by C. C. Coburn
Morgan shuddered. He had a feeling the promised riches hidden in that safety-deposit box would never come his way—whether they found it or not.
BACK IN HIS OFFICE after the ride with Luke and then an extended lunchtime meeting with the local police chiefs—during which all Matt could think about was Beth—he opened his laptop.
Was she still in the county? The notion filled him with hope. And with dread. Hope, because he so badly wanted to see them both again. And dread, because if Beth had gone to such trouble to cover her tracks, she didn’t want him finding her.
He longed to see her, talk to her, again. He wanted to talk about them, explore the tiny spark he believed was attempting to ignite between them. If only Beth didn’t have so many secrets, they could’ve gotten to know each other better. If he wasn’t a cop, maybe she wouldn’t have taken off like that.
One thing he did know—he was never going to get any peace until he found her.
“Jolene!” he called to the dispatcher. “Hold my calls. I have work to do.”
Beth had made a false declaration on a legal document—the baby’s birth certificate. He had cause to search for her.
Five minutes later, he had his answer. The car was registered to Elizabeth Wyatt of Santa Monica, California.
Elizabeth Wyatt. The name mocked him from the screen. Now at least he had Beth’s phone number.
Heart pounding, he flipped open his cell phone.
“ELIZABETH SPEAKING.”
The voice at the other end of the line didn’t sound like Beth’s. Not unless she’d aged some.
Unwilling to alert the woman to his identity, he said, “I’m looking for Beth.”
There was a hesitation at the other end. “Who are you?” the woman asked.
It was apparent she wouldn’t talk to just anyone about Beth. “I’m Sheriff Matt O’Malley from Colorado. I’m calling about her car. Does she own—?”
“Beth’s been in an accident?” The fear and concern in the woman’s voice were palpable.
“Yes, ma’am. But she’s okay,” he hastened to say. “I take it she’s not there?”
“No, of course not! Please, don’t ever call here again.” The line went dead.
That was interesting. Could the woman be Beth’s mother? They had the same first name. Obviously she had no idea where Beth was, either. But why had she hung up so suddenly? Did she not want contact with Beth? He discounted that notion immediately. She cared about her, had been concerned about her being in an accident. Just who was this woman who shared Beth’s name?
Matt ran a check on drivers’ licenses for California. Elizabeth Wyatt of Santa Monica was seventy-seven years old. She had a near-perfect driving record—apart from a couple of speeding tickets in her red Audi A4….
So. Beth had either stolen the woman’s car or it had been lent to her. She was the right age to be Beth’s grandmother. He was tempted to call her back, but was pretty sure she wouldn’t answer the phone.
There were no other Elizabeth Wyatts on record. He expanded the search and hit paydirt almost immediately. Elizabeth Whitman-Wyatt was a thirty-one-year-old architect from Redondo Beach. He brought up a photo taken from her driver’s license.
It also brought up an APB on her, claiming she’d gone missing four months ago and was wanted for felony theft and drug dealing and was a person of interest in the shooting death of her husband, Detective Marcus Jackson. Matt did a double take as he read the screen.
What he was reading was incomprehensible. Beth a drug dealer? A thief? A potential…murderer? Horseshit! It so completely didn’t fit with the woman he’d gotten to know, the scared but loving mother.
He took comfort from the fact that at least there wasn’t an abusive husband in the picture. She’d been honest about being a widow, after all. But she’d been married to a cop and he’d received a police funeral with all the honors due a cop gunned down in the line of duty.
All Matt’s instincts told him Beth was lying, that she’d gone on the run to protect Sarah. But from whom? More than ever, he needed to find her. He didn’t want to leave her exposed, alone, without him beside her. Keeping her safe.
He tried the phone number listed, but as he suspected, it was disconnected. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he was pretty sure Beth was still in Peaks County. Maybe her car held some clues.
“Jolene, I won’t be back for the rest of the day,” he said, grabbing his coat. “You can reach me on my cell.”
