Racing Against Time

by Marie Ferrarella

  Busy. Daddy said he was in a hurry this morning. And he’d left fast. “My daddy always has time for me,” she declared, but she wasn’t so sure anymore.

  He raised his eyes to look at the small face in the rearview mirror. She was petulant. He was gaining, he thought, satisfied with himself. “He didn’t even kiss you goodbye this morning, did he?”

  It hadn’t been a difficult matter for him to break into the house yesterday, when the housekeeper had gone to pick the little girl up, and plant two cameras in the house, one in the living room, one in the kitchen. Child’s play for a man of his talents, really. And he had seen everything.

  The judge should have let him make restitution. Should have let him slide. Winked and looked the other way as a deal was struck. Not stripped him of everything. Not stolen his life.

  Rachel’s mouth fell open, and she stared at the back of the man’s head. “How did you know that?”

  A smile slid over his lips. He turned to look at the little girl in the back seat. There was no traffic here, no other cars at all. They were in the country now. And entirely on his terms.

  “Easy. I’m an angel.” Alice always liked angels. Had insisted on having them all over her room. On the wallpaper; scattered throughout her room. There’d been stuffed cherubs lining her shelves. She even wore one around her neck on a chain. He’d always called her his special angel. “Angels know everything.”

  Rachel bunched up her face, glaring at him contemptuously. “You’re lying,” she accused righteously. “You’re not an angel. Angels don’t drive cars.”

  He saw no reason to argue over this. She was too smart to be taken in. Probably didn’t believe in Santa Claus, either. Good, that made things easier.

  “No, you’re right,” he agreed, turning around again. “I’m not an angel. But I am your new daddy. So you’d better get used to the idea.”

  He flipped on the radio after fumbling with the controls for a moment.

  Rachel screwed her eyes shut again. But this time as her lower lip quivered, a tear leaked out from beneath her lashes.

  Brent paced back and forth in his den, his cordless phone against his ear. He was too upset, too restless to even attempt to sit down. “That’s right, Carmella,” he told the secretary on the other end of the connection, “a leave of absence. I’m taking a leave of absence.”

  “But, Judge, your calendar’s full.” The rustle of pages could be heard, mingling with the young woman’s protest. He knew his schedule was never far from her reach.

  Brent could hear how flabbergasted she was. Since they’d begun working together, he hadn’t taken more than a few days off, all one at a time, weaving his life around his career the best way possible.

  But this was different. This took precedence over everything else.

  “Yes, I know, but it can’t be helped.” He rubbed his forehead, trying to think. The headache was getting the better of him, knocking thoughts into the background. “Judge Holstein always said he would cover for me if I needed it.” It was time to call in favors. “And there’s Judge Reynolds and Judge Wojohowitz. They can be counted on to pick up some of the slack.”

  Carmella sighed into his ear. He knew what she was thinking. Rescheduling the docket was going to be a severe challenge. She was good, but she wasn’t a miracle worker. But that was exactly what he was in the market for right now, a miracle worker.

  He wondered just how closely Callie Cavanaugh fit that description.

  There was more shuffling of pages as she asked, “How long is this leave for?”

  He couldn’t tell her that it was open-ended. For one thing, her protest would be heated, for another, that meant admitting to himself that his daughter wasn’t going to be found by the end of the day.

  Or two.

  For once in his life Brent forced himself to be and sound optimistic.

  “A week.” He paused, and then, because he was what he was and optimism came at a high premium, he added, “And after that we’ll see.”

  There was another pause on the line. Carmella was having trouble comprehending, he thought. A few days was reasonable, a week was stretching it. Since this was unexpected, fathoming anything else was close to impossible.

  “Judge—”

  He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to remain on the line with her anymore, even though Carmella Petrocelli was one of the most pleasant people he’d ever met and competent on top of that. The woman was dependability itself. He didn’t want her asking questions. Carmella was one of those people who cared, and he couldn’t handle that right now. It would make him break down.

