by Janet Dailey
Rain pelted the Maresco building as ominous dark clouds rolled across the Greater Fort Worth area, spitting lightning and issuing rumbles of thunder. Oblivious to the spring storm raging outside, Max Rutledge tightened his grip on the telephone.
“What the hell do you mean you could only get it postponed two days?” he exploded. “I thought you said you could put it off at least two weeks.”
“I thought I could, but the judge refused. Two days was all he would grant. And to get that I had to provide him with a host of affidavits. Short of an act of God or an illness of the child, the date’s set in concrete.”
“Get the judge excused, then,” Max refused to accept that nothing could be done.
“I tried that. We’re stuck with this one, at least for this first hearing. We both know there will be more.”
Max seized on the one opening the attorney had offered. “But if a doctor declared the child was too—”
“Careful of going down that road, Rutledge,” Yancy Haynes warned. “You’ll have the social worker out to verify it—and probably seek a second opinion. Unless that baby really is ill, it would only create more problems and alienate the judge more than he already is.”
“Then you’d better make damned sure Sloan leaves with that baby in her arms,” Max warned and slammed the phone down.
A loud clap of thunder reverberated through the building. Its loudness finally gained Max’s attention. He hurled an impatient glass at the rain-sheeted windows and punched the intercom.
“Yes, Mr. Rutledge.”
“Find out how soon this storm will pass.”
“Yes sir. And your three-thirty appointment is here. Shall I send them in?”
“That would be Musgrave and his cronies,” Max recalled. “Go ahead and show them in, then cancel the rest of my appointments for this afternoon.”
An hour later the severe storm cell moved east, but flying conditions remained marginal, leaving Max with no choice but to return to the ranch by car, more than doubling his travel time.
Chafing at the delay, twice he reached for the car phone. Each time Max checked the impulse, reminding himself that a mobile phone was not secure. And he was too close to success to take such a risk now.
Alerted by the security guards at the gate, Harold Bennett was outside waiting for him when Max’s car pulled beneath the portico. He had the wheelchair out of the trunk and ready for him by the time the chauffeur opened the rear door. Years of experience made the transfer from the car to the wheelchair a smooth, single action with never a falter along the way.
The instant he was settled in chair, Max demanded, “How did the day go?”
Bennett did not mistake it as an idle question, aware that his employer expected a full accounting of Sloan’s activity in his absence, no matter how mundane. “Mrs. Calder took the baby for a short walk in his stroller this morning, then exercised in the pool for nearly an hour.”
“Did she speak to anyone on her walk?”
“Only myself, sir, and that was mostly to comment on what a beautiful day it was. Of course, that was in the morning before storm arrived. Although she did mention that she wished she had the camera equipment that she left behind. She talked about a portfolio, too. Seemed very concerned getting it back.”
Max nodded. “She would be worried about that more than the rest of the things she left. I’ll have the attorney see that Calder returns it. In the meantime, find out what kind of camera equipment she’s talking about and see that she gets it.” He rolled his chair to the ramp. “What about this afternoon?”
“She lay down for a short nap once the baby was asleep, then listened to some music and read a little. All in all, it was a quiet afternoon, unless you include all the thunder and lightning,” Bennett replied.
“But no phone calls?”
“She received none and made none.”
“I thought Haynes might have contacted her.” Max murmured and halted his wheelchair to wait for Bennett to open the front door.
He had barely glided into large foyer when he caught the sound of Sloan’s voice coming from the living room. He whipped his chair around in that direction and spied Sloan sitting on the couch talking on the phone. He fired a piercing look at Bennett.
“No phone calls, you said,” he muttered in accusation, then sent his chair speeding into the living room, rearranging his expression into something warmly benign.
Sloan acknowledged him with a distracted smile. His gaze narrowed on the pen between her fingers and the notepad on the sofa’s armrest, a half dozen notations scribbled along the top half. The handwriting was too small for him to make out what it said.
“Thanks. I will. Talk to you soon. Bye,” she said and hung up to give the fullness of her attention to Max. “I didn’t expect you home so soon.”
“My last appointment was canceled, so I took advantage of the chance to come home early,” Max replied, then allowed some of his curiosity to show. “Who was that on the phone? Yancy Haynes?”
“No, I haven’t heard from him today. That was my agent, Phil Westbrook. I called to tell him about Jake and give him this address and phone number so he could get in touch with me if something came up.”
“He has some assignments lined up for you, does he?” With a nod, Max indicated the notes she had jotted on the pad.
“A couple of possibilities for later this summer, if I’m interested, and he passed on messages for me from—” She never finished the sentence as a faint, hiccoughing cry came over the portable monitor on the end table. “Sounds like Jake just woke up.”
“In that case, you go look after your son while I go make a few business calls.” With a touch of the controls, Max reversed the wheelchair. “Join me in the den later, and we’ll have a drink before dinner.”
“Sounds good.” Pen and tablet in hand, she rose from the couch and turned in the direction of the nursery.
