Okay, this wasn’t so bad, Stef thought as Brad presented Sable with one of the special cigars he’d bought in anticipation of his child’s birth. Maybe Brad was making a little impromptu film for Keely to show her how happy he was to be her daddy.
The camera jerked as Brad removed a packet of photos from a pocket and narrated them for Sable.
Stef looked at Mitch uncertainly as Brad described the agonizing hours of labor Stef had endured before their baby daughter was brought into the world. How could he possibly think Brad had switched his daughter with another baby?
“Look at all that dark hair!” Sable cooed. “May I keep this photo? A lot of people will be thrilled to see it.”
“Sure.”
The video camera captured Sable slipping the photo into her purse. Stef was more convinced than ever that Brad had nothing to do with Riana Collingwood’s kidnapping. Sable must have been using Brad.
A cocktail waitress took Brad’s order. After the waitress left, the conversation changed abruptly.
Sable leaned across the table, the valley of her breasts visible. “So, Brad, when will it be ready?”
Stef squirmed. When would what be ready?
“Soon. I can only work on it when the baby is napping and Stef isn’t home. The baby doesn’t sleep too much.”
“Can’t you hire a baby-sitter?”
“One of the neighbors would notice and tell Stef. Give me another week. I want my job back as much as you want your company back.”
“Does your wife suspect anything?”
Suspect what? Stef wanted to scream. Anger rioted through her bloodstream at the thought that Brad had been hiding something from her. She felt naive, like a wife who’d suddenly discovered that her husband was seeing another woman. Her fingernails dug half moons into her cheek. What were Sable and Brad talking about? Were they having an affair?
“Relax, she’s doesn’t suspect a thing,” Brad replied.
That clinched it. Stef was convinced that Brad had been sleeping with that bitch. And to think she’d stupidly shrugged off Brad’s declining interest in sex to her pregnancy and his unemployment status. Suddenly, Brad’s dismissal from the company after the takeover took on a whole new light. Stef kept her gaze rigidly fixed on the screen even though she wanted to sink into her chair in humiliation. At least all the other techs had left the room before the show had begun.
But she was very much aware that Mitch was listening to every word. Judging Brad. Judging her.
“Okay,” Sable said. “A week, no longer. Ross is distraught over Riana’s kidnapping. He’s vulnerable.”
Great, Stef thought dully. They weren’t having an affair, after all. But they were definitely involved in the kidnapping. Small comfort.
Tears ran silently down her face as Brad said, “What if he thinks you’re involved in the kidnapping?”
Oh, Brad, what did you do?
“Let me handle Ross Collingwood. You do your part and you’ll be rewarded, which reminds me.” She opened her leather handbag and handed him several hundred dollar bills. “This ought to keep you in formula and diapers for a while.”
Stef’s world disintegrated and her heart withered to dust as Brad’s fingers closed over the money. Mitch, damn him, was right about Brad!
Stef blinked, realizing Sable was rising from the booth and leaving.
“Call me when it’s ready, Bradley,” she heard Sable say.
When what was ready? Stef itched to leap into the TV screen and grab Sable by her gold necklace and throttle the truth out of her. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, realizing the enormity of the risk she’d taken by asking Sable about Brad’s death.
Had Sable killed Brad because she was afraid he would link her to Riana Collingwood’s abduction?
“Pause it,” Mitch ordered.
The tech complied.
Tears ran silently down her cheeks as she willed herself the courage to ask the question that hovered in the air among them. Her throat felt raw, abraded. To her surprise, she felt Mitch’s hand on her shoulder. Sensed the strength and the power of his body behind her. She told herself she could endure the shame of knowing Brad had been involved in something so horrendous. She had to—for her real daughter’s sake.
She tilted her head back to look Mitch in the eye. The nonjudgmental compassion and the support she found in his gaze made the pain and disappointment of Brad’s betrayal somehow easier to bear. She took a deep breath, feeling his strong fingers squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. “What do you think Brad was preparing for Sable?”
