It had been a long night for both of them, he decided, looking at Veronica the next morning. It was a little after eight in the morning. He'd spent most of the night at the office. He'd napped on the sofa around three, then finally headed home for a quick shower, shave and a change of clothes. Veronica stood in her doorway wearing the same clothes she'd had on the day before. Her hair was undone now, lying loose about her shoulders.
She looked younger that way, he thought. More vulnerable. She looked like someone who needed protecting.
Something nameless stirred deep within Chad, a little more insistently than the first time.
He frowned, ignoring the nascent feeling. Feelings were best left out of this case. They had no place where gut instincts were required.
Her eyes were swollen. She'd been crying again. Chad's frown deepened. "Get any sleep last night?"
She blinked, feeling suddenly gritty and self-conscious. She rubbed the back of her neck with her hand as she stepped back from the front doorway to admit him.
"A little."
Very little, she added silently. She'd lain down on her bed, fully dressed, ready to leap up and leave at a moment's notice. She'd waited for the phone to ring. She'd waited for a miracle. She'd waited in vain.
Veronica closed the door and led the way into the living room. "I kept thinking I heard the phone ringing every time I started to drop off."
He didn't have to ask if it had ever rung. She would have called him if it had. Or, barring that, she wouldn't have been here.
Before he realized what he was doing or could bank down the impulse, he combed the hair out of her face with his fingers. She mutely looked up at him in startled surprise. Chad dropped his hand to his side.
"You really should get some sleep," he said mildly.
"Can't," she murmured. "I tried." She lifted her shoulders in a slight dismissive shrug. "I'll sleep when we get Casey back." A silent prayer followed the affirmation.
Chad merely nodded as he glanced at his watch. Eight-fifteen. "Bank won't be open for another forty-five minutes." His eyes swept over her. Even rumpled, the woman looked appealing. But he doubted it was the kind of impression she wanted to convey to the bank president. "Maybe you'd like to change," he suggested politely.
Like a woman only marginally coming out of a trance, Veronica looked down at her clothes. Her appearance had been the last thing on her mind. Her expression was rueful as she raked her fingers through her hair.
"Maybe," she agreed. She began to turn, then stopped and looked at him. Her lack of organization was beginning to get to her. You never know how you'll behave in a crisis until it hits, she thought. Now she knew. And she wasn't very happy with herself. "Are you hungry? Angela's in the kitchen and can make you breakfast while you wait. I won't be long."
He wondered if their definitions of "long" were similar. He doubted it. "I'm fine." He never ate breakfast. It tended to slow him down in the morning. "But I might get a cup of coffee if it's made."
"There's plenty." She'd poured several cups into herself already in an attempt to banish the haze around her brain.
He wasn't quite sure what made him pause to watch her as she hurried upstairs. Certainly watching well-shaped legs as she mounted the stairs didn't have anything to do with the case. Rousing himself, Chad made his way into the kitchen.
He wasn't as much interested in getting a cup of coffee as he was in checking out the housekeeper. Veronica had vouched for her, but Veronica struck him as the type to vouch for everyone within her sphere of acquaintance. As distrustful as she attempted to portray herself, he had a hunch that she hadn't a clue as to how dark a place the world could be. Money, or more specifically, the lack of it, could make normally good people do some pretty bad things.
And if you were bad to begin with…
He let the thought trail off as he entered the kitchen.
Angela Evans stood at the counter with her back to him. She was a small-boned, trim woman, and when she turned around, he could see she was probably in her late fifties. Her main physical attribute was her smile. She flashed it at him, taking his presence in stride. "May I help you?"
He detected the slightest hint of an accent. Southern, he thought. New Orleans, maybe.
"Ms. Lancaster said I might be able to get a cup of coffee. She's getting dressed," he added in case the woman wondered what he was doing here by himself.
"Poor lamb," Angela murmured with a shake of her head. She crossed to the far end of the counter where the coffeemaker stood. The pot was still three-quarters full. She got down a cup and saucer. "How do you like it?"
"That's okay." Very gently he maneuvered so that she was forced to step back. "I can serve myself." He saw no reason for her to wait on him. She wasn't in his employ.
The coffee was rich and dark as it settled into his cup, the aroma strong. Unconsciously he nodded his approval. He met her gaze as he raised his cup and asked a question he already had the answer to. "Have you been with Ms. Lancaster long?"
It was then he saw the sadness in the woman's dark eyes. "Only since she married Mr. Robert and moved into this house." Long, thin fingers took his arm in an urgent supplication. "Are you going to be able to find him? The baby?"
He set the cup down. "Baby?" he echoed a little uncertainly.
"Casey. He is my baby." The smile reappeared, smaller. Rueful. "My children are all grown and on their own now. Taking care of Casey was like taking care of my own again. Please, you have to find him before something terrible happens." The earnest look in her eyes gave way to something darker. "And when you do, you will leave me alone with the man who has done this awful thing."
A smile played on his lips. He admired people who didn't lie down and let life steamroll right over them. "I think what you have in mind is against the law."
"Man's law, maybe. But so is taking a defenseless baby from his mother. All I ask for is five minutes," she told him, holding up a hand to splay out her fingers. "Just five minutes, and then you can have him."