Sloan was halfway there before she realized the baby monitor was still on the end table. Deciding to check on Jake first and retrieve the monitor later, she continued down the hall. All was quiet when she entered the room. Moving softly, Sloan crossed to the crib. Peering over the side, she saw that Jake was asleep, his little lips moving in a sucking motion. She watched him, half-tempted to pick him up anyway, then thought better of it.
As quietly as she had entered the nursery, she left and retraced her path down the wide corridor. Within steps of the den she caught the sound of Max’s voice, forceful with anger.
In a reflexive action, she glanced toward the den and noticed the door was opened a crack. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but it was impossible not to hear him.
“I know what I said. The situation has changed. I don’t care how you do it, but you’ve got to lure Calder into town within the next ten days.” Sloan came to a dead stop when she heard the name Calder. All thought of the baby monitor fled from her mind. “After that, I don’t particularly give a damn whether you plant the drugs on him or in his vehicle. I just want an arrest for drug possession on his record within ten days.”
Shock splintered through her. Even though he hadn’t mentioned Trey specifically, Sloan knew that was who Max was arranging to have framed for drug possession. The reason was obvious: to influence the judge against Trey at the custody hearing. She took a step toward the door, intending to stop this before it went any further. Then Max spoke again.
“I wouldn’t worry about that.” Scorn was in his voice. “Once he’s been arrested for drug possession, it won’t take much to convince people he’s using. Look at how easily you convinced them he was having an affair. So what if nobody’s seen him high on anything. They never saw him with a woman, either, but they believed the story just the same.”
Her mind whirling with questions, Sloan stood motionless. What was he saying? That there wasn’t another woman? That it was no more true than the drugs he intended to plant on Trey? But the phone calls? Had they been fake, too? But why would Max do that? He had to have known it would cre
ate problems in her marriage? Or was that part of his plan?
She suddenly had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that Trey had been right all along. Max had engineered everything. And, like a fool, she had believed it. Anger swept through her that she could have been so gullible.
In agitation, Sloan turned away and faltered when Bennett entered the living room from a side hallway. There was an instant sharpening of his gaze at the sight of her, as if something in her expression had caught his attention.
“Is anything wrong, Mrs. Calder?”
Thinking on her feet, she searched for an answer that wouldn’t arouse his suspicion. “Yes, but I don’t think you can help me. I came back here for something, and now I can’t remember what it was. Of course!” she said, pretending to remember at that moment. “The baby monitor.”
Acting was a skill she had never needed to practice before. With all the insecurities of an amateur, Sloan strove to project an air of normalcy while she collected the monitor from the end table and retreated again to the hallway. Her nerves screamed with the certainty that Bennett had seen through her pretense. Yet she didn’t dare check his reaction.
Bennett studied her thoughtfully until she was out of sight. He resumed his original course and crossed to the den, noticed the door wasn’t tightly shut, and walked in.
“Was that Sloan’s voice I heard,” Max demanded the instant he appeared.
“Yes.”
“What was she doing out there?” Suspicion was sharp in his look.
“She left the baby monitor in the living room. She came back to get it.”
“Then she wasn’t listening at the door?”
“She didn’t appear to be,” Bennett replied.
A grunt was the only response.
Before Sloan reached the nursery, Jake started crying. This time it was no halfhearted sob, but a full-blown wail. The cause was a dirty diaper. Changing it was a mindless task that allowed Sloan time to think and satisfy the need for contact with her son.
“Does that feel better, little guy?” Sloan crooned when she lifted him off the changing table and cradled him against her shoulder, a hand lightly supporting the back of his head. Lovingly, she nuzzled the top of it, breathing in the fresh, clean baby scent that clung to his skin. “You certainly smell better,” she murmured. Then fear ran its icy finger over her. “What are we going to do, Jake?”
Without an answer, Sloan wandered over to the window. Outside the rain had stopped, but water continued to drip from the eaves, falling past the glass panes. Off to the west the clouds had lightened in color as the sun worked to penetrate their thinning layers.
One of the security guards, in full rain gear and with a leashed German shepherd at his side, crossed the far side of the lawn. He was a visible reminder of the cordon of armed guards on the ranch. Ostensibly they were there to protect her, but Sloan realized they could also prevent her from leaving.
Alone, she might be able to slip past them. But she knew she’d never make it with the baby, and there was no way she’d leave without him. Sloan felt trapped.
Yet there had to be a way out, some excuse that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.
It was only when she went through her options that she realized how clever Max had been, eliminating virtually any need for her to leave the ranch. Someone else did the household shopping. Anything she and Jake could ever need had already been supplied. She had a lawyer who came to the house, and Sloan didn’t doubt that Max could arrange for doctor’s visits as well if any illness should arise. And there wasn’t a chance of faking one, not with a registered nurse in residence.
“Oh my God,” she gasped softly as she suddenly realized the true danger Bennett posed. On two or three occasions over the years, Sloan had seen him removing medicine from a locked drug cabinet. She could only guess at the myriad of sedatives, painkillers, and muscle relaxers that were kept on hand for Max’s use. But they could just as easily be given to her if she raised any objection to being kept there—or worse, confronted Max with what she knew.
Then Sloan remembered the document she had signed making Jake the beneficiary of her estate. Among the provisions was one that dealt with her death. If it occurred before Jake reached his majority, Sloan had designated Max Rutledge as Jake’s legal guardian.