Mitch shook his head. “I’m not sure. It could have been related to the tape we found of Sable and Ross.”
“You mean Sable was using Brad to record the affair she was having with Ross Collingwood? Why would she do that? And why would Brad help her?”
“To get her company back. Ross was a married man. Just as Sable said a few minutes ago—Ross was vulnerable. He and his wife were grief-stricken over their daughter’s kidnapping. If his wife received evidence that he was having an affair it might destroy his marriage and destroy both him and his wife emotionally. That could be exactly what Sable wanted.”
The Guardian cleared his throat. Stef felt a tremor of apprehension as his brows pulled together into a formidable line. “Mitch played the tape recording over the phone for me. I wrote down what was said word for word. I investigated Riana’s abduction and I reported to Mr. Collingwood at least once a day during the first two months of her disappearance. I knew his character. I don’t believe for a minute that he succumbed to Sable Holden’s charms, but I believe Sable wanted it to appear that way.”
“So why did Brad wear a hidden camera to this meeting with Sable? And why did he say ‘Here goes nothing’ before he went into the meeting?” Mitch asked, his mouth twisting into a puzzled line.
“Maybe he was testing the camera because it was the little something Sable asked him to prepare. Maybe she wanted his help in getting something on videotape.” The Guardian waved a hand at the video tech. “Let’s see what else the camera picked up.”
The tech pressed the play button. The tape spun forward, capturing Brad’s fingers clenched around a sweating bottle of beer on the table.
A man’s voice, rough around the edges, let out a low catcall. “Now that’s what I call a woman who’s lookin’ for a real man. You gettin’ any of that action, Bradley?”
The camera jerked a little to the right as Brad turned around. Stef saw a faded pair of jeans with a tear in the pocket and the hem of a white T-shirt in the lower right corner of the TV screen.
“Yeah, right. You off tonight?”
“Sure am.” A hand liberally sprinkled with dark hair placed a bottle of beer on the edge of the table. Stef could just make out the man’s watch. “Haven’t seen you around much, buddy. That baby keepin’ you busy?”
“Something like that.”
“You still playing Mr. Mom?”
Aggression crept into Brad’s voice. “You got a problem with that, Tony?”
“No, sir. Not me. I was just wonderin’ what your schedule was like and if you were serious about us going climbing one of these days?”
Climbing? Stef shot Mitch a wary wide-eyed glance as Brad took a long swallow of beer. Brad had only gone climbing two or three times since Keely’s birth.
“Sure, I’ll take you out. My wife’s working the New York to Chicago route next week, I should have an afternoon free. I’ll give you a call.”
“Cool, man.”
The blood siphoned from her face at Brad’s mention of the New York to Chicago route. She felt numb as the man walked off. A few seconds later the tape ended.
She looked to Mitch for help, confusion and anxiety coursing through her. She was no longer certain whether Sable had killed Brad.
“You okay, Stef?” Mitch asked, his fingers lightly brushing the hair at her temple. It was an intimate gesture. One that suggested caring and understanding.
She shook her head, fresh
tears blurring her vision. She remembered Brad’s impatience to take off for the Giant’s Kneecaps as soon as she’d walked in the door that day—as if someone were waiting for him. “I started working the New York to Chicago route the week Brad died—I was replacing another flight attendant who’d just gone on maternity leave. Do you think this Tony was with Brad the day of the accident?”
Chapter Seven
Mitch’s heart knotted at the pallor of Stef’s face. Her freckles stood out on her cheeks like cinnamon on milk. She’d been through a hell of a lot. And that little conversation on the videotape between Sable and Brad suggested that things were going to get rougher still. He took a step toward her. As he did, Stef tucked her silky dark hair behind her ears and tilted her chin at a determined angle. She might be pale, but a survivor’s spirit shone in her green-gold eyes. He had to admire her stamina. She’d been through so much.
