Calder Storm (35 page)

“But according to findings at the inquest, Quint was only defending himself.” Sloan had the impression Max was saying something different now.

“That's what the only eyewitness testified. Of course, a few months later, she married Echohawk. So I can't say, in all honesty, that's what really happened. Knowing my son, though, I recognize it's entirely possible. Something tells me the Calders would never admit to anything similar.”

“As far as they're concerned, they're always right,” Sloan agreed with resentment.

“It's an arrogance they have. It allows them to justify any action they take. Quite honestly, Sloan, it's the reason I insisted that you come here. Alone, you wouldn't have been able to stop them if they walked in and took the baby. Once they had him, you would have played hell trying to even see your son, with all the judges they have in their pockets. Here, there are too many guards. You can bet your husband saw that when he came today.”

“But what happens when I have to take Jake to Montana?” Fear was just below the surface, gnawing at her nerves.

“You and the baby will be safe. I'll see to it,” Max promised. “I don't care if it takes a battery of lawyers or army of bodyguards. When you leave that state your son will be in your arms. Believe that.”

She did. “I don't know how I can thank you for everything you're doing, Uncle Max.”

“For starters, you can stop worrying and leave everything to me. Deal?” He smiled.

“It's a deal.” For the first time all day, Sloan didn't have to force the smile she gave him.

T
he first evening star winked in the night sky, keeping watch over a sickle moon. Indifferent to it, Laredo focused his attention on the plane making its final approach to the ranch's landing strip. The night breeze stiffened enough to prompt Laredo to turn his collar up to escape its cold fingers.

With barely a thud the plane touched down. The night's quiet was broken by the squeal of its brakes and slowing thrust of its engines. Laredo never budged from his watching post beside the pickup until the aircraft taxied to a stop on the apron.

Reaching inside the cab, he switched on the truck's headlights to make it easier for Trey to locate him when he deplaned. He was quick to note the slow, heavy way Trey came down the steps but careful not to read too much into it. He waited until they were face to face to make his assessment. The weary flatness in Trey's eyes showed the aftereffects of a long and stressful day.

“How was the flight?” The casual question was Laredo's way of opening his probe for information.

“Long. Both of them,” Trey added dryly.

“But you didn't run into any major problems?”

“Nope.” Trey circled to the passenger side and climbed into the
cab, dropping the soft-sided bag on the floorboard by his feet. “Rutledge had guards all over the place. Getting past them was a hassle, but that was about all. One of them tailed me back to the airport. I imagine Rutledge wanted to make sure I left town.”

“And little Jake, he was all right, too?” Laredo gave the ignition key a turn.

“He was fine.” Trey's mouth curved at the mention of his son. Then a soberness returned.

“I don't imagine Sloan was too happy to see you.”

A muscle flexed along his jaw. “She must think I'm really gullible.”

“Why do you say that?” Laredo threw him a curious glance and steered the pickup away from the hangar area.

“Because she tried to make me believe that Rutledge had nothing to do with her taking Jake and leaving. She claimed he merely helped. Good God.” Anger surfaced in his voice. “You should have seen the room Jake was in. It was no temporary setup, but a full-fledged nursery. Want to bet Rutledge had it ready and waiting long before she ever left the hospital with Jake?”

“Probably,” Laredo agreed. “Did she get served with the notice for the custody hearing?”

“Yeah. Breedon, the Texas attorney Quint recommended, guaranteed that her lawyer will try to get it postponed.”

“According to Chase, he'll play hell getting Judge Abrams to give more than two or three days,” Laredo replied. “Which reminds me, Jessy has Walters and his men digging to see what they can learn about Sloan, on the off chance there might be something damaging.”

“I'm not going to hold my breath that they'll find anything. Rutledge would have made sure of that first.” Trey paused to mused, “You've got to hand it to her, though. She had me fooled completely.”

“At the start, she had us all fooled.”

Trey found little consolation in Laredo's reply. A part of him still had trouble believing that it had been a lie from the beginning.

 

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 create 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.