Calder Storm (36 page)

“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 you 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.

With her stomach in knots, Sloan turned from the mirror and crossed to the crib where Jake lay, dressed in his best as well. His expression was a study of concentration as he tugged at an edge of the blanket. Tucking the blanket back around him, she slid a hand beneath him and lifted him out of the crib.

“What do you think, Jake? Will we be able to do this?” Sloan said in a soft murmur. A whisper of movement warned her that she wasn't alone in the nursery. A little louder, she added, “We're going to have our picture taken, aren't we.” Turning, she pretended to just notice Harold Bennett standing there. “Is the car here?”

“Yes ma'am.”

“Good.” She tipped the baby a little more upright to provide the nurse with a better view of him. “Doesn't he look precious?”

“Indeed he does,” Bennett agreed.

“I thought so, too. Just to be safe, I packed his little white suit in case he spits up. She nodded to the bulging bag atop the dresser. “Would you carry that to the car for me? But I warn you, with all his things, plus my makeup and everything else, it weighs more than Jake does.”

Part of that “everything else” included a change of shoes and clothes, as well as extra bottles of formula and diapers for Jake. But all of that was hidden beneath the expected items.

Bennett made no comment on its heaviness when he lifted it by its strap and followed her out of the nursery. With each step, her tension rose another notch.

The ride into the city was going to be a long and nerve-wracking one. But at the end of it was the moment of truth, and Sloan needed to ready herself for it on the drive.

A
fter arriving at her destination, Sloan waited while the two security guards made a sweep of the studio to satisfy themselves that no one other than the photographer and his assistants was present. Thankfully, they raised no objections when Sloan instructed them to wait for her in the small lobby area.

The hardest part was pretending to be interested when the photographer suggested various poses that could be used. Sloan chose one that would require the most setup time, then asked to be shown to the changing room so she could freshen herself after the drive.

Along the way, she made sure that the photographer pointed out the studio's rear exit, claiming a phobia of being trapped in a burning building. She had no idea if the photographer believed her, but she didn't particularly care.

In the changing room, Jake fussed a little when she first laid him on the oversized counter, but he soon quieted. Hurriedly, Sloan emptied the overstuffed bag of her makeup, hairbrush and spray, then dug underneath the layers to pull out the change of clothes and shoes. She piled all of it on the counter near Jake.

Wasting no time, she scrubbed off the makeup and brushed out
her hair, then carelessly plaited it in two scraggly braids. Changing into a pair of jeans, a loose cotton top and sneakers came next. After that she had only to wrap Jake in a different-colored receiving blanket and stuff her purse into the considerably lightened bag, and she was all set.

Shaking inside, she gathered Jake into her arms, slung the bag over her shoulder, and opened the door a crack to peer out. Noises came from the studio, but the hallway was clear. She slipped out as quietly as she could and made her way to the rear exit.

Sloan didn't fool herself into thinking she was safe, even when she stepped into the alley behind the building. At best, she had maybe five minutes before the photographer started wondering what was taking her so long. Once he discovered there was no one in the changing room, the alarm would go out.

At a swift pace, she walked down the alley and crossed the intersecting street to the opposite side, then made her way to the corner. She threw a quick glance in the direction of the studio and noticed the driver leaning against the hood of the car parked out front. Even worse, he was looking away from the studio.

Almost the same instant, Sloan saw an approaching cab with a vacancy light on. Unsure how far she might have to walk to find another, she immediately threw up a hand to hail this one. The cab veered toward her and braked close to the corner.

Heart pounding, Sloan struggled to maneuver herself, the baby, and the cumbersome bag into the backseat. Finally she pulled the door shut and cast an anxious glance over her shoulder, but she couldn't tell whether the driver had seen her get into the cab. She dug the slip of paper with the address written on it out of her jeans pocket and handed it to the driver. “Please hurry.”

If he found any contradiction between her appearance and the address, he didn't comment but simply pulled back into the traffic. Jake started crying, sending Sloan on a search through the bag for his pacifier. One-handed, she stripped off the elastic bands securing her braids and finger-combed her hair loose.

A dozen times she darted looks behind her, convinced her ab
sence had been discovered by now. But with any luck, they would check all the obvious places first.

