Juliana had laughed at her husband’s blustering attempt to comply, her mahogany eyes glowing as he’d told Keely about a castle that was crumbling into disrepair until a beautiful princess came to the castle and made it beautiful again, planting beautiful flowers in the greenhouse and making the lonely prince who lived in the castle happier than he’d ever been.
Juliana had promised Keely that someday she would invite her to see the castle and the greenhouse.
“Can my mommy come, too?” Keely had asked innocently.
Juliana had searched Hunter’s face for a long moment before she’d smiled and replied, “You may pick out a special room in the castle just for your mommy. And one for you, too. There are lots of bedrooms in the castle.”
And Hunter prayed there would be need of a bedroom for Stephanie Shelton’s real daughter. That he and Stephanie Shelton could come to a quiet arrangement that would keep Riana’s name out of the headlines and a legal battle out of the courts. Hunter had no intention of losing Riana. He’d made a promise to Ross and Lexi. He’d failed them thirty months ago when Riana was kidnapped and again when Annette had succeeded in killing them. He would not fail them now.
He took another breath past the suffocating disquiet that had gripped him since he’d received the new ransom demand from the kidnapper nine days ago. Why hadn’t the kidnapper made contact with the delivery instructions?
Hunter made arrangements for a security team to see Mrs. Shelton back to the hotel, then returned to his office. The paneled cherry door was open. Mitch must have completed his phone call because he was standing near the window, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. Something about his solitary stance reminded Hunter of himself.
He cleared his throat to announce his arrival. “Did you reach Sable?”
Mitch swiveled on his heels, his brow furrowed. “Got her secretary instead. I’m meeting Sable at seven in Greenwich Village.”
Hunter closed his office door and leaned against it. “Excellent. Why the frown?”
Mitch paced restlessly in front of the window. “I don’t know—something doesn’t feel right about what we saw on that tape. Jeez, I need a run. I’m not used to going so long without one.”
Hunter narrowed his gaze on Mitch and voiced the doubts tormenting him. “It’s been nine days and no further word from the kidnapper. That’s more than enough time to run DNA tests and make arrangements with the bank for the ransom. What do you think it means?”
Mitch stopped pacing, his stark gaze colliding with Hunter’s. “Just what you told Stef—the kidnapper’s being careful and wants you sweating blood. Or,” he paused, his face contorting, “the kidnapper has no further use for the child now that Ross and Lexi Collingwood are dead and has killed her and dumped her body. The letter the Foundation received with the bracelet and the hair could be the kidnapper’s way of ensuring that the child’s body will be positively identified once it’s found. He wants this to be over with. Maybe wants to take pleasure in the world knowing that the Collingwood heir is dead. You might prepare your employer for that possibility.”
Hunter’s mouth pressed into a grim line at the horror Mitch described. Nothing in the world could compensate Stephanie Shelton for the loss of her biological child. “My employer is well aware of the risks involved,” he admitted with a leaden heart. “Annette would want the child dead because it was her sister’s. And so would Sable. In Sable’s mind, Ross destroyed her family by wresting her company from her. I’ve had operatives digging into Annette’s life since her arrest, hoping to discover that she owned property where a child could be held hostage. But nothing has turned up. I’ll assign someone to do a property search for Sable. Maybe we’ll come up with something.”
Mitch snapped his fingers. “What about Annette’s ex-fiancé, Darren Black? Does he own any property?”
“We checked it out after the explosion that killed the Collingwoods. He owns a four-bedroom house in Ithaca near Cornell University where he works. Nobody lives with him. And the only recent contact he’s had with Annette was at her sister and brother-in-law’s funeral—and she gave him the brush-off.”
“Still, try the name Annette Black. If Annette broke off her engagement to Darren because he didn’t measure up to her sister’s fiancé, symbolically it would make sense for her to rent or buy property using the last name that should have been hers.”
“Consider it done.”
Mitch grinned. “I’m going to have to start calling you the wizard. Now what do you say we watch that videotape again? You can help me write a list of questions that Evan Mitchell can ask Sable Holden about Brad Shelton.”
