said. “Here, watch me.”

  Jamie got down on her knees next to the dog and began rubbing Lucky’s belly. When she stopped, Lucky moved her front paws up and down.

  “What is she doing?” Faith asked Bailino.

  “She’s telling you that she wants more, the big baby.” Bailino smirked.

  Faith bent down and, imitating her mother, rubbed the dog’s fur. “It’s so soft,” she said.

 
“It should be. That dog gets more baths than an infant.” He brought the empty glasses to the kitchen sink and rinsed them. “Be careful, that dog might want you to do that all night. Here,” he reached into the cabinet again, “bring this over there, by the fireplace, where it’s nice and warm.”

  “Not too close, though,” Jamie said.

  “I know, Momma.” Faith took the treat from Bailino’s hand. “C’mon, Lucky,” she said and wandered toward the fireplace, Lucky following behind. When they reached the rug, Faith said, “Sit,” in a tiny voice, and the dog complied. She held out the treat, and Lucky pulled it into her mouth with her tongue. Faith giggled.

  “She’s good with her,” Bailino said, watching them.

  “She always wanted a dog,” Jamie said. “But, we just … It’s just not a good idea for us.”

  “Are you in danger?” he asked quietly, leaning across the table.

  “I don’t know,” Jamie said.

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  Jamie watched Faith pet the dog’s belly. “There was a bomb threat,” she whispered. “More than a bomb threat, really. It was an actual bomb.”

  “Where?” he asked.

  “Inside the White House, in the president’s private quarters.”

  “When was this?” He thought for a moment and remembered the unusual Secret Service activity. “On Monday?”

  She nodded. “They’re keeping the whole thing under wraps for now, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the media gets wind of it.”

  The day before had been an unusually quiet day at the White House, and Bailino hadn’t thought much of it, even with the extra activity on Monday. Periodically, President Phillip Grand was known to take time for his family—a decision that generated some negative press early on, but was now praised by the media for his commitment to work-life balance. Go figure. Bailino wasn’t surprised that word hadn’t gotten out about the explosive device. That Grand ran a tight ship even back in their army days.

  “Collins said you were on vacation this morning,” Bailino said. “Taking a few days.”

  Jamie seemed surprised.