  “Do what you can, Carmella.”

  Like the small terrier she had as a pet, Carmella hung on. “Judge, does this have to do with that police detective this morning? Is anything wrong?”

  Natural instincts had him wanting to say no, that everything was fine, but the news would be out soon enough. He tried to convince himself that this was for Rachel’s good. The more people who actually knew, the better. It was just that it was so hard for him to admit that he was not in control of a situation and this time, he was so out of control it scared the hell out of him.

  “My daughter’s—” What could he say? Missing? No, she was more than missing, she was stolen. No amount of denial was going to change that. He began again, his mouth dry, the words sticking to the roof like bits of white, dampened bread. “My daughter’s been kidnapped, Carmella.”

  “Oh, my God, Judge.” The receiver echoed with her concern. “I…I don’t know what to say. Is there anything I can do?”

  Yes, find my daughter. Show me the bastard who did this so I can kill him for ever touching my little girl.

  Brent had no idea how he managed it, after the admission he’d just made, but he kept his voice calm. “I’ll let you know.”

  “I’ll call the other judges right away,” the woman promised. “And please, let me know the moment there’s news. I’ll pray for her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Brent hung up. His secretary’s promise meant nothing to him. Prayer. What good was that? He couldn’t pray, couldn’t take solace in thinking a merciful God was listening. A merciful God wouldn’t have allowed Rachel to be taken in the first place. Wouldn’t have looked the other way while Delia’s life had been snuffed out like a candle.

  The study echoed an all pervasive silence.

  God, but he missed her. Unless it was late at night, even with the door to his study closed he could always hear Rachel. Her laughter would snake through the vents and find its way to him. He’d taken that for granted. It was one of those small joys of life that you didn’t realize was there until it no longer was.

  He couldn’t stay here, he decided abruptly. Couldn’t just mark time, waiting for the phone to ring, for some kind of word to trickle down to him. If he stayed here like this any longer, he was going to go crazy.

  Brent reached for the telephone again.

  Callie blew out a breath as she sank down at her desk. She was tired, but at least something had been accomplished. The nanny had checked out. If Delia Culhane had a life beyond taking care of the Montgomery child and house, it was better hidden than that of a double agent’s.

  The past few hours had been spent talking to the teachers at Rachel’s school, to Rachel’s pediatrician and to the woman who ran the ballet classes that Rachel attended twice a week without fail. Everyone had nothing but glowing words to say about the woman who, until this morning, had taken care of her. Delia Culhane had no vices, no bad habits, apparently no outside friends. Her only hobby seemed to be watching musicals. There was a full library of old MGM musicals, both videotapes and audio CDs in her room.

  Callie had one of the people on the task force get her a record of all out-going and in-coming calls from the Montgomery residence for the past three months. Every one checked out. Nothing unusual. A couple dozen calls to or from the courthouse, a few calls from what she surmised were Rachel’s friends and one call to the pediatrician.

/>   It didn’t appear that the judge had much of a social life, either, unless he conducted all his calls by cell phone. She was going to have to remember to get those records, as well.

  Callie frowned, making a notation to herself in her well-worn notepad.

  This pretty much did away with the nanny connection. Eliminating Delia meant that the woman’s death had been an accident. The nanny was probably killed trying to protect Rachel, possibly running after the vehicle when the driver had suddenly surprised Delia by turning the car around and aiming it at her.

  Which meant they were dealing with someone who was cold-blooded and calculating. And he had the little girl. The task force was getting a list of all the known pedophiles in the area and bringing them in for questioning, but she didn’t want to entertain that possibility, not yet. Despite herself and all her police training and background, Callie shivered.

  “It’s not cold in here.”

  She looked up and saw that Brent was approaching her desk. She’d only left him a few hours ago, but he’d become more gaunt, more haunted in that space of time. Not that either looked bad on him.