Hunter felt the coolness of the brass knob beneath his fingertips. “How about you finesse your way into finding out if she was sleeping with Brad?”
Mitch shot Hunter a thunderous glare. “Yeah, and while I’m at it, I’ll just pound the last nail into Stef’s coffin. It’s going to kill her if she finds out her child is dead.” His eyes grew haunted. Hunter thought soon he was going to make a point of asking Mitch why he specialized in these types of cases.
He clapped Mitch on the shoulder. They’d watch that tape as many times as necessary, analyze it frame by frame. “God willing, Mitch, it won’t come to that.”
“MOMMY!”
Keely traipsed toward Stef in a beautiful pink-and-white satin gown, her dark curls bouncing beneath a jeweled tiara, her cheeks rosy and a cupcake with a green jelly bean on top carefully balanced between her chubby hands.
“Kee!” Stef scooped her up and kissed her rosy cheeks. Tears sprang in her eyes at the knowledge that her little girl was a princess with a future grander than she could ever imagine. “I missed you, baby girl.”
Juliana gave Stef a wave and a smile, then discreetly disappeared. Stef breathed in the scent of Keely’s hair. The scent of Nirvana.
Keely squirmed in her arms. “Missed you, too, Mommy. Here’s your cupcake!”
Stef took a bite right from the center, capturing the jelly bean and getting pink frosting on her nose. “I was so hungry. I was dreaming of that cupcake.”
Keely giggled. “You need a napkin!”
“No, I don’t! I’m not finished yet.” Stef took another bite, nearly choking on the sweetness. Oh, God, it felt good to have some silliness with Keely in the midst of this chaos. Life always made perfect sense when she had Keely in her arms. “Have you had dinner yet?”
Keely’s curls bounced as she shook her head no.
“How about we eat and let Mommy rest for a bit, then we can go for a swim in the pool? Hotels always have a pool.”
“Yippee!”
Stef took another bite of the cupcake, lemon cake crumbs dribbling down her sweater. Mitch was having drinks with Sable tonight.
She looked at the child in her arms, the child she had raised from birth, believing this was the child of her womb.
But there was another child out there. The real child of her body. Stef wasn’t willing to give up either of them. How would she ever live through this nightmare?
Her body recalled the strength with which Mitch had held her today, the intensity with which he’d kissed her, seeking her every surrender. His caresses stole through her limbs like a solemn promise that would never be broken. He was different from any man she’d ever known. Intense, fierce and so protective he made her feel that she could lean on him when she didn’t have the strength to hang on by herself. She would trust her life to him. And the lives of both her daughters.
She prayed with every fiber of her being that he would find out where that bitch was holding her baby.
THE KIDNAPPER SPOTTED them in the lobby. Riana Collingwood and Stephanie Shelton parting ways with the Madonna-like blonde—the butler’s daughter—who’d stood beside Annette throughout the Collingwoods’ funeral service.
Wary of being seen by Juliana Goodhew, the kidnapper hid behind a potted palm and considered the options and probabilities of a successful escape with the child. An abduction in the middle of
a hotel lobby would be foolhardy. There was armed security near the revolving glass doors. A diversion would be necessary.
The butler’s daughter headed toward the concierge’s desk, the lights from the lobby’s chandelier gleaming off her blond hair. Holding Riana by the hand, Stephanie Shelton entered the hotel’s swank restaurant.
The kidnapper waited until Juliana Goodhew had finished her business at the concierge’s desk before threading through the guests in theater clothes crowding the lobby. Thanks to the child’s high-pitched announcement that she had to go potty, it was relatively easy to pinpoint their table and to secure a nearby table.
The kidnapper ordered soup and salad.
Heads turned as Stephanie Shelton returned to the table, little Riana singing a song about a deep blue sea. As Riana climbed into the booster seat she said in an imperious tone worthy of her lineage, “We’re going swimming after dinner, right, Mommy?”