BETH WOKE TO SILENCE. She glanced toward the window. Everything was white outside. It was snowing, yet she was perspiring. The fire had gone out and the room felt cold. She stood, then sat back down and put her head between her knees to stop herself from blacking out. What was happening to her?
The pain in her breasts was excruciating. It felt as if they were burning up. She had to find her cell phone and call someone. Anyone.
Matt had given her his card with his direct line on it. She needed him. Needed him more than she’d needed anyone in her life. She stood more slowly this time, staggered to Sarah’s room and flipped on the light. It didn’t work. She tried several other light switches. Either she’d blown a fuse or the power was out.
Exhausted beyond belief, she picked up her sleeping baby and made her way to her own room and laid Sarah on the bed. She needed help. Needed to find her cell phone, which she’d left on the nightstand, recharging. It wasn’t there. Fishing around, she found it on the floor and cursed. It hadn’t recharged! Had she even plugged it in? Suppressing a sob, she lay down on the bed, thinking, I’ll just rest for a moment, as exhaustion overtook her. Rest, and then I’ll be able to figure out what to do.
She closed her eyes intending to relax. Just for a few minutes…
AS LUKE HAD PREDICTED, it had started snowing heavily around midday and the plows were out clearing the roads as Matt drove toward Hank’s towing yard and workshop. If anyone knew where Beth had been living, Hank would. He was only surprised he hadn’t heard about it earlier, given Hank’s penchant for gossip.
Hank was in his shop tinkering with a car engine. The man was a regular Mr. Fix It, sometime cabdriver, tow-truck operator and delivery man. He bore an unmistakable resemblance to a weasel. His nose was long and pointed, his teeth large and protuberant. His head was smaller than average and sat on a long neck that seemed to have the ability to swivel three hundred and sixty degrees in search of gossip. On first observation, one could be forgiven for thinking Hank came from the shallow end of the Farquar gene pool. However, his odd appearance betrayed a cunning nature. Like many of the Farquars, Hank lived in virtual squalor, yet was reputed to have millions stashed in his mattress.
Hank wiped the oil off his hands, offered his hand to Matt, then looked at it and changed his mind. “Hey, Matt. What brings you out here?”
“The woman who owns that little red sports car.”
Hank swallowed, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing, and in that moment Matt was certain Hank knew a lot more about Beth than he’d previously let on. Refusing to waste any more time on pleasantries, he demanded, “Where is she?”
Hank flushed. He was no actor. “Well, how would I know, Matt?”
Matt glared. “Hank, this is me you’re talking to. Where is she?”
“I…I can’t say.”
“Yeah, you can,” Matt countered, then glanced around Hank’s workshop. “Or I might have to get my guys to take an inventory of everything here and check it against your tax records.”
As Matt had expected, Hank raised his hands. “No need for that. Everything’s aboveboard.”
“I’ll take your word for it, provided you tell me where she is.” Matt was losing patience. Hank had a nice little business that didn’t show up in his books but everyone turned a blind eye to it. If he could intimidate Hank into thinking his side business was about to be closed down, then he would. He started to take his cell phone out of his pocket.
“She lives up off Blue Spruce Drive,” Hank blurted before Matt could e
ven flip it open.
Matt smiled to himself. Hank was a coward at heart. “Where?”
“I own a cabin up there.”
“And?”
“I rented it to her for six months. She promised me ten thousand dollars at the end of it, as long as I don’t tell no one about her.” His face clouded. “Guess I just kissed that goodbye.”
“Guess you did. Is she there now?”
He shrugged. “I took her there from the bus station. I thought she was up to somethin’ when she didn’t want me getting her from in front of the hospital.” Hank’s voice held pride at his perspicacity.
“And you didn’t think to tell me that? You of all people must’ve known we were looking for her!”
Hank shrugged again. “Ten thousand dollars is a lot of money, Matt.” Then in an attempt to moderate his guilt in failing to report Beth’s whereabouts, he said, “I tried to talk to you about her the other day, when you asked me to get estimates on fixin’ her car.”