  His ex-wife was an idiot, giving him up. The thought came to her out of nowhere.

  Maybe it hadn’t been the woman’s choice, Callie thought.

  She closed her notepad, sticking it back into her right front pocket. “What are you doing here?”

  He’d seen her shiver and his thoughts had immediately flown to Rachel. Was that a reaction to something Callie had learned about his daughter? But she would have said something, he was certain. He’d heard that Callie was like her father, she didn’t go in for drama or playing things out for attention. She was honest. That meant not keeping things back.

  He held his hands in a gesture of servitude. “I’m here to help.”

  They’d already gone through this. She knew how he felt, but she couldn’t have him just hanging around, getting in the way. “You can do that by staying home by the telephone in case there’s a ransom call.”

  He didn’t want her treating him as if he was some kind of novice, as if he didn’t know how this went. They were both familiar with procedure. “It’s been almost seven hours since Delia was killed and Rachel went missing. Since Rachel was abducted,” he corrected. “There’s been no call. The kidnapper usually calls to start things moving once the discovery is made.”

  He was right, but there were always exceptions. “Maybe this one doesn’t have a handbook.” She rose from her desk, ready to gently prod the man toward the door. “The only pattern you can count on is that there is no pattern.”

  He looked at her, wondering if she was patronizing him or giving him her philosophy. “You don’t believe in profiling?”

  “I believe in the unpredictable, Your Honor.” Callie took his arm. The look he gave her was one of authority, meant to freeze her in her tracks. There was never any confusion who was in charge in his courtroom. But they weren’t in his courtroom. They were on her turf and she got to make the calls. “Now, if you don’t mind, Judge, I really have to get back to work.”

  With one precise gesture, Brent moved his elbow out of her range. He wasn’t about to be ushered out the door like some guest who had overstayed his welcome.

  “I have my sister and brother-in-law staying at the house just in case something falls through the cracks.” He held up his cell phone for her benefit. “All my calls are being rerouted to my cell.”

  They’d bugged the telephones in his house, but not this one. If the call was rerouted, they’d miss their opportunity to hopefully trace it back to its source. She reached for the cell.

  “We’ll have to put a device in your cell—”

  Her fingers brushed against his before he pulled the cell phone back and deposited it into his pocket. He had an ancestor who came from the old country, Brianne MacKenzie. Her village had thought of her as a witch. Legend had it they’d almost burned her at the stake before her future husband had whisked her away. She had what they called “The gift.” She was a seer. Touching someone at times allowed her to make a connection, to see into that person’s future or see something about them in a hazy flash.

  Something seemed to crackle between them as Callie’s fingers brushed against his, and he thought of his great-great-great-grandmother, wishing he had her abilities, just for a moment. So he could unlock doors closed to him.

  He was looking at her oddly, Callie thought, as if he was trying to discern something about her. Or maybe he was just lost in thought. She couldn’t blame him for being preoccupied.

  “Brent?”

  He shook himself free of the haze. “Already taken care of.” His hand curled around the outline of the cell phone in his pocket. “I asked the technician who bugged the phones at the house to do it before he left.”

  Well, one problem down, a million to go. “Thinking ahead.” She nodded her approval. A lot of people in this situation couldn’t think at all.

  His frown went down to the bone. “Not nearly fast enough.”

  Callie could read his mind. “It’s not your fault she was taken.”

  She was trying her best to be kind, he thought. But this wasn’t a time for kindness, it was a time for brutal honesty. If he were a bricklayer, his daughter would be home right now, trying to finish the simple homework the teacher had given the class so that she could sit and watch her favorite cartoons.

  “It is if it’s someone who’s trying to get back at me,” he replied grimly.

  He was right, and there wasn’t anything she could say to the contrary. Frustrated for him, Callie dragged her hand through the top of her hair.

  “All right, since you’re here, why don’t we get the rest of the questions out of the way?” She gestured toward the chair on the other side of her desk and sat down in her own.