 

“What the hell do you mean, they're gone?!” Max bellowed into the phone.

“She went into a dressing room in the back—to freshen up, she said. When the photographer went looking for her, he couldn't find her or the baby. Her dress, shoes, and makeup were in the dressing room, but Mrs. Calder and the baby were gone. The studio has a rear exit to the alley behind the building. We're assuming that's how she left.”

“You were supposed to be guarding them. Why didn't you have a man stationed there?” Max demanded.

“It was a solid metal door, locked from the inside. No one was going to come in that way, and we had no reason to think Mrs. Calder—”

“Dammit, you screwed up. Admit it!”

“Yes sir. It was an oversight.”

Furious as he was at their laxity, Max recognized that fixing blame was a pointless exercise. “What are you doing to find them?”

“We've got men on the way to the bus and airport terminals just in case she's headed there. She mentioned she had a home in Hawaii, but is there anyone here she might—”

“She has in-laws at the Cee Bar. Get men over there to cover the approaches to the ranch. How long has she been gone?”

“Roughly ten or fifteen minutes. It couldn't be more than that. Just a minute.” A hand muffled the phone, garbling the exchange on the other end of the line. “We may have something. A young woman with a baby was seen getting into a cab half a block from here.”

“Track down that cab and find out where he took her. I don't care what you have to do—or how much it costs—you get that address.”

“We're on it.”

Pushed by a cold rage, Max slammed the phone down and pivoted his wheelchair from the desk to face the glass wall of his executive office. There was only one explanation for her actions—Sloan had overheard his phone conversation with Donovan, just as his instincts had warned him. His mistake was not trusting them.

But all wasn't lost yet. All he had to do was keep her from reaching the Calders and putting that baby in their hands.

 

Spring flowers abounded, brightening the exclusive River Crest district located in the hills overlooking the Trinity River. Sloan barely noticed them as the cab wound through its curving streets. The vehicle's pace was a slow one, allowing the driver to scan the street signs and estate numbers. Aware of the necessity for that, Sloan held her tongue.

Ahead of them, a set of scrolled iron gates on the right stood open, marking a driveway's entrance. The cab made the turn between them and followed a looping driveway that culminated in front of grand Italianate mansion.

Hurriedly, Sloan pushed some bills in the driver's hand, more than enough to take care of the fare, slid out of the backseat with the baby, and pulled the bag after her. She glanced back at the lane to make sure she hadn't been followed, then crossed to the front door and rang the bell.

When the cab pulled away from the house, she briefly wondered whether she should have asked the driver to wait. Now it was too late. Then Jake started to cry. This time the pacifier didn't satisfy him. Sloan rang the bell again, feeling much too vulnerable standing out there in the open.

The door opened, and she found herself standing face to face with an older, balding gentleman, dressed in the dark formal gear of a butler.

“May I help you, ma'am?” he inquired with cool politeness.

“I need to speak to Tara right away, please. It's extremely important,” Sloan rushed.

“I'm sorry, but Mrs. Calder isn't here at the moment. Perhaps if you—”

She cut him short. “How soon will she be back? I'd like to wait for her. I'm Sloan Calder.”

Something that was almost a smile took the aloofness from his expression as his attention shifted to the baby in her arms. “Then this must be the late Mr. Calder's grandbaby. Mrs. Calder will be delighted to see him. She just returned from Europe. She called a few minutes ago to say she was on her way home. She should be arriving any time. My name is Brownsmith. I'm Mrs. Calder's houseman. Please come in.” He took a step back to admit her, then paused as he spotted the sleek black car coming up the driveway. “What excellent timing. Mrs. Calder is just now arriving.”

When Sloan turned toward the driveway, the houseman moved past her to greet his mistress, traveling with the shuffling gait of the elderly. Jake continued his cranky cry, and Sloan rocked her shoulders in a side-to-side motion to calm him as she followed the houseman out to the driveway.

Seconds after the car rolled to a quiet stop, the chauffeur exited the vehicle and trotted around to open the rear passenger door, extending a hand to its occupant.

Tara stepped out, clad in a silvery gray traveling suit and trailing a sable coat. The houseman inclined his head in a respectful greeting.