And Matt had cut him off, believing Hank was about to engage in more gossip! If only he’d listened then, he’d have known everything he needed to know about Beth. “I’ll deal with the serious matter of your having obstructed justice later,” he said. “But, for now, where exactly is this cabin?”
TWO MINUTES LATER, Matt was driving toward the mountains on the other side of town and headed up to Blue Spruce Drive, perched overlooking the town at eleven thousand feet.
The snow was coming down so heavily now, the plows were having trouble keeping up with it. Conditions could turn dangerous by tonight.
Beth wouldn’t be happy to see him, but that was just too bad. He had questions that needed answers. And the first question was, Why did you name me as Sarah’s father?
He picked his way up the snow-covered mountain road, unable to comprehend how Beth had managed to drive down it that snowy Saturday night without going over a cliff.
He was having enough difficulty negotiating it in his all-wheel-drive SUV. There’d been power outages all over the county due to the storm, and by the looks of it, Blue Spruce Drive was still without power. Smoke billowed from chimneys of the houses set on the acreage lots he passed, indicating residents were relying on their stoves or fireplaces for heat.
He pulled in at the red-painted timber gate Hank had told him to watch for. A log cabin that looked like something out of a Christmas story sat almost surrounded by pine trees. The only thing missing was the smoke coming out of the chimney. And lights at the windows.
Fresh snow carpeted the ground, undisturbed by vehicle tracks or footprints. Nobody’d survive a day like today without a roaring fire in the grate.
Apparently she wasn’t here and he had no idea where he should start searching for her now. Sure as hell, if she was still in the county, Beth would’ve taken pains to cover her tracks even better than before. Because now she’d know he was looking for her.
Deciding to see if she’d left any clues inside the cabin, he climbed out of his vehicle, knocked at the front door and, when he didn’t get any reply, tried the knob.
It turned and he stepped inside.
The cabin was icy cold and dark. Matt brushed the snow from his shoulders and stomped it off his boots before walking into the living room. He flicked the light switches. They were dead. The fire had burned out long ago.
Then he heard the cry of an infant. Heart hammering, he raced toward the sound and burst through a door into a bedroom. Sarah lay by her mother’s side, her little arms waving frantically, her cries of distress filling the room.
He strode to the bed, picked her up and cradled her inside his jacket, next to the warmth of his body. Her face felt cold through his shirt, but she quieted as she snuggled against him.
Beth lay motionless, her face pale in the snow-clouded light coming through the window.
He sat on the bed and shook her arm. “Beth!” She didn’t move. He felt for her pulse. Unable to detect anything but his own racing heart, he placed his hand gently over her mouth and nose. Warm breath covered his chilled palm and her forehead was damp with perspiration. The room was like an icebox, yet she was sweating. That could mean only one thing—she had a fever.
“Beth!” he called and shook her again, ignoring the rising pitch of Sarah’s crying. “Beth. Wake up!”
Sarah’s crying grew louder. He made soothing noises to her and she turned her head toward his chest, rooting around as if she wanted to suckle.
He shook Beth again with his free hand. Finally her eyelids fluttered. “Wha…?” she murmured but didn’t open her eyes.
Her cell phone was lying open on the bedside table as if she’d tried to make a call. He checked it and realized the battery was dead.
Matt contemplated bundling both of them up and getting them to the hospital, but the roads were treacherous and he didn’t have any way of securing Sarah in his vehicle.
Pulling out his own cell, he punched in Lucy’s number. She answered right away.
“Lucy, it’s Matt.”
“What’s the matter? And what’s all that crying?”
“I’ve found Beth,” he said, jiggling Sarah in an attempt to quiet her since she’d given up on sucking on his shirt. “But she’s in a bad way. She’s sweating a lot and nearly unconscious and Sarah’s starving.” He wasn’t in any mood to make apologies for how dramatic his explanation sounded. This was one of the few occasions in his life when he was close to panic.
“Are her breasts tender and hot to the touch?” she asked.
“How the hell should I know?” he snapped. His nerves were completely frazzled. “She’s pretty much out of it.”
“You could feel them.”
