by Janet Dailey
“Evidently, although we couldn’t get any information from her butler. Her chauffeur, however, told us that he’d just taken his employer back to her plane, along with a young woman and a baby. According to him, they were flying to Tara Calder’s summer home in Montana, but he couldn’t give me the name of any town.”
“It doesn’t matter. I know where it is,” Max replied and calculated his chances of reaching the private airstrip next to Tara’s luxurious stone cabin.
“Do you want me—”
“I need to know how long ago her plane took off—and I need to know it now. Get on it, and quick,” he ordered and hung up.
No one had to tell Rutledge that he had only a slim chance of intercepting Sloan before she made it to the Calders. But as long as he had a chance, he had to take it. With any luck, he could convince Sloan that she misunderstood the phone conversation she had obviously overheard. If not, there were other means he could employ to bring Sloan and the baby back to Texas with him.
But first he had to get there.
With the decision made, Max issued instructions to his assistant to notify the crew he was on his way to the building’s rooftop helipad. After that, Edwards was to call the airfield and order his fastest jet to be waiting for him when he arrived. Any call from the security agent was to be patched through to him as soon as it came in.
The helicopter was a few feet from touchdown at the airfield when the phone call was relayed to him. The news couldn’t have been better. Tara’s plane had taken off roughly nine minutes earlier, after encountering some minor mechanical delays.
Sloan sat in a plushly upholstered seat across the aisle from Tara, doing her best to hush the fussing infant in her arms. Tara threw an irritated look at the pair. “What is that baby crying about now?” she said with impatience. “Don’t tell me he needs his diaper changed again.”
“His ears are probably hurting from the change in cabin pressure. I should have remembered that and had his bottle ready for him,” Sloan answered while she rummaged through the bag on the adjoining seat.
“Good heavens, give it to him, then,” Tara snapped in ill temper.
“It needs to be warmed first.” Locating the bottle, Sloan removed it from the bag, sounding as cranky and harried as Tara.
Tara motioned to the attendant. “Kurt—Dan—Whatever your name is—heat that bottle for the baby,” she ordered. “And bring me some aspirin.”
While the bottle was being heated, the attendant returned with the aspirin. Tara washed down three tablets with some water and leaned back in her seat. Eyes closed, she tried desperately to shut out the baby’s strident cries and silently congratulated herself for never having one of those smelly, squally infants of her own. Motherhood was something Tara regarded as vastly overrated.
At long last the baby’s cries diminished to an occasional whimper, bringing a semblance of quiet to the cabin. Confident that she would now no longer have to compete with the bawling child for Sloan’s attention, Tara sat up.
“Tell me the whole story,” she commanded. “Everything that happened. Don’t leave out any details.”
“All right,” Sloan agreed, then paused to organize her thoughts before relating the events that had culminated in her arrival at Tara’s Fort Worth mansion.
When she finished, Tara questioned her about the telephone conversation Sloan had overheard. To Tara’s annoyance, Sloan focused on one aspect of it.
“I felt like such a fool when I realized Trey had been telling me the truth all along—he wasn’t seeing another woman,” Sloan recalled. “All those phone calls seemed so damning, but how easy they were for Max to arrange! And that redhead with the diamond bracelet—Trey never gave it to her. It was something I just assumed. Max probably set that up, too.”
“Let’s go back to the drugs,” Tara insisted. “Max has someone who intends to plant drugs on Trey. You don’t know who, do you? Max didn’t mention any names.”
“No. I don’t even know if he was talking to a man or a woman. It could be that redhead at The Oasis—or possibly the man who owns it. I think his name is Donovan.”
“Maybe I was wrong,” Tara murmured absently.
“About what?” Sloan eyed her curiously.
“About calling Trey,” Tara replied. “That conversation took place when? Two days ago?”
“Almost two days.”
“Then that plan has already been put into motion.” Reaching down, Tara unfastened her seat belt and crossed to a swivel chair anchored next to an executive-style writing table, complete with a telephone. “I think I’d better call Trey and warn him about it—before he’s lured into the trap.”
“Let me talk to him,” Sloan said quickly.
“It will be better if I explain the situation first,” Tara insisted and took her seat, then picked up the phone. After two abortive attempts to place the call, she summoned the cabin attendant. “Why isn’t this phone working?”
“It’s probably part of that electrical malfunction they were trying to fix before we left,” he replied.
“We brought a mechanic along. Tell him to fix it. I need to make a call.”
“Sorry, ma’am, but I don’t think it’s something he can do while we’re in the air.
Annoyed, Tara dismissed him “That’ll be all.”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?” Sloan asked when Tara returned to her aisle seat.
“I never carry one. I always found them to be more of a nuisance than a convenience,” Tara stated. “We’re less than two hours away. We’ll wait and explain everything to him when we get there. There should be sandwiches and salads on board. Would you like anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“I’m sure you’re much too anxious to eat anything,” Tara guessed.
Sloan neither confirmed or denied it. Instead, she stood up and stepped over to Tara’s seat. “Would you hold Jake a minute? I need to use the restroom.”