“Welcome home, Mrs. Calder,” he said, then lifted a hand to draw Tara's attention to Sloan. “You have a visitor. Two of them.”

Surprise flickered across Tara's flawless features as she recognized Sloan. “Sloan. What are you doing here?”

“I need your help, Tara.” Sloan jiggled the baby as his cries grew increasingly demanding.

“What's wrong? Is the baby sick?”

“No, he's fine. It's Max. He's looking for me—”

“Max? Max Rutledge? What does he have to do with you being here?” Confusion drew a tiny line across Tara's forehead.

“Everything. Trey tried to warn me about him, but I wouldn't listen. I was sure he was wrong and—”

Looking around, Tara broke in, “Where is Trey? Why isn't he here?”

“I left him. It's all very complicated, and there isn't time to explain it all,” Sloan began.

“You argued with him over Max.” The harshness of Tara's tone made it an accusation.

“We argued over a lot of things, but it turns out that Max was behind all of it. I didn't know that, though, not until the other day—”

“Are you saying that you sided with Rutledge against your own husband?” Tara demanded in a contained fury.

“It was wrong. I admit that—”

“You fool! You have no idea how wrong you were! Don't you see, he'll never forgive you for that. Never. Good God, I should know, I made the same mistake, and it destroyed my marriage. How could you be so stupid?”

Stunned by the outrage and vehemence of Tara's attack, Sloan had to work to find her voice. “But I can explain.” Although for the first time she wondered whether that would make any difference. “I just need to talk to Trey. If I could use your phone—”

“You don't really think he'll speak to you, do you?” Tara said with derision. “Even if he doesn't hang up when he hears your voice, he'll never believe anything you tell him. Not any more. You killed whatever trust he had in you when you walked out on him.”

“I won't accept that. I can't,” Sloan insisted while still trying to calm Jake's cries. “Not for my sake, but for our son's.”

“The baby.” Tara appeared to notice the infant in her arms for the first time. “Yes, that might be your one chance. But not over the phone. That will never work. Hurry.” She grabbed Sloan's shoulder and gave her a push toward the open passenger door. “Get in the car.”

“But you don't understand,” Sloan began in protest.

“You don't realize what you've done. Just get in the car,” Tara ordered, then addressed her houseman. “Call the field immediately. Tell them to have my plane fueled and ready when we get there. I'm taking Sloan to Montana.”

Hearing their destination, Sloan slung the bag into the car and climbed in after it with the baby. While the houseman hurried to the front door with as much speed as he could muster, Tara turned and saw the chauffeur standing by the opened trunk, half of her luggage already sitting on the ground.

“What are you doing?” she demanded sharply. “Put those suitcases back in the trunk, and let's go.”

With haste, he tossed them inside and closed the trunk, then moved swiftly to the driver's side. Within seconds the car was traveling back down the lane.

 

Outside the Cee Bar ranch house, Quint listened while his wife's grandfather, Empty Garner, repeated his story, almost sputtering with outrage. “I'd just pulled onto the road after fixing the fence when this young fella in shirtsleeves flags me down. When I stopped to see what he wanted, I spotted a car parked in the Rigsby's lane. Suddenly this other fella shows up, and the two of 'em started snooping around my truck like a pair of bloodhounds. Claimed they were admiring it. Called it a classic. Classic, my foot. They were looking for something. Want'a bet Rutledge put 'em up to it?” Empty challenged.

Quint ignored the question to pose his own. “Dallas, and now you. Why? What was he hoping to find?”

“What do you mean Dallas?” The mere mention of his granddaughter shifted the focus of Empty's attention.

“She had her vehicle searched too.” Convinced that something was afoot, Quint struck out for the house.

Startled by his sudden departure, Empty called after him, “Where you going?”

“To make a phone call and see if I can learn what this is about,” Quint replied as he crossed the covered porch to the back door.

Upon entering the house, he went directly to the corner desk in the kitchen and picked up the phone. Empty followed him inside, spotted Dallas by the sink, and immediately bombarded her with questions, seeking details of her encounter.

“Hi, Jessy. It's Quint,” he said when she came on the line. “I thought I'd check to see if anything is happening that I should know about.”

“No. Why?” She sounded both surprised and puzzled.