“Because there was no ransom. That was the odd part,” Miller said, turning to look at the younger man. “No one called or left a note, demanding money. The baby just vanished from his backyard one morning when his mother ran into the house to answer the phone—and that was the end of it.”
“If there was no ransom note, then maybe whoever took Jackson just wanted a baby of their own,” Elizabeth suggested.
“That was the general consensus after a while,” Miller agreed. “It fueled your father’s hope that his missing son was still alive,” he told Reginald’s three offspring.
“Why didn’t he ever tell any of us?” Landry wanted to know. “And why didn’t we ever hear anything about it? Wasn’t this a matter of public record, given who Dad was?”
More than the others, she was particularly crushed by this revelation. She’d always believed that she and her father were close. People who were close didn’t withhold secrets from each other, especially secrets of this magnitude. The thought that her father had kept this from all of them—from her—hurt her deeply.
“He wasn’t the prominent person then that he was now. My guess is that he didn’t tell any of you about this because he felt somehow responsible for the kidnapping,” Miller said. “And, I suspect, because he didn’t want to burden any of you with the cross he bore. Your mother knew,” he added.
Well, that didn’t come as a surprise, Whit thought. The fact that she didn’t wield it like a weapon did. “I’m surprised she didn’t use it to taunt him with,” Whit commented to the lawyer.
“Who knows, maybe she did,” Elizabeth ventured. When Whit looked at her, she explained her theory. “You weren’t around much after you left home for college. Maybe she did rub your father’s nose in it.”
Whit had to admit that she had a point. He’d sensed that things hadn’t been right between his parents for a long while now, but he had attributed it to the fact that they had completely different interests that took them in opposite directions. His father seemed to be completely devoted to his company, leaving his mother to pursue her own devices in order to amuse herself.
For a moment, he tried to put himself in his father’s place and speculated how the man must have felt having a child stolen from him, living each day not knowing where the boy was or even if he was alive. It had to have been horrible for him, Whit thought.
“I want you to look into hiring a private detective to find this missing brother of ours,” he instructed the lawyer.
Carson looked at his brother as if he had lost his mind. “If all those other detectives came up empty over the years, what makes you think the result is going to be any different now?”
“Investigative methods have improved,” Elizabeth interjected, guessing at Whit’s reasoning. In his place, she would do exactly the same thing. “And a fresh pair of eyes might see something that everyone else might have missed.”
“In any event,” Whit concluded, “it’s certainly worth a try.” He turned toward the lawyer, repeating his instruction in case the man just thought he was merely talking and nothing more. “Look into that for us, would you, please?”
Miller stood a little straighter, as if silently acknowledging that Whit was the head of the family now that his father was gone. “I’ll get right on it, Mr. Adair.”
“One question,” Elizabeth said as everyone prepared to leave the conference room. Four sets of eyes turned toward her almost in unison. “What happens to that fourth share of the business if Jackson is never found? Did Mr. Adair leave some sort of a provision for that?” she asked the lawyer.
Miller shook his head. “No, he didn’t. Mr. Adair was that certain that Jackson would turn up someday.” He paused for a moment, considering the situation. “He probably felt if he covered that contingency in writing, it might just become a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“So that fourth share just remains in limbo forever?” Carson asked in obvious disbelief.
There were things that could be implemented from a legal standpoint, Whit thought, but it was far too early to go into that.
“We’ll deal with that after all other avenues to locate your missing brother prove to be unproductive and a sufficient amount of time has passed,” Miller promised the three heirs. “For now—” he turned to look at Whit “—thank you for allowing me to serve you.”
Whit put his hand on the lawyer’s shoulder—the size of his hand all but dwarfed the small man’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to sound so humble, Nathan. The job was yours all along. I don’t believe in changing ships in the middle of an ocean cruise,” Whit said kindly. “Nobody’s going to be handing you your walking papers.”
Miller beamed, obviously relieved even though he said to the family’s new head, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to, sir.”
“You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.” Whit laughed.
There would be some minor changes made to the company’s infrastructure when he took over heading up AdAir Corp, but nothing drastic. He had never been one who believed in change for change’s sake alone, nor did he believe in flexing his muscles just because he could. He believed in results, not showmanship.
Since Landry and Carson had arrived in Carson’s car, they would drive back to the ranch together. As they departed, and Miller returned to his office, that left Whit standing in the hallway with Elizabeth.
“How about you?” he asked. “Can I give you a lift back home?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I took half of a vacation day from the office so I’ll be going back there now that this is over. And since I drove,” she continued with a smile, “I will be providing my own ride back. But thank you for the offer.”
He nodded, walking with her to the elevator. Taking a deep breath, he began framing his apology. “I’d like to apologize again for what my mother said—”
She held up her hand like a traffic cop stopping the flow of vehicles.