“Brad’s little show took place at Herman’s—the bar I told you about in Queens,” she said, reaching toward the center of the conference table to grab the guest book from Brad’s funeral. Mitch was uncomfortably aware of the way the soft knit of her blue sweater molded to her firm breasts with every movement. She glanced at The Guardian. “We brought this because Mitch wanted a list of Brad’s friends. There were a lot of people at the funeral I didn’t know. Maybe Tony was there.”
As Stef opened the guest book, The Guardian asked the video tech to rewind the tape.
Mitch saw something whiz by on the screen that caught his attention. “Whoa, freeze it on the watch,” he said. He rose and approached the TV screen, pointing at the face of the watch. “It’s 9:37 p.m. And the date on the calendar feature is July tenth.”
Stef’s small pain-laced voice penetrated his soul like a needle. “Brad died July seventeenth, one week later.”
It took everything Mitch had in him to distance himself from the desire to hold her, to comfort her. He had to remind himself that she was a victim’s mother and that he was going to blow this case if he didn’t shape up and maintain his objectivity. He’d lost his detachment and part of himself when the Lopez case had ended so tragically. He didn’t think he could bear to lose the part of himself that felt such a strong affinity for Stef if this case had a tragic end.
G.D. caught his eye and lifted a brow as if he was picking up on the vibes of Mitch’s emotional skirmish. Mitch shrugged his shoulders and paced the length of the conference room, forcing himself to concentrate. From what they’d seen on the tape, either Sable or Tony could have met Brad to go climbing. But something on the tape bothered him. What was it?
G.D. slid a blue folder across the glossy surface of the black conference table toward Mitch. “These are copies of the police report and the autopsy report from the accident. You might see something I missed.”
Mitch palmed the folder, perusing it as The Guardian continued. “According to the police report, Brad was found just after five by a couple walking their dog. The medical examiner estimated he’d been dead a couple of hours and that he was approximately two-thirds of the way up the face when he fell. He was climbing without proper safety gear. The parking lot was gravel. No tire tracks. No witnesses came forward who saw him there. There’s no way to tell if Brad arrived alone or met someone.”
Mitch spared a glance in Stef’s direction and he felt his stomach catapult out of his body again. He’d come precariously close to having sex with her today and his body still hummed with tension. Her jaw was hinged tight, as if that were the only thing holding her together. “You sure you’re okay with us talking about this in front of you?”
Her gaze burrowed into him, right into the place that wanted to believe she held the key to happiness. To simple joys. He’d bet holidays in her family were really something special. A nice dinner. Hand-made decorations. People laughing and teasing. He’d bet there were never any drunken brawls. No cans of chili or stew heated over a burner in a cheap motel. “I want to know everything.”
She was a tigress.
Mitch dragged his attention back to the autopsy report. “He hadn’t been drinking. There was no alcohol in his system. Tony could have met Brad at the Giant’s Kneecaps, then got scared and ran after Brad fell. The fall could have been a simple accident. Or it could have been more sinister if Brad met Sable that day. He could have handed over whatever he was supposed to do for her and Sable could have decided to cover her tracks.”
G.D. leaned back in his black leather chair. “If we find Tony, we may find more answers. I’m still working on acquiring a list of the attendees from the rock climbing course that Brad attended courtesy of Office Outfitters. It’ll be interesting to see if Sable’s name is on the list.”
Stef closed the guest book with a frustrated sigh. “Well, there are no Tonys, in any form, in here.”
Mitch shoved his fingers through his hair, trying to keep his concentration on the papers in front of him and not on the fragility of Stef’s slender shoulders or the discouragement stamped on her pale face. “If he’s a regular at Herman’s, the bartender may know him. I’ll drop by Herman’s after I have drinks with Sable tonight. Did Sable send a fax with a list of people I can interview at Office Outfitters, G.D.? There might be a Tony on that list.”
G.D. arched a brow. “I believe it’s in your file.”
Mitch swore silently under his breath, feeling like a rookie cop again as he found the sheet of names beneath the autopsy report. The fear that he was going to screw up this case sent a bead of sweat trickling down his spine. This was how he’d screwed up the Lopez case—he’d let himself get too involved in Theresa Lopez’s situation. Her pain. Her fears that she’d never see her granddaughter alive again.
