Rachel felt a kinship to Moses as she walked into work the next morning. The sea of colleagues parted as she walked by, some ducked their heads and spoke to each other, some shifted their eyes away. When she made it to her desk, she’d felt the daggers from every angle of the building.
“Nice tan!” Julie hovered over her, extending a hand holding a cup of coffee.
“Thank God for coffee.”
Julie sat, wheeled her chair close. “You know everyone is talking.”
They weren’t within earshot of anyone, but they still kept their voices low.
“It isn’t what everyone is thinking.”
“Oh?”
“It’s different, Julie.”
Julie looked unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”
“It is!”
Julie slid her sleek black hair behind an ear. “We’re friends, right?”
“I like to think so.”
She glanced up, determined she could say more, and did. “What would you say to me if I told you I was sleeping with Gerald?”
“I’d remind you he’s married.”
“And if he wasn’t?”
“That he’s too old for you.”
Julie swatted her arm. “And if he wasn’t?”
Rachel didn’t like the advice swimming in her head.
“You’d remind me he was my boss!” came Julie’s horse whisper.
“I know . . . I know. But it isn’t like that. I assure you.”
Julie shook her head. “What is the company name on your check?”
“I know.” And she did.
“You might know, but you’ve forgotten. Be careful, Rachel.”
And Julie swiveled back to her cube and clicked away on her computer.
Then her voice interrupted Rachel’s self-argument. “So how was Costa Rica?”
“Spectacular. Once the investigation was over.”
Julie moaned. “I hate you a little right now.”
Rachel smiled, knowing they’d be just fine.
She attempted to stay at her desk most of the morning, but nature called, and she needed to stretch her legs. Silence followed her everywhere, and after ten minutes, she walked back to her desk.
Beside it, Gerald stood with two of New York’s finest and a woman she’d never seen before.
“Here she is now.”
Everyone turned to stare in Rachel’s direction. “What’s going on?”
“This is Ms. Brenner from the Department of Children and Families.”
Rachel’s heart plunged. “Is Owen okay?” She searched the faces of the police officers and didn’t see pity.
“Owen is fine,” Ms. Brenner told her.
As soon as the feeling of dread left, one of anxiety took over. “So what’s this about?”
Ms. Brenner wasn’t a lot older than Rachel, much shorter and wider, without a bit of kindness in her face. She stepped back, and the officers stepped forward.
“We’d like to have a talk with you, Miss Price.”
Rachel stepped back. “About what?”
“You took Owen Moreau out of the country, is that right?” Ms. Brenner asked.
“Yes. We just returned last night, why?”
“You’ve been specifically ordered not to take Owen out of the country or the immediate area of your residence and employment. Violation of that order could result in kidnapping charges, fines, and possible imprisonment,” Ms. Brenner said.
Air left her lungs. “What are you talking about? What order?”
“Do you really want to do this here, Miss Price?”
Rachel followed the gaze of Ms. Brenner to find a dozen coworkers watching.
She swiveled back to her accuser. “I have legal guardianship over Owen.”
The taller of the two police officers stepped forward. “Why don’t we talk about this at the station.”
Rachel was seeing stars. “Am I being arrested?”
“Kidnapping is a felony,” Ms. Brenner announced, louder than she needed to.
“I didn’t kidnap Owen!”
“Let’s talk at the station.”
Rachel stepped back again. “And if I refuse?”
The officer placed a hand on her shoulder.
She glanced at his badge. Officer Paton. “We’re not asking, Miss Price.”
This isn’t happening.
He turned her around, the other officer flanked her other side, and they started down the corridor that had parted a path for her only a few hours before.
Before they reached the elevator, Jason and Glen ran toward them, putting the police officers on guard.
“What the hell is going on here?”
Rachel wanted to run to him, let him make this all go away. “They’re saying I kidnapped Owen.”
“What the fu—”
“Sir, you’re going to have to stand back.”
“Rachel didn’t kidnap her own kid.”
“Owen is not Miss Price’s biological child.”
Jason turned his glare on Ms. Brenner. “Who are you?”
The officers nudged Rachel into the elevator when it opened.
Jason started toward her again, Glen held him back. “I’ll be there with an attorney,” he told her as her eyes swelled with unshed tears. “Don’t say a thing.”
Once they were alone in the elevator, Officer Paton read her her rights.
Rachel sat in a room she’d only seen in the movies. A large, dark window screamed a single view from the opposite side, cameras pointed at her, and a heavy door kept her inside. The only saving grace was that she had yet to be fingerprinted or placed in handcuffs.
The police officers informed her that they would be forced to restrain her if she didn’t cooperate.
So many raw emotions coursed through her minute by minute. Disbelief came first, then crashing concern for Owen. Where was he? Was he okay? This had the Colemans written all over it. She wasn’t even given the chance to retrieve her purse and cell phone before they pulled her out of the office. Calling home to see if Owen was there wasn’t possible.