“No need. We’re not accountable for what our parents say or do. I know your mother never cared for me. I think she suspected every woman who interacted with your father. It was no secret that she didn’t trust him,” Elizabeth said, only telling him what she was sure he already knew. “Your father was a very good-looking man who prided himself on staying in shape. Even though anyone looking at your mother would know that she did the same—she is a very strikingly beautiful woman who takes wonderful care of herself—I suppose fear doesn’t have to be rational. Your mother was afraid that someone would steal him away from her.”
“No,” he contradicted. “She was afraid that someone would steal his money away from her.”
“Ah, yes, but having another, possibly younger woman steal your father away from her would, in her eyes, be the ultimate humiliation. In her mind, she might not be able to rise above it, and she held your father accountable for her feelings of inadequacy. Looking at your mother, I’d say that she was a beauty when she was younger, the kind that turned men’s heads no matter what they were doing at the time.
“Sometimes,” Elizabeth continued as they stepped into the elevator and Whit pressed the button for the ground floor, “women like that don’t accept aging gracefully and their insecurity makes life an absolute hell for those around them. Your father talked about that to me once,” she told Whit. “That your mother didn’t trust him and that really wounded his pride. That’s not to say that women didn’t throw themselves at your father on a fairly regular basis,” she emphasized. “He was tall, good-looking and wealthy. Women have broken up marriages for a great deal less.”
Getting off the elevator, they both walked toward the building’s entrance. “I still can’t believe that we’re never going to see him again,” she admitted as they neared the entrance.
Whit nodded. “Me neither. I think the only reason my mother’s adjusted so well
to this is because she hardly ever saw him during the last five or seven years.” Reaching the door, he pushed it open for her, then stepped over the threshold himself. “Well, I’ll see you back in the office later,” he told her, then explained just in case she was wondering, “I’ve got a couple of things—if not more—to tend to first.”
She made a calculated guess, fairly certain that she was right. “Going to the police station?”
It was getting so that nothing she said surprised him any longer. She seemed to be completely in tune to his thinking. He supposed he should be grateful that she wasn’t a mind reader—otherwise, things might really get awkward.
“I want to put some pressure on the investigating detective. There’ve been no further reports or updates. It feels like they’ve just given up looking for my father’s killer. It’s like they think this was a one-time crime instead of someone on a rampage. That means whoever did it isn’t a threat to the average citizen.”
She nodded, agreeing with him. “Well, they have that wrong. I know I won’t feel safe until they find whoever did it.”
It could be anyone until that person had a name, she thought. Until the killer was brought to justice, she was going to be looking over her shoulder, regarding almost everyone suspiciously. That was no way to live a life, she thought.
They parted at the front door, with Whit going toward the parking structure while Elizabeth headed toward the large aboveground parking lot.
As she walked, she picked up her pace, wanting to get back to the office before her pile of things to do became totally insurmountable.
Approaching her car, Elizabeth rummaged through her purse for her keys. Finding the fob, she pulled it out, aimed in the general direction of her vehicle and pressed the release button. Because of the distance, the sound was muffled, but she heard all four locks popping up and standing to attention.
Just as she reached her car, her keys slipped from her hand, falling to the ground. Impatient with herself, she muttered the word klutz under her breath as she bent down to retrieve her keys.
That was when she saw it. The tire on the driver’s side was slashed.
A chill ran down her spine.
She wasn’t sure just what had made her look over toward the rear passenger side tire at that moment, but she did.
It was slashed, as well.
The chill running down her spine plummeted to subzero temperatures. Holding her breath, Elizabeth circled her car, coming over to the other side.
As she walked, she looked all around the immediate area. There was no one within sight.
Gathering her courage to her, she looked down at her tires on that side of the car.
They were slashed as well.
Chapter 7
Getting into his car, Whit buckled up and was just about to turn his key in the ignition when his cell phone rang. For a moment, he debated just letting the call go to voice mail. He could always call whoever was on the other end of the line back later.
Nonetheless, habit had him glancing at the screen to see who the caller was. When he saw that it was Elizabeth, a sense of uneasiness had him hitting the green symbol on his screen. He’d just now left her. What would prompt her to call him so soon?
Something was wrong.
“Hello, Elizabeth?”
Just the sound of his voice took her racing adrenaline down a notch. Everything was going to be all right, she told herself.
“Looks like I’m going to be taking you up on that offer for a ride,” Elizabeth said, doing her best to sound calm.
“Sure. I’ll be right there. What changed your mind?” he wanted to know.
Elizabeth looked down at her slashed tires. “I had it changed for me.”
There was a strange stillness in her voice that he didn’t recognize. It almost didn’t sound like her, Whit thought. “Elizabeth, is something wrong?”
She thought of just telling him everything was fine—he’d see for himself soon enough. But she saw no reason for the charade in this case. There was absolutely nothing to be gained by putting up a so-called brave front.