  “Questions?” They weren’t going anywhere. After a beat, Brent sat down.

  Callie pulled out a pristine white legal pad and placed it in the center of her desk. She tried to make this sound as innocuous as possible. Was there such a thing as an innocuous interrogation? She didn’t think so. “About you, your relationship with your daughter, your ex-wife—”

  His dark eyebrows drew together over his almost-perfect nose. He’d already tried to call his ex to tell her, but in typical Jennifer fashion, she was unreachable. “Jennifer? What does Jennifer have to do with it?”

  “Maybe nothing, maybe everything.”

  A couple of people came into the squad room. This was all wrong, she decided. She couldn’t expect the judge to talk to her where almost anyone could overhear them. She looked around. Her captain’s office was free. As far as she knew, the man was going to be out for the rest of the day. Something about a photo opportunity. The captain was always at his best when there was a supply of videotape around.

  She rose again, taking her legal pad with her. She pointed out the glass-enclosed room. “Why don’t we go into that office and talk?”

  Did she think he needed privacy? That there was some kind of confession forthcoming? She was going to be sorely disappointed if she was leaning toward that. Brent held his ground. “We can talk out here, I have nothing to hide.”

  Maybe yes, maybe no. Privacy encouraged talking. “Good. But I like tight, secure places. Humor me,” she requested. With that, she led the way to the captain’s office.

  With a pastel blue back wall, the office had three sides of glass. Or three walls buffered with blinds, depending on how you viewed it. Callie lowered all three blinds and closed them before she turned to talk to Brent. She made herself as comfortable as possible in the captain’s chair. It was one of those ergonomic ones designed to relax your back. It always had the opposite effect on her, making her feel as if she was on a rack.

  But this wasn’t about her.

  “Since you brought up your ex-wife,” she began mildly, as if they were having a conversation over afternoon coffee, “let’s talk about her.”

  He didn’t need to be a seer like his ancestor to know
where she was going with this. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  Maybe he was a little too quick to judge, she mused. You never wanted to think the worst of someone you loved. Or loved once.

  Callie phrased her words tactfully, not wanting to add unnecessarily to his pain. “Sometimes we don’t know people as well as we think we do.”

  Brent held his position. He would have bet his life on this, and he wasn’t the type to bet on anything except a sure thing. “Jennifer never wanted to be a mother. Rachel was an accident. One of those tiny percentages that manage to screw up the birth control industry’s batting average. When Jennifer got pregnant, I had to talk her into keeping the baby. Having Rachel cost me the price of a full-length mink coat. Best return on an investment I ever had.”

  So the woman also believed in murdering animals for their pelts. She knew she wasn’t supposed to have an opinion of the judge’s ex, but Callie was getting to like her less and less by the moment. Especially since Jennifer Montgomery apparently had no mothering instincts. Families were such a way of life in her world, she couldn’t fathom someone not wanting a child.

  She looked down at her pad. It was still snow-white, but she couldn’t very well write “Ex-wife is a bitch.” At least, not while the judge could read the words upside down. She folded her hands over the pad and looked at the man. “So she wouldn’t suddenly try to have your daughter kidnapped?”

  His laugh was short and without mirth. “It’s all I can do to get Jennifer to visit Rachel a few times a year.” Brent hated the way Rachel looked whenever Jennifer canceled a visit. He knew his daughter was trying to keep up a brave front for him, but he also knew that her feelings were deeply hurt. For that alone, he damned Jennifer. “Believe me, she has no interest in taking Rachel.”

  Love wasn’t always a motive. But oftentimes hate was. “Even to get back at you for something?”

  Jennifer would have been more inclined to feel that way if he hadn’t allowed her out of their marriage. “The only thing my ex-wife wanted from me was my last name and my money. She got a share of both in the divorce. She also wanted to be free. She couldn’t wait to be rid of both of us. There is no way that she would do anything like this.”