Taking Jason’s advice, she waited in the interrogation room while the social worker questioned her repeatedly. The only thing Rachel offered was the honest truth.
“I have not seen any paperwork from the court, any court, telling me I have restrictions on where I can take Owen. This is all a misunderstanding.”
“The Colemans believe you’re a flight risk, which mandates the court stop you from traveling more than a hundred miles until the matter can be solved.”
Rachel glared at the social worker while talking with the investigating officer. His name, she’d already forgotten. “Which I would have followed had I been told.”
“You were informed,” Ms. Brenner said from the corner of the room.
“Where is Owen?” Rachel asked.
“He’s safe.”
Rachel clutched her hands into tiny fists and kept them hidden in her lap.
“Why did you take Owen to Costa Rica?”
They were trying to catch her on something they could use against her. That was the point behind being told her Miranda rights. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.
“I’d like to speak to a lawyer.”
The investigator sucked in a deep breath.
“It’s a simple question, Miss Price,” Ms. Brenner said.
“I have the right to an attorney, Ms. Brenner.” Being bullied by a social worker was not something Rachel was going to stand for.
“You took Owen out of the country to hide him from his father, knowing he will gain custody.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. “I thought social workers were neutral parties that didn’t take sides.”
“Owen is my priority.”
Rachel lifted from her seat. “No. Owen is my priority!”
The officer stood, placed a hand in the air. “Ladies!” He turned to the social worker. “Miss Price has requested a lawyer, we will continue this when she’s obtained one.”
Once Ms. Brenner left the room, Rachel lowered her head to the table.
Alone in the room, adrenaline oozed from her system and left her in tears.
When the door opened again, the investigator entered, this time with a woman in uniform. “We’re moving you into holding.”
“Am I being charged?” Rachel asked.
“Not yet,” the woman told her.
Rachel knew enough to understand that was a good thing.
She was led to a phone, where she made her call. Unfortunately, she hadn’t memorized Jason’s number and she’d been told not to contact Owen. That left her with work. The direct line to Gerald’s office went unanswered, so she tried Julie.
“Julie.”
“Holy shit. What is going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you in jail?”
“I have one call, Julie. I don’t have Jason’s cell memorized. Can you get ahold of him?”
“Everyone left here the second they took you away.”
“Talk to his secretary. I need a lawyer.”
“I think that’s what he was screaming about. The legal team here is scrambling.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Rachel voiced her thoughts, looked around. “I’ve been told not to get ahold of Owen. I need to know he’s okay.”
“What’s his number?”
Rachel gave it to her. And then questioned if that was the right thing to do. “He needs to know I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
No! “I’m fine.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“Tell him I’m fine. This is all a huge misunderstanding that we will get worked out soon.”
“I will. Be careful in there.”
“Like I have a choice.”
A holding cell in the heart of New York was not where Rachel thought she’d be when she woke up that morning. For a Tuesday, the place was surprisingly packed. It wasn’t like it was the middle of the night or a weekend. The small cell closed behind her with a resounding click.
Two bone-thin women at the opposite end of the cell both eyed her up and down. Neither of them looked older than thirty, but both wore clothes much too skimpy for winter with worn-out high heel shoes.
“Miss Fancy Pants,” someone cackled.
“I bet you ain’t never been in here before.” The woman who spoke looked homeless.
Rachel looked around for a place to sit and decided standing was a better idea.
“What’s a matter, honey? Ain’t got nothin’ to say?”
Talk about being tossed into a den of snakes. “I’m having a shit day,” Rachel said to anyone listening.
Several women burst out laughing. “Ain’t we all, honey . . . ain’t we all!”
“Let me guess,” one of the skinny, worn women in the back said. “It’s all a misunderstanding and you ain’t guilty.”
That brought laughter a second time.
Telling this crowd she was guilty of taking Owen to Costa Rica for a week probably wouldn’t earn her any respect.
Instead of saying anything back, Rachel leaned against the bars of the holding cell and prayed Jason would arrive soon.
Chapter Twenty
This was a first.
Jason’s experience with the legal system was only on the level of corporate paper pushing and covering one’s ass. As his attorneys quickly informed him, they weren’t proficient at criminal representation but had a handful of high profile attorneys who would jump.
Clive Redshaw walked alongside Jason’s attorney up the steps of the police station.
After introductions were out of the way, Clive jumped right into his questions.
“I have no idea what they could possibly be holding her on. We went to Costa Rica following the downing of one of my planes. She took Owen since I needed her with me.”
“Owen is the child she has legal guardianship over.”
“He is fifteen, but yes.”
“That’s all you know?”
Jason hesitated. “I know Owen’s grandparents have been rattling on about Owen staying with them.”
“Where are the parents?”