His nod was noncommittal, hiding his amusement. She made him think of a stick of dynamite, small but definitely lethal if lit.
"I'll think about it." He took a long sip of the coffee, letting it wind through his system. Feeling a kick. Man, he thought, two cups of this could get a car running. "Have you seen anyone hanging around lately?" He studied her as he spoke. "Anyone taking unusual interest in the house or the boy while making deliveries, maybe?"
"No strangers. No deliveries. I do all the shopping for food myself." She gave him the impression that she had already gone over everything. "The gardener comes by once a week, but he and his son have been taking care of the property for years now."
"So you haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary?" he asked again, hoping to jar her memory if there was some small incident she might have overlooked.
"I only wish I had." And then she looked past his head. The gentle smile returned. "You look very nice, Miss Veronica."
He turned around in time to see Veronica cross the room. She looked like a model for the cover of a fashion magazine. Except for her eyes. She couldn't mask the pain there.
Veronica squeezed the housekeeper's hand. "You don't lie all that well, Angela." Taking a deep breath, she turned to look at Chad. "All right, I'm ready."
It wouldn't take them long. He knew her bank's location. After all the time he'd put in at the office last night, he knew a great deal about Veronica Lancaster. Working the computer and its resources was far from second nature to him, but he was dogged about it, and eventually he had found the information he was looking for.
As the night had worn on, he'd pored over news clippings from the society page that dealt with her wedding and read the stories that documented both her husband Robert's untimely death and the funeral that had been attended by what seemed a cast of thousands from the social register and the world of high finance. In between, he read accounts of the parties Veronica had thrown while raising money for various high-profile cha
rities. She was on the board of several national committees that concerned themselves with raising money for medical research seeking cures for half a score of diseases. All his reading had brought him to the conclusion that Veronica Lancaster was ordinarily one busy lady.
A busy lady whose life had ground to an abrupt halt.
"It shouldn't take us long to get to the bank." He nodded toward the stove, endearing himself, he noted, to Angela as he did so. "Why don't you have something to eat?"
The suggestion had her pressing her hand to her stomach. She could almost feel the knot. "I don't think I could keep anything down."
He ignored her protest and looked at Angela. "Have any muffins in there?" He nodded toward the industrial-size, chrome-door refrigerator.
Angela gave a snort as she turned around and opened the refrigerator. "Mister, I have everything in there." It wasn't an empty boast. Every shelf was filled to capacity.
"And it can stay in there." Veronica waved for her to close the door again. "I appreciate your concern, Chad, but unless you want to spend time steam-cleaning your car's upholstery, I really think you should listen to me on this one."
Normally he believed in people making up their own minds about things. He had no idea what had him pushing the envelope with this woman. "A tank running on empty doesn't go very far."
"The fumes will see me through for a while." she promised. Veronica began to edge toward the kitchen doorway.
Angela stood in the center of the kitchen, her hands on her hips, shaking her head in disapproval. Her gaze swung to Chad.
"Get her to eat something," she implored him as he left.
"I'll try." Though he had serious doubts that anyone could get Veronica Lancaster to do anything against her will. He caught up to her in a few strides and opened the front door. "You told Angela." He wouldn't have thought she'd open up to a housekeeper, not after keeping her brother-in-law and her friend at least partially in the dark.
Veronica nodded as he got in on the driver's side. "I wasn't going to, but she's like a second mother to me." Or a first one, she added silently. She hardly remembered her parents. There was a vague feeling of well-being when she thought of either of them, but she had to concentrate hard just to remember their faces in her mind's eye. "And after meeting her, you can't still think she had anything to do with this," she added deliberately, watching his expression for some sort of indication of his feelings.
"No," he agreed. The housekeeper had impressed him with the depth of her feelings about Casey. "Unless she's one hell of an actress, she seemed genuinely upset about this." One suspect down, a hundred to go, he thought cynically. "I still intend to talk to your friend, Anne."
She nodded. "You're in charge."
He couldn't help wondering if she said that often to people. From what he'd read last night, he had his doubts that she gave up control easily. Which was why this had to be doubly frustrating for her.
Veronica looked down at the light gray briefcase she'd brought with her. Very gently she caressed it with her fingers. It had been a gift from Robert when she'd begun her fund-raising career. All it had ever held until now was a notebook and a few pens scattered about within its interior.
"Is this big enough?" It seemed like a silly thing to admit, given her background and her chosen career, but she'd never seen 750 thousand dollars in cash before.
He glanced at the case. "It's big enough," he assured her. "Unless you're planning on giving the money to him all in ones and fives."
She knew he was attempting to lighten the tension, but it continued to hang about her like a heavy shroud.
Afraid, half numb, half angry, Veronica stared straight ahead. "I can't believe this is really happening," she said quietly, her voice scarcely above a whisper. "I expected to get up this morning and find Casey bouncing up and down on my bed."
A vague image of Megan and him doing the same on a big double bed winked in and out of his brain. An almost faded memory. "Does he do that often?
She smiled to herself, remembering last week.