“After Mommy rests after dinner, sweets.”
“After after?” Keely sang.
“Yes, sweets, I promise.”
The kidnapper smiled. The pool. Say goodbye to Mommy, brat.
“BABY WHALES GO SPLASH, splash, splash,” Keely shrieked gleefully, the yellow floaties circling her arms resembling angel wings as she splashed in the shallow end of the pool.
Stef laughed and splashed back, savoring the joy that rippled the pond of her heart. Her decision to take Keely down to the pool had met with opposition from The Guardian’s security team, but Juliana had consulted The Guardian by phone and a compromise had been reached. One guard was stationed in a lounge chair in the patio area. Another guard monitored the key-card-operated door to the pool area and the change rooms. Stef chased away the sobering knowledge that for the rest of their lives she would have to be vigilant of Keely’s safety.
They were in a pool with several other guests. What could happen?
“EVAN, HOW NICE TO SEE you again so soon,” Sable purred, her body arching as if she were about to wrap herself around his legs when Mitch joined her in an intimate corner of a jazz bar. Her breasts spilled like plump pillows from the neckline of her black cocktail dress. Her silvery eyes glittered as she took a sip from a martini.
Mitch ordered her another martini, a Johnny Black straight up for himself and a plate of appetizers, then put the small notebook he and The Guardian had prepared for the interview on the table. Despite the fact that he and G.D. had scrutinized the videotape several times, he still couldn’t pinpoint what it was about it that bothered him.
“I know you’re a busy lady, Sable. Thanks for agreeing to help out with this project.”
Sable toyed with the olive in her drink. “How could I resist Keely? It’s a terrible shame that adorable little girl is growing up without a father.”
Mitch wholeheartedly agreed. “You sound like a woman who’d love children of her own.”
“I would. Someday—when I have all the right things to offer them.”
“What would those things be?”
Mitch almost regretted the question when Sable’s carnal gaze stripped him bare. “A father, for starters.”
He wasn’t biting. After the taste of bliss he’d had with Stef today he couldn’t even imagine indulging in casual sex. But he could imagine making love to Stef. She was more appealing than any woman he’d ever met. She had strength and spirit and an enthusiasm for life.
He quickly extinguished the thought of peeling off the lace bra and panties he’d become acquainted with earlier today, and gave Sable a speculative grin. “What else? A summer place in the Berkshires or a winter place in Miami? Maybe a house on Long Island?”
Sable laughed as the waiter brought them their order. “If you must know, my family has a place in the Catskills. I wouldn’t part with it for all the gold in the world. I was speaking more about getting back control of Office Outfitters. It was entrusted to me, and I failed to live up to the work ethic my grandfather taught me. I was too greedy. Too ambitious.” A shadow crossed her silvery eyes. “When my sister and I were younger, my grandfather would pay us to sweep the floor in the store. When business was slow, he’d coach us in the inventory in case a customer ever asked us a question. He was convinced that customers were impatient by nature and might only have the patience to ask once before trying another store. He was happy with his business. He knew his employees. Valued them. Treated them like family.”
“The same way you treated Brad like family?”
Sable nodded, tears shining unexpectedly in her eyes. “There was something about Brad that I identified with right away. He was the kind of person my grandfather would have hired. He loved his job and his enthusiasm showed in everything he did. Unfortunately, his loyalty to me made him one of the first to be axed by Ross’s cost-cutters.”
Mitch helped himself to a zucchini stick from the tray of appetizers. “Tell me more about Brad.”
He jotted down notes as Sable described some of Brad’s on-the-job experiences. Her face transformed as she spoke nostalgically, making her appear younger. Nicer.
“Stef mentioned that you kept in touch with Brad after he was let go.”
Sable dipped a cheese stick into the spicy tomato sauce. “Yes, I was worried about him. I knew he’d have difficulty finding another job. Office Outfitters had become his family—he told me once he was an only child and he wasn’t close to his parents. It’s not that easy to sever those kinds of connections. So that’s what I want you to tell Keely in your book—that her daddy was incredibly loyal and his loyalty will never be forgotten.”