“I am not feeling her breasts!” he yelled above Sarah’s plaintive crying. Desperate to calm her, he cradled the phone between his ear and shoulder and did as he’d seen Becky do with her daughter, Lily. He stuck the tip of his little finger between Sarah’s lips and was nearly knocked sideways by the power of the suction from her tiny mouth.
Beth finally seemed to have the strength to open her eyes.
“Ah, are your breasts tender?” he asked.
She gave a faint nod.
He swallowed. He wasn’t going to ask if they were hot. Nor do as Lucy suggested. “Yeah, I guess they are,” he said into the phone.
“Okay, I’m pretty sure I know what her problem is. Can you get her into the hospital as soon as possible?”
Matt strived to keep the exasperation from his voice. “Lucy, I’m in a cabin up on Blue Spruce Drive. I don’t have any way of restraining Sarah in my vehicle and Beth’s in no condition to hold her.”
“I’ll come to you, then, but first I’ll need to collect a few things. How do I find you?”
He barked out directions, yelling above Sarah’s strident cries since she’d relinquished his finger.
“Gotcha. I’ll see you soon,” she said and broke the connection.
Matt wondered how long it would take Lucy to collect what she needed and get to the cabin. Sarah seemed fine, apart from needing to be fed but he was worried sick about Beth.
“Let’s go find something to make your mom more comfortable,” he murmured to the baby.
In the adjoining bathroom, he wet a washcloth, squeezed it out, then went back to Beth and placed it on her forehead. “Sarah?” she whispered hoarsely.
“She’s fine. Just hungry,” he assured her. “Lucy’s coming. Can I get you anything?”
“Water,” she murmured. “So thirsty.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, taking Sarah into the kitchen with him. A pacifier sat on the counter. He had no way of knowing if it was sterile, but then neither was his finger. He rinsed it under the tap and stuck it in Sarah’s mouth. She quieted immediately. As she suckled furiously, he filled a glass with water and returned to Beth’s side.
When he placed Sarah on the bed, she began to protest and her pacifier fell out. He stuck it back in her mouth, then slid an arm behind Beth and helped her sit up. “Her
e,” he said. “Can you manage?”
She gulped the water greedily. “Slowly,” he warned. “Take it slowly and I’ll get you some more.”
He refilled the glass and held it for her. She finished it and lay back on the pillows. “Thank you,” she whispered and closed her eyes.
Matt tried to tell himself she looked a little better as he pulled the covers up to her chin and picked Sarah up again. “Let’s get some heat into this place,” he said to the squirming baby and carried her into the living room.
Five minutes later he had a roaring fire going in the grate and the cabin was starting to feel warmer. He lit candles to brighten it up, then lit the wood-burning stove in the kitchen, figuring it was probably connected to the hot-water supply as a backup. Since the baseboard radiators were stone-cold, the power must’ve been off for a good while.
After washing his hands, he picked up Sarah, who was screaming again, having realized the pacifier didn’t contain any nourishment. A search of the kitchen for any evidence of bottles of formula proved fruitless, and she continued to complain about her empty stomach.
“Hurry up, Lucy,” he urged, patting Sarah’s back. He glanced out the kitchen window into the gathering darkness, willing Lucy’s car to turn into the drive, then went back to check on Beth. She was perspiring even more. He freshened the cloth and wiped it across her brow and along her cheeks.
“Burning up,” she protested and pushed the bedclothes down. “Cool me down. Please,” she begged.
When he placed Sarah on the bed, she wailed at being separated from him.
Matt wiped the cloth down Beth’s arm from shoulder to wrist while Sarah screamed and his nerves stretched to the breaking point. The shock of finding Beth in this state and feeling helpless to do anything for her, plus the racket Sarah was making, were getting to him. He forced a calm he was far from feeling into his voice. “She’s really hungry. Shouldn’t you try and feed her?”
“Too sore,” Beth mumbled, breathing a sigh that sounded to him like pleasure. He drew the cloth down her other arm. “Here,” she said and indicated her throat and chest. “So hot.”