Fear was a cold hand clutching at her throat. Sloan realized that she didn’t dare call Trey and warn him of Max’s plan. It would be just like Trey to come charging to her rescue, and the consequences of that could be disastrous—for all of them.
Her only chance was to find a legitimate reason to leave the ranch with Jake. It had to be something Max would easily accept, or he’d realize that she knew she and Jake were in actuality his prisoners. She had to come up with something that Max would regard as an innocent whim, easily indulged.
And she had to come up with it quickly. Sloan wasn’t sure how long she could maintain this charade of ignorance.
Jake’s head moved in her hand as his mouth searched to find his fist. Everything inside her softened at the sight of his baby-smooth skin and perfect little nose.
In the blink of an eye, the solution presented itself to her. The soft laugh that slipped from her lips was part relief and part jubilance.
“You and Mommy need our picture taken together, don’t we,” Sloan murmured. “An official portrait.”
Coming up with a logical purpose for leaving the ranch was only the first hurdle. Knowing Max, he would insist someone accompany them, probably more than one person, which presented a second obstacle. If she managed to elude them, she would have to find a safe place to stay until she could get word to Trey. And it had to be a place where Max wouldn’t expect her to go.
Confident that these were simple details that could be worked out, Sloan was quick to present her idea to Max when she joined him in the den before dinner. His response was exactly what she had anticipated.
“A picture of mother and child. What a wonderful idea,” he declared. “Tomorrow I’ll have my secretary contact a photographer and arrange to have him come here and take it.”
“Dear Uncle Max.” Sloan smiled in a show of amusement. “It’s obvious you don’t know much about photography.”
“Why?” The startled look he gave her had an element of doubt. Where photography was concerned, he accepted that she knew more than he did.
“Because I’m talking about a professional portrait, the kind that’s done in the controlled atmosphere of a studio. Not an impromptu setup with a few lights strategically placed.” Keeping the right note of lightness in her voice was difficult, but she knew she didn’t dare sound argumentative.
“I see.” He paused, running a subtly assessing glance over her. “I hate to say this, Sloan, but this isn’t a good time for you to be going anywhere, especially with the baby. Perhaps later—”
“But it has to be now.” Her objection was too forceful. Recognizing it, Sloan hurried to regroup. “If Mr. Haynes can’t get the hearing postponed, we’ll have to go to Montana next week. If anything happened there—” Seeing another opening, she broke off the sentence. “That’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it? That Trey has someone watching the ranch.”
“I would be surprised if he doesn’t have the Slash R under surveillance,” Max agreed.
“Couldn’t two of the guards go with me? I’d be safe then, wouldn’t I?”
“I would think so,” he began.
Sloan never gave him a chance to say more as she crossed to his chair, careful not to gush too much. “Thank you, Uncle Max.” She brushed his cheek with a kiss. “This means so much to me. I knew you’d find a way to make it happen.”
His smile was a little tight, providing the only outward indication of his displeasure. “I’ll have my secretary set something up for you with a photographer.”
Leaving the arrangements for the session in his hands was something Sloan couldn’t allow. It would be all too easy for him to manufacture reasons to postpone it.
“If y
ou don’t mind, Uncle Max, I’d rather call myself. I’m sure your secretary is very competent, but I’d want to verify the kind of film and equipment he uses, his developing process—things that wouldn’t mean anything to your secretary.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Max conceded grimly. “Before you set a firm time, check with me in case there are any difficulties getting an extra security detachment to accompany you.”
On that point Sloan was forced to agree. “Of course.”
By noon the following day, she had settled on the studio that best suited her needs. Setting a photo shoot for the next morning required a good bit of cajoling, but she succeeded in the end. However, she didn’t pass the information on to Max until she had chatted with the head of ranch security.
Satisfied that she had all bases covered to this point, Sloan placed the call to Max. After providing him with the studio’s address and phone number, she told him, “As luck would have it, he had a cancellation for tomorrow at ten. And I spoke to the man in charge of security—Grazanski, I think his name is. I mentioned what I wanted to do, and he said it would be no problem at all. I guess the company has extra guards available who can accompany me to the photo session. Isn’t that good news? I know you were concerned about it. Frankly, so was I.”
She held her breath, half afraid Max would come up with some objection. Instead he asked, “How long will this take?”
“He had two hours blocked off for the client who cancelled, although I don’t think it should take much over an hour. I imagine it depends how cooperative Jake is.”
“In that case, I’ll confirm the arrangements with security so you can have that portrait taken with your son. I have a meeting to attend, so we’ll talk this evening.”
If anything, her tension increased when she hung up. Everything was going almost too smoothly. And that scared her. If anything went wrong this time, Sloan doubted that she would ever have another chance.
“Dressed to kill” was the phrase that kept running through her mind when Sloan studied her reflection in the mirror the next morning. Her hair was coiled in a sophisticated style atop her head, matching the tone set by a double strand of pearls around her neck. Her face felt stiff under all the makeup she wore, but the overall effect of someone smart and chic was exactly the look she had sought to achieve.