Taking her agreement for granted, Sloan placed the baby in her arms. Tara opened her mouth to protest, but Sloan was already moving away. Looking down at the sleeping infant, Tara recoiled a little, half-expecting it would start shrieking any second. But the tiny thing continued to sleep. She eyed it warily, holding herself stiffly.
A little fist emerged from the blanket folds, wagged a couple times, then settled against his chest. Watching it, Tara gradually noticed the baby’s fingernails, exact in every detail yet so diminutive. Tentatively, she touched one and discovered the softness of his skin.
The baby sighed in his sleep. Unconsciously, Tara smiled at the little bubble that formed between his lips. The longer she looked at him, the more fascinated she became with this miniature version of a person. Gently, so as not to disturb his sleep, she smoothed her fingers over the mass of dark, nearly black hair.
“Your granddaddy’s hair was this very same color,” she murmured. “I wish he was here to see what a precious little boy you are.”
When Sloan returned only moments later, Tara was surprised by her own reluctance to surrender the baby into his mother’s care. Her arms felt oddly empty without the infant’s slight weight on them. It wasn’t something Tara could explain, not even to herself. Yet she felt a trace of longing when she saw Sloan cuddling the infant close. Deliberately, she turned and stared out the cabin window at the passing clouds.
Trey walked the feed salesman to the door of the ranch office and saw him out. Yet he couldn’t remember a single word they had exchanged when he turned from it. Trey couldn’t shake off the image of Sloan on some private jet, bound for a foreign country, taking his son with her.
“Trey.” The familiar sound of his mother’s secretary, Donna Vernon, reached out to claim his attention. “I just put a call through to Jessy from Ed Walters. She wants you to join her.”
“Thanks.” His stride instantly lengthened to carry him to his mother’s office. Laredo was lounging on a desk corner when Trey walked in. Glancing up, Jessy said, “Trey’s here, Ed. Go ahead and
tell us what you’ve learned so far.”
“First off, we confirmed that Rutledge left Fort Worth on one of his jets.” The male voice came from the speaker phone. “According to the ground crew, he had no passengers with him and definitely no women. So I think you can put that concern aside for now. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you much about what’s going on at the Slash R. We were able to zero in on the frequency Rutledge’s security guards are using. As Quint suggested, they seemed to be watching for someone, but no names were used, just code words, which is typical. Then, about twenty or thirty minutes ago, it all came to a stop, and the order was given for everybody to return to their assigned posts.”
“That’s it?” Trey frowned in surprise. “No explanation? Just the order?”
“There was only one remark made along those lines. Maybe it’s something, and maybe it’s nothing, but one of the guards was heard to ask, ‘Where was she found?’”
“She.” So they were looking for a woman, Trey realized. “What was he told?”
“That it was none of his damned business. All the chatter has been limited strictly to scheduled check-ins since then. We’ll keep digging for more information on this,” the investigator assured them. “In the meantime, we have all of Rutledge’s planes under observation. I thought by now I’d be able to give you Rutledge’s destination, but we haven’t obtained it yet. I’ll call you when we do.”
“What kind of surveillance do you have in place at Rutledge’s ranch?” Laredo asked.
“Just a video camera, and I’m not sure how useful that is,” Ed Walters admitted. “Too many of the vehicles going in and out have tinted windows, which makes it almost impossible to see who’s inside. Since there appears to be a chance your wife might take the child and leave the country, we’ll have to come up with a better way to monitor who comes and who goes. Short of following every vehicle that leaves, I’m not sure what that will be yet, but I’m on it.”
“Thanks, Ed,” Jessy said. “Keep in touch.”
“You’ll be the first to know anything I do,” he promised and hung up.
A heavy silence followed, weighted by all the questions that remained unanswered. Pushed by the edgy impatience swirling through him, Trey swung away from the desk and headed for the door. “I can’t wait around here all day for the phone to ring.”
“Stay right here at headquarters. And make sure your cell phone’s on.” Jessy told him
“I will.” The grudging agreement was issued as he walked out the door. Laredo stared after him a moment, then glanced at Jessy, one eyebrow lifting. “If there was ever anyone who needed to chop some wood, it’s Trey.”
“I know,” Jessy said and sighed. The sound had the same troubled edge to it that was in her son’s eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The sleek executive jet streaked above a scattering of clouds, its heading set on a northerly course. Inside the gleaming chrome-and wood-adorned cabin, Max occupied his time by reviewing a raft of monthly reports, dictating correspondence, and placing a few phone calls. Yet his thoughts never strayed far from the race he was in.
Somewhere behind him stood the Colorado Rockies, and twenty-odd thousand feet below him the broken plains of Wyoming. Just ahead was Montana. With each mile, his tension grew. Defeat was something Max refused to acknowledge, even now, when time and distance were against him. His plan was too perfect; he wasn’t about to abandon it until all hope of success ran out.
In front of him, the cockpit door swung open and the shirtsleeved copilot stepped through and made eye contact with Rutledge.
“Sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Rutledge.” A bob of his head accompanied the apology.
Immediately sensing the man had something of importance to tell him, Max stiffened, bracing himself for bad news. “What is it?” he said brusquely.