He’d seen his grandfather and himself in their lives.
And he saw in Stef and Keely something beautiful and magical that had always been beyond his reach. He wanted to preserve and protect their special world as he’d wanted to preserve and protect Theresa and Carmen Lopez.
The clock was ticking. The kidnapper could make contact at any moment with the instructions for the ransom drop. The odds of recovering Stef’s daughter would be improved if he could figure out who the kidnapper was and where the child was being held before that happened.
Mitch studied the list of names Sable had sent until the heat of his stare practically burned a hole in the paper. “There’s no one named Tony or Anthony on this list, either. But then it’s unlikely that Tony worked for Office Outfitters—otherwise he would have recognized Sable as the founder of the company.”
The Guardian’s dry-ice gaze settled on Mitch with an intensity that made Mitch’s skin itch. He noticed there was one last item in the file that G.D. had given him—a bound document. “What’s this?”
“A copy of Sable Holden’s day planner—the year Riana Collingwood was born. In case you were wondering where she was on certain key dates.”
Mitch grinned. G.D. ran a sweet operation the likes of which Mitch had never seen. He could get used to information appearing at his fingertips as if by wizardry. He flipped to July seventeenth, the day Brad died. “What do you know? Sable had a manicure at two o’clock, but she crossed out the appointment. Guess she had other plans.”
Stef realized this was how Mitch thought best, on his feet, prowling, his energy as intense as it had been today when he’d touched her. Kissed her. Lit her on fire.
She blushed at the memory—and felt the gentle contractions of a craving that still lingered deep within her. Followed by shaming guilt. At least Mitch had the decency to stop that kiss from becoming something more. If he’d left it up to her, could she have stopped?
She looked at the man who had walked into her life and destroyed everything she held dear. Her biological daughter was being held hostage by a kidnapper and Mitch was the only person she trusted to help her. She had to believe he could perform miracles.
Her shoulders drooped. She was tired and she needed to see Keely, to hold her. Memorize every perfect detail about her.
Mitch
seemed to notice her exhaustion without her saying anything. “You look like you’re about to drop. Give me a minute to call Sable and set up a meeting and I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
She smiled at him gratefully. “All right. But hurry. Keely’s not used to me being away from her this long.”
The Guardian rose from his chair, silent and swift as a hawk. “You can make your call from my office, Mitch. Then I’d appreciate a private word with you. I’ll see that a security team escorts Mrs. Shelton to the hotel so we don’t delay her unnecessarily.”
Mitch winked at Stef. “Tell Keely I’m really looking forward to that black jelly bean.”
Stef’s heart tweaked at a mental image of the day Keely had spent—a princess presiding over a tea party. Far too many hours had passed since she’d hugged her darling girl.
HUNTER SINCLAIR PAUSED in the hall outside the conference room and took a shuddering breath into the tight recess of his chest. The tension in the conference room had been thick with emotional undertones. Hunter had sensed immediately that something had changed between Stephanie Shelton and Mitch Halloran. Stephanie Shelton had looked less like she wanted to skewer Mitch and roast him over a roaring fire, and Mitch had seemed wary and protective of her. Less brusque.
Stephanie Shelton needed a protector. Her words still echoed in Hunter’s tormented thoughts. Keely’s not used to being away from me this long.
He had joined Juliana and Keely at the hotel for lunch, presumably to check on the security arrangements for Keely’s safety, but he’d been drawn there by his heart’s desire to become acquainted with Ross’s daughter. The little minx had Lexi’s dark beauty and Ross’s stubborn determination. And she was bright for a two-and-a-half-year-old, her sentences more complex than his nephews had uttered at the same age.
While she’d daintily dipped nuggets of chicken into honey sauce, Keely had regaled Hunter with a story her mommy had told her about a fairy with a torn wing. When Keely had finished, she’d imperiously demanded that Hunter tell her a story in return.
Operation Bassinet Page 10