Mitch underscored the word loyalty on his notepad and stared at Sable thoughtfully. There was an unmistakable ring of sincerity in her words. Despite her overt sensuality, on a gut level he didn’t think she would sleep with an employee. Especially not someone she considered family. But she might have turned to Brad—counted on his loyalty—to help her get back the company she’d lost.
“When was the last time you saw Brad?”
Sable lowered her gaze and took another sip of her drink. “Didn’t Stef tell you?”
Mitch encouraged her with a coaxing smile. “Humor me, I’m a writer. I’d rather hear it in your own words. Wasn’t it the week Brad died? You met for drinks?” He let his gaze drift casually down to the pillows of Sable’s breasts. But all he could think of were Stef’s golden breasts and pale blue lace. Even now he could imagine Stef cuddling with Keely in the hotel, creating their own magical world with love and stories and jelly beans. For the first time in his life Mitch yearned to have a woman create a magical world just for him. A home.
Not just any woman. Stef.
But he and Stef would never have a prayer. Even if he managed to bring home her real daughter safe and sound, she had no chance of retaining custody of Keely. Not with the Collingwood wealth backing the legal guardian her parents had appointed. Keely’s loss would be an insurmountable barrier between them. If he hadn’t figured out the baby switch, she’d still be Keely’s real mommy.
Tension skittered through him as an air of watchfulness couched Sable’s expression. “I think Stef must have misunderstood. We met for drinks, but it wasn’t the week Brad died. It was two or three weeks before that.”
Now Mitch knew she was lying outright. Tony’s watch had marked the date and the time of Sable’s last known encounter with Brad.
“What bar was that?”
“Does it matter?” Sable hedged, running a finger along the rim of the glass of her second martini.
“Writers like details. It’s what makes a personal story like this seem real. And it will make Brad come alive in Keely’s eyes.”
“I wish I could remember. It was somewhere out in Queens. We each had a beer.”
“Did Brad say anything at that last meeting that you think should be included in your piece?”
“Yes, he showed me pictures of Keely’s birth. And he said being a father was the most incredible thing that had ever happened to him.”
Mitch made a pretense
of writing that down. Beneath the table, Sable’s hand crept over his thigh. Mitch didn’t move a muscle. “How did you find out Brad had died?”
Sable’s fingers beat a hasty retreat from his thigh. “I got a call at home from Pasquale Pedroncelli—a manager at one of the stores Brad had supervised. It was about eight o’clock. I’d just had a bath. I was shocked. Brad was a good climber. Stef hinted that Brad may have committed suicide, but I don’t think that was the case. Brad might have been discouraged, but he knew he had a great future ahead of him with Stef and Keely.”
Mitch dodged Sable’s hands and her questions about Evan Mitchell’s personal life for another half hour to maintain his cover, then caught a taxi to Herman’s on Junction Boulevard in Queens.
The bar looked just as dim and drab in person as it had on videotape, except tonight a drunk couple in matching jeans and muscle shirts were belting out an Elvis song on the karaoke machine. Mitch sidled up to the bar and placed a one-hundred-dollar bill beneath an empty beer glass. “There’s plenty more where this came from for a little information.”
“You a cop or something?”
“Or something. Does it matter for a hundred bucks?”
The bartender—a beefy guy with a tattoo of an eagle on his neck—shook his head. “You want something to drink?”
Mitch ordered a beer and helped himself to a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the water-smeared bar. “You remember a guy named Brad Shelton? He used to live around here a couple years ago. He was a regular.”
“Sure, I remember Brad. But you’re wasting your money, tough guy. He’s dead. Took a fall off a cliff. It wasn’t pretty apparently. Closed casket if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know about that. I’m trying to track down some of his friends—guys he shot some hoops with.”
“A couple of those guys still hang out around here.” The bartender eyed the hundred-dollar bill. “That real?”
“As real as they come. I want names.”
Operation Bassinet Page 11