“We copied a transmission from the aircraft with the call letters you gave us. The pilot advised Air Traffic Control that he was experiencing electrical problems and intended to land at an airstrip adjacent to an abandoned open-pit mine about a mile south of Blue Moon.”
Alarm raced through Max. “They’re making an emergency landing?” Images flashed through his mind of the plane crashing and bursting into flames, killing everyone on board and eliminating his chance of seizing control of the Calder empire through the child.
The copilot shook his head. “He never declared an emergency, sir. It seemed to be a precautionary measure. The pilot did say he had a registered mechanic on board. I got the impression he didn’t want to risk an electrical problem escalating into a crisis. That can happen in these high-tech birds.”
Max smiled at the unexpected opportunity that had just been given him. “How far ahead are they?”
“Roughly fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“We’ll land at the same airstrip and offer our assistance to their passengers.” A smug calm settled over him.
“Yes sir.”
Turning, the copilot headed back to the cockpit. Max waited until the door closed behind the man, then picked up the phone and placed a call.
After the fourth ring, Donovan’s voice spoke in his ear. “What do you need?”
“You,” Max replied. “A plane is about to land at Dy-Corp’s old runway. Sloan’s onboard with the baby—”
“Sloan?! What’s she doing coming back here now?”
“That’s not something you need to know,” Max retorted. “Your job is to get down there and make sure she doesn’t connect with Calders before I arrive.”
“You’re on your way here? To Montana?” Donovan repeated in a stunned voice.
“Isn’t that what I just said?” Rutledge snapped in impatience. “I should be there in fifteen minutes. And don’t let Sloan see you. I don’t want her raising any alarm that might bring a lot of unwanted witnesses.”
“I’ll take care of it. Just a sec.” There was a slight pause. “I think I hear a plane.”
“Then get moving.”
The cabin attendant was the first to come down the airplane’s steps, Sloan’s bag slung over his shoulder. At the bottom, he turned and offered an assisting hand to Tara. Sloan followed, carrying Jake in her arms, a corner of his blanket covering his face. A gust of wind flipped it off, exposing him to the sun’s full glare.
“Hand the baby to me.” Tara reached to take him when Sloan paused to cover his face.
“I can manage,” Sloan assured her and descended the last few steps.
Shielding her own eyes from the sun and blowing dust, Tara looked around, making no attempt to disguise her irritation. “It was absolute nonsense to land here when we were so close to the ranch.”
It was a protest she had voiced numerous times since being informed of the pilot’s decision, often enough that neither the cabin attendant nor Sloan bothered to comment on her complaint. Instead the attendant gestured in the direction of an open metal hangar a short distance away. “You can get shelter from the wind and dust over here.”
“I am not about to wait around in a drafty old hangar while the repairs are being made,” Tara informed him and opened her slim black handbag.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Calder,” he began with tested patience, “but as I explained, it’s going to get too stuffy on the plane with all the onboard systems shut down.”
“Fine. But I am not waiting in that hangar when there is a perfectly good office building over there. As I recall, when I stopped here last spring, there was still an old chair in the lobby. We’ll wait there.” She unzipped a small compartment inside her purse.
“It’s bound to be locked, Mrs.—”
Tara held up a solid gold key. “Not a problem,” she replied. “I have a master to all the Dy-Corp properties. It was one of the last things my daddy gave me. I always carry it with me. Now, go fetch my sable in case it turns cooler.”
“And a cell phone, if anyone has one,” Sloan added.
“I have one in my flight bag,” the attendant told her and ran lightly up the steps into the cabin
.
“Let’s get the baby inside.” Tara’s hand urged Sloan toward the single-story building with dust-caked windowpanes “It’ll be a bit dusty in there, but it’s better than standing out here.”
A double set of locks was on the front door. Tara had no difficulty opening either of them. The hinges creaked from disuse when she pulled the door open and held it for Sloan.
Her footsteps echoed through the building, adding to its empty feel when Sloan entered. The sun’s hot rays had invaded the small lobby area and removed any lingering chill from the air.
Along one wall sat a vinyl-covered settee with a chair angled toward it, its upholstery ripped along the backrest and on the seat. The only other item of furniture was a low table with one leg partially collapsed under it, canting its surface at a drunken angle.
Completing a critical survey of the area, Tara released a dramatic sigh. “I should have told Daniel, or Kirk, whatever his name is, to bring something to dust off this furniture.”
“I have something in my bag we can use,” Sloan replied.
“It’s a pity you weren’t here when the mine was in operation,” Tara declared and launched into a lengthy narrative about the tonnage it produced, the people it employed, and the many benefits it brought to Blue Moon.
Sloan barely listened as she wandered about the small space, nerves on edge with the anticipation of her coming meeting with Trey, trying to guess what he would say and what she should answer.
“What is keeping him?” Tara’s forceful demand was riddled with exasperation. “How long does it take to fetch one coat and a cell phone?”
“Longer than we thought, obviously,” Sloan murmured. “Or maybe it just seems long.”
“It’s been a good five minutes at least.” Impatient, Tara crossed to the door and pushed it open, then paused, her stiff posture relaxing a little. “Here he comes now.” She stayed at the door, holding it open for the young attendant loping toward the building.