They'd had cereal in front of the television set, dressed in their pajamas. "Saturday mornings. He likes me to watch cartoons with him." She pressed her lips together, the memory too much for her. She could feel the tears beginning to build again. She began to root through her purse for a handkerchief before she embarrassed herself. "Oh, God, I promised myself I wouldn't start crying again. I just can't seem to stop doing this." Unable to find a handkerchief or a tissue, Veronica wiped the corner of her eye with her fingers.
"I've got tissues in the glove compartment," he told her. Leaning toward her, one hand on the wheel, he reached over to the glove compartment and opened it, then took out a box.
She pulled a tissue from the box he offered her. Veronica sniffled, wiping away the remaining tears that were sliding down her cheeks. "You seem to think of everything."
He pushed the box back into the glove compartment, closing the door again. "Always be prepared," he replied, like a good Boy Scout. In reality, he'd never been a Boy Scout, never belonged to any organization that required socializing. That was part of the reason behind his quitting the force. He wasn't any good at the politics behind the job. He'd always done things his way, trusting only himself. That had rubbed his captain the wrong way. Chad had left the force rather than defend his actions. Defending yourself, explaining yourself, made you vulnerable, decreased your strength. So he was strong, silent. And alone.
"Are you?" she asked. He looked at her quizzically. "Always prepared?" she clarified.
He shrugged. "I try to be."
She blew out a breath, looking down at the tissue. She'd shredded a hole in its center. "Tell me, Chad, how do you prepare for something like this?"
The answer was frank. "You don't, not really. The' best you can hope for is to roll with the punches when they come and manage to wind up on your feet."
He glanced in her direction. The breeze from the open window was playing with the ends of her hair. The way, he realized suddenly, he wanted to. His hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel, as if that could somehow make him contain his thoughts and the feelings that insisted on infiltrating him.
"You left it down." Veronica looked at him, confusion in her eyes. "Your hair," he said. "You left it down."
Her hand went to her hair as if this was the first she'd heard of it. She looked almost surprised to find the soft waves touching her shoulders.
"I guess I did." The smile was rueful. "I couldn't think straight," she confessed.
"It looks nice like that." He wasn't accustomed to giving compliments. They didn't feel right on his tongue, yet she deserved this small thing he could do for her. "You should leave it down more often."
The surprise on her face blossomed into pleasure. "A fashion comment from a private investigator?"
For a second the pain in her eyes receded slightly. He felt a pleasant sense of accomplishment. "I'm trained to observe," he reminded her.
The compliment, tendered so simply, brought a comfort with it she couldn't quite put into words. She leaned back in the seat, watching the scenery pass. Trying not to think.
"It's too much trouble in the morning," she told him, seeking refuge in small talk. "I was considering getting it cut."
He kept his eyes on the road. "Don't."
The single word was almost a command. She looked at him.
He'd had a crush on a little girl when he was in the first grade. He'd fallen in love with her waist-length golden hair. He supposed that long hair somehow meant femininity to him. "A woman should always have long hair."
She felt herself smiling as she looked at him. "That sounds like something from the fifties." It didn't sound as if it should be coming from him.
He saw the bank up ahead and merged to the right. "Some things remain constant."
Very few things, she thought. Veronica slid her hand over her hair, looking at the building up ahead. "Something to think about," she murmured more to herself than to him.<
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Chapter 8
Jacob Browne's smile froze a little around the edges as Chad watched shock set in on the bank manager's face. The phrase "always a pleasure to serve you" was still lingering in the air when the granddaughter of Chester Lancaster and the branch office's largest account holder made her request.
Browne's eyes grew owlish. "How much?" he inquired in a disbelieving voice.
They were sitting in his office. The spacious room faced west, and the morning sun had yet to do more than hint at its presence here. The artificial fluorescent lights overhead seemed to cast a pall over the room as Browne continued to stare at Veronica.
Maybe she should have called ahead, Veronica thought. But then there might have been questions she didn't want to deal with over the telephone. Veronica drew herself up in her chair, her hands folded over her purse. The cell phone lay silent, its telltale bulge just beneath her fingertips.
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars," she repeated.
Browne's eyes darted from Veronica to Chad and then back again. Suddenly his face brightened. "This is a joke, right?"
"It's no joke, Mr. Browne. I need the money as soon as possible." She lowered her eyes to the briefcase she placed on his desk.
Browne rose to his feet. "But, my dear lady, that much money at one time… There are penalties, procedures—"
Chad cut the man short. "There is also a small boy whose life depends on it."
Chad didn't look in Veronica's direction. He knew she wasn't pleased that he'd said anything about Casey to the banker, but the gravity of the situation meant that they had to cut through any sort of banking filibuster Browne was about to launch.
The shock on Browne's face only intensified. "Is this true, Ms. Lancaster?"
"Yes." The sound of the word was almost too painful to bear. She longed in vain for the comfort, the luxury of denial. "If I don't have the money, my son will be harmed."
Browne looked at Chad suspiciously, as if to check whether or not there was any sign of duress between the two. Chad guessed that the man thought he was forcing Veronica to make the withdrawal. He wondered if Browne was going to give them a problem.
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