“Mom is dead. Dad hasn’t been in the picture.”
Clive looked him straight in the eye. “Anything else?”
“I have nothing.”
“All right, then. I need to talk with the investigating officer and then Rachel.”
“Can I see her?”
“Not yet. Hold on.” Clive smiled and walked away.
Jason’s phone rang and Owen’s face lit up his screen.
He tried his calm voice when he answered. “Hey, buddy.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Owen’s shaky voice brought all of Jason’s nerves on edge.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I’m not okay. I was home, sleeping, when the police pounded on the door.”
“Take a deep breath.”
“Rachel isn’t answering my calls or my texts.”
Jason looked up at the facade of the police station, and then to his lawyer, who was watching him.
“She can’t talk to you right now.”
“They told me I have to go to my grandparents’ house. I’m not going. I need to talk to Rachel.”
“Owen, calm down.”
“I’m not going to the hag’s house,” he yelled.
“Is there someone there now?”
“Some social worker and a cop.”
“Let me talk to them.”
He heard a few more colorful expletives from Owen’s lips before an unfamiliar voice got on the phone.
“Mr. Fairchild?”
“That’s right, who is this?”
“My name is Benjamin White, I’m with child services. I’ve been called in to relocate Owen to his grandparents’ home until this matter is resolved.”
Jason’s back teeth hurt with the pressure he was placing upon them. “And how is that working for you, Mr. White?”
“Seems Owen is refusing.”
“You would, too, if you didn’t trust your grandparents.”
“Well, we can’t leave him here unattended. He is a minor.”
“He is fifteen. That’s hardly a child.”
“Regardless, we need to place him in the care of a home until we can determine custody.”
“A home? I have a home, he can stay with me.”
“I doubt that is an option in this situation, Mr. Fairchild. Our understanding is that you’ve been named as a possible accomplice in taking Owen out of the country after an order was given to keep him here.”
The desire to reach through the phone and grab a neck gripped him hard.
“Then what are our options, Mr. White?”
“We will need to take Owen to a temporary foster care home until a more permanent solution can be found.”
Something told Jason that wouldn’t fly for long either.
“Fine. Let me talk to him.”
Owen exploded the minute he was back on the phone. “Fuck foster care.”
“Whoa, calm down.”
“Jason?”
“Close your mouth and listen to me, okay?”
A long-drawn-out breath pulled Jason into the phone.
“Rachel and I need you to stay calm.”
“Where is she?”
Owen already knew the answer; Jason could hear it in his voice.
“The authorities are questioning her.”
Owen hissed. “In jail?”
“Questioning her, Owen. Nothing I can’t handle. Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay calm. I have my phone on me. You have Nathan’s number if I don’t answer. Let them take you to the foster care house.”
“Jason—”
“It’s temporary, Owen. I promise you.”
“Why can’t I just stay here?” Owen’s voice started to break. Having the kid cussing mad was a hell of a lot easier than hearing him cry.
“We w
ill figure this out.”
“I hate them.”
Who them was didn’t need to be explained.
Clive Redshaw was in his late forties; his suit mirrored the type Jason wore. There wasn’t a hair out of place on his head and his smile looked fake.
“Attorney-client privilege plainly means that you can tell me anything and I cannot reveal this conversation to a judge or the police . . . anyone.”
“Is that your way of asking if I kidnapped Owen?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Did you?”
“No!”
“Great, now that we have that out of the way, let’s get started.”
He removed a large legal pad from his briefcase and looked through his notes. “The charges they are racking up right now have little legal footing until they can determine if you were given proper notice of the Colemans’ intent to obtain custody of Owen. Did you receive a certified letter from the child custody courts?”
“No. Not since Emily died and California granted me guardianship over Owen.”
“Nothing in New York or Connecticut?”
“Nothing. Certified means I would have had to sign for it, right?”
“Exactly.”
“I would have remembered signing for a court hearing. Do we know when they sent it?” she asked.
“I was told after Christmas. It’s recorded as received, which is why you’re here. I’m waiting on a clerk at the county office to pull the tracking and see the signature.”
“How long is that going to take?”
He didn’t look hopeful. “It’s the county. They don’t move fast.”
“They can’t prove I received something I didn’t. So once that is determined, this all goes away, right?”
“Maybe.”
Rachel glared.
“You took Owen out of the country.”
“I have legal guardianship.”
“You have the means to take him out again.”
“It’s not my plane,” she argued.
“It’s your boyfriend’s. So the answer is yes. The court will look at you and Owen as a flight risk and ground you until custody is determined. And they won’t likely allow you guardianship until that is figured out.”
“I thought I had to be deemed unfit and that Owen’s life and well-being are in danger in order for anyone to take Owen away.”
Clive thumbed through a few papers, pulled out one, and started to read from it.
Not Quite Crazy Page 22