“You might say that,” she told him, “although I could be jumping the gun.”
“Because?” Whit pressed, urging her to give him a fuller explanation.
“My car was vandalized.”
“You mean like someone drew graffiti on it?” And why would that make the car inoperable, he wondered.
“No, like tires slashed. All four of them,” she told him in a small voice that didn’t allow him to guess at her emotional reaction.
Instantly alert, Whit turned the key, bringing his car to life. “Give me your exact location. I’ll be right there,” he promised.
He was as good as his word, Elizabeth thought. She could hear the sound of his car approaching even before she hit the button on her phone terminating the call.
His car came to a screeching stop right next to her. Whit jumped out of his vehicle, his eyes riveted on the condition of the two tires that were on his side of her car.
His first concern, though, was Elizabeth.
“Are you all right?” he wanted to know, his eyes sweeping over her to assess her state for himself.
Elizabeth gave a half shrug. She honestly couldn’t say what she was at the moment. “As all right as I can be with four slashed tires,” she answered.
He’d never heard her being flippant before, but then, these weren’t exactly ordinary circumstances she was involved with, either.
“No, I mean, you aren’t hurt or anything like that, are you?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “The tires were already slashed when I came out,” she told Whit. “I never saw who did it.” Pausing, she told him what she was considering. “You don’t think this is just an odd coincidence, do you? A random prank by some stupid kid flexing his would-be tough-guy muscles for his friends or his girlfriend?” she suggested, mentally crossing her fingers that it wasn’t any more than that.
But Whit shook his head, shooting down her fragile theory. “I think it’s more serious than that.”
She was afraid of that, Elizabeth thought, resigning herself to possibly being in someone’s crosshairs. “You’re talking about your father’s killer, aren’t you?”
Whit circled the car again, this time more slowly, checking it out just in case there was something they might have both missed seeing.
“Yes, I am.”
“But why?” she wanted to know. “It doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“It doesn’t have to make sense to us. The killer is the only one who counts in this scenario,” Whit told her grimly. “Maybe he thinks you saw him before he pulled his vanishing act and he’s afraid you’re going to identify him as my father’s killer to the police.”
The very idea left Elizabeth numb. She struggled to get her mind in gear.
“You really think so?” she asked. It seemed to her that there was a rather large hole in that theory. “Because if I had seen the person who killed your father, I would have already identified him for the police and the killer would have been arrested, or at the very least found himself the subject of a massive interstate manhunt. Doesn’t he realize that?”
Whit didn’t care about the way the killer thought—he only cared about keeping Elizabeth safe.
“I don’t know what the killer realizes or doesn’t realize. For all we know, he might have an entirely different reason for trying to eliminate you.”
Well, that certainly didn’t make her feel any better, Elizabeth thought.
As he was talking, Whit got down on his knees beside the car, then crouched lower, looking at the vehicle’s undercarriage.
“What are you doing?” Elizabeth wanted to know as she watched him.
Whit flattened himself as much as he could to get a
good look. “I’m checking to see if whoever slashed your tires also planted an explosive device to the underside of your car.”
That hadn’t even occurred to her until he mentioned it. Now that he had, she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t thought of that herself. Her boss’s killer certainly had no regard for human life. Slashed tires were a warning. A bomb would have been an execution, pure and simple.
“You actually think he planted a bomb?” she cried, feeling overwhelmed.
“Anything’s possible,” he replied, scanning the complete undercarriage of her disabled car one more time. It appeared clean. “I don’t see anything,” Whit told her. He rose to his feet, brushing some of the dirt off his trousers. Not all of it came off. With a shrug, he ignored it.
“Maybe it is a prank,” Elizabeth said hopefully, raising that theory again.
Whit looked at her, a skeptical expression on his face. “You believe in coincidences?”
The way he asked told her his opinion on the matter. Still, she tried to hold fast to the quickly weakening theory.
“Sometimes,” she replied.
“Well, I don’t,” Whit answered firmly. “I think you’re in danger,” he told her, doing his best to keep his voice calm in order not to alarm her any more than was absolutely necessary.
Not that he saw her as a woman who panicked easily. In his opinion, if Elizabeth was able to hold it together after finding his father’s body the way she had, he figured that meant that she was pretty much unflappable.
Even so, everyone had their breaking point—not to mention that she was, after all, vulnerable, and he didn’t want to see anything happening to Elizabeth, for a whole host of reasons.
“What kind of danger?” she asked him quietly, wary of the answer.
“The kind of danger that involves death,” Whit told her crisply. He didn’t want to frighten her, but at the same time, he didn’t want her thinking she was safe if she wasn’t. And in his opinion, she wasn’t.
She wanted him to spell it out, to spare her nothing. She needed to know what she was up against, no fancy words, no quick footwork. She wanted the truth.
Carrying His Secret Page 8
