Mother by Fate

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  “It’s the police, Trevor,” Michael said. “In unmarked cars. They’re there to keep you and Toby safe until Nicole is in custody.”

  “It ain’t the cops, dude.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Miller’s got guys watching us. This ain’t them.”

  Nicole wasn’t in a position to hire someone to watch the place.

  But he knew someone who could afford to hire a slew of private detectives to make certain that Toby Kramer wasn’t stolen from his mother’s dangerous reach.

  She’d been texting all day the day before.

  Was she reporting his actions to whoever it was?

  Michael started to feel betrayed. Disappointed. And then calmed himself. It didn’t matter to him who Sara talked to, or what she told them. If someone else was able to get Nicole in without anyone getting hurt, it was fine with him.

  This wasn’t about ego. Or paychecks.

  Not anymore. And most particularly not this time, though why that was he wasn’t ready to think about.

  “Will I be able to reach you at this same number?” he asked.

  “I think so. If that changes I’ll get word to you.”

  There was no good reason he could think of why a man who had nothing to hide would need to change his number, but Trevor was understandably not at his best that morning.

  “I need you to be able to let me know the second you find Nicole. So I know my son is safe,” he added hurriedly.

  Technically Michael owed Trevor nothing. He worked of his own free will for the bondsman who’d posted Nicole’s bail. In conjunction with the police.

  He answered to himself.

  The day stretched before him. Long and repetitive.

  “I asked you once before if you know of any reason your wife would be in Santa Raquel...” He’d asked Friday afternoon, when he’d tracked the woman to the town through a bus driver and then had seen her with Sara. “You said you two have never been here.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And that you don’t know of any reason she’d hang out here, in particular.”

  “That’s right. I’d have guessed Santa Barbara. She likes it there. Used to drag me up there a couple of times a year.”

  “Does she know anyone in the area? Is there anyone you know of who might have moved recently? Someone she was friendly with?”

  Someone who could be putting her up for a day or two?

  “No, dude, I’m telling ya, Nicole wasn’t the sort who had a lot of friends.”

  “And no family at all? Maybe a distant cousin she climbed trees with when she was a kid?”

  “None that I ever met. It was just her and her folks. I gather they moved around a lot. The type of shit they did, you couldn’t hang around and wait to get caught.”

  The Ivory Nation again.

  He remembered the aiding and abetting a bombing charge on her record. It wouldn’t be there if it had happened when she was a kid.

  Unless they’d found a way to charge her as an adult.

  “You said she grew up in and around LA and down toward the border, right?” It was exactly what the man had said.

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re sure she’s had no contact with her parents.”

  “Positive. Hates their guts. And if you want to know the truth, if there’s one thing Nicole’s scared of, it’s her dad. She’s a hard-ass just like him, though.”

  “You happen to know where they’re living these days?”

  He’d asked for a phone number before. Trevor hadn’t had it. But it never hurt to ask the same questions in different ways. Especially when dealing with a young father who was beside himself.

  “Last I knew they were in...” The man paused. “Shit, dude. They’re in Santa Raquel. I just thought of it. We got some notice thing when they moved because of the restraining order and all.”

  “Restraining order?”

  “Yeah, Miller helped us get one against them when I left the brotherhood.”

  So Miller had been involved in Trevor’s leaving...

  Explained why the guy took such a personal interest in Trevor Kramer. He was helping the kid break free of people who weren’t known to let go.

  “You’re sure the report said they were in Santa Raquel?”

  It was a long shot. But maybe not. What parent wouldn’t welcome a child returning to the fold? And forgive whatever transgressions there were?

  What kid wouldn’t run to her parents and agree to whatever was necessary to get help when things got desperate?

  On second thought, Trevor wasn’t completely sure. Saying again that he was certain Nicole wouldn’t go to her dad, he did, at Michael’s request, go find the restraining order. Which confirmed that Nicole’s parents were indeed living in Santa Raquel. Trevor gave Michael an exact address, courtesy of Detective Miller.

  “But I can guarantee you she’s not there,” he said with such confidence Michael wondered if Trevor knew where Nicole was.

  Which made no sense at all.

  Or he didn’t want Michael to meet with Nicole’s parents. Which made more sense. Except that now Trevor was getting more desperate. And less sure of himself.

  Or he could just be telling the truth. Nicole hadn’t come to Santa Raquel to see her parents. She’d run to a domestic-violence shelter.

  “But then again, who knows,” the man said, clearly having second thoughts once again. “I mean, she wanted out worse than me. Hated the old man and wasn’t happy when I took over for him. But she don’t know no other way of life, you know? It’s all she knew. She was like, brainwashed, dude. Like, they even homeschooled her.”

  A new piece of information. A valuable one.

  “Thanks, Trevor. Keep yourself and that son of yours safe,” he said, and rang off. He wanted information. Not to be friends.

  He wanted to get a call in to Mari before having to deal with Sara Havens and her particular brand of caring and sexy witchery again.

  * * *

  HURRYING THROUGH HER brief ablutions, brushing her teeth, washing her face, putting on a little makeup and then throwing the small overnight bag back into her purse, Sara took a wet paper towel into the stall, wiped herself down and changed into the calf-length jeans and short-sleeved spandex top she’d packed because neither wrinkled easily.

  She texted Lila. Let her know she thought Nicole was trying to communicate with her. Explained the jeans. And then, when she was sure the text had been sent, deleted it. As she’d been doing with all of the texts she’d been sending and receiving in the past thirty-six hours. She wouldn’t put it past Michael to look at her phone while she slept—though she’d had it zipped in the pouch strapped to her waist the entire time. But she wasn’t taking any chances.

  Not when lives were at stake.

  The next question was, did she leave another note? And what would she say if she did?

  She had to be careful. Michael was a professional, and the whole shower-in-the-bathroom thing—it was an easy lie to be caught in if he came inside the bathroom as he had the day before.

  If he knew she was lying about one thing, he’d start to distrust her every move.

  But in the end, she couldn’t leave without at least trying. On a paper towel she wrote, “Text me,” folded the jeans, put the note in the crease of the fold and put them back on the floor behind the trash.

  * * *

  WITHOUT TELLING SARA what they were doing, Michael drove by the address Trevor had given him as soon as Sara was back in the SUV. He wasn’t going to knock on any doors yet. If Nicole’s parents were harboring her, they weren’t going to be friendly.

  He got a look at the house, at the sleeping neighborhood, and drove on by.

  Even if Nicole wasn’t there, her parent
s still might not be friendly.

  Depending on how he played it.

  And then it occurred to him. They could knock on the door. Because of Sara. She was the perfect in with any parent.

  And most particularly with Nicole’s, because she was looking out for their daughter...

  He’d wait until a more decent hour, until there were signs of life in the house.

  And then he was taking Sara shopping. For information.

  * * *

  SARA’S STOMACH KNOTTED when she saw Michael pull into her complex. If he thought he was ditching her now he was going to be disappointed. He’d have to call the cops to get her out of his vehicle, and right now the Santa Raquel police were attached to her hip. So to speak.

  He pulled to a stop. And turned the most charming little-boy look on her.

  “I know I should have asked, but could we please refill that cooler?”

  By the end of the night, they’d eaten everything she’d packed.

  “How do you know I have more bread?”

  “I saw your pantry when you went for the water two nights ago. A woman who has that much food storage wouldn’t run out of bread.”

  His deductions were maddening. Mostly because they were right so much of the time.

  And she was glad to have a few minutes at home. To grab another change of clothes. Brush her hair for real and just...be home.

  Michael asked if he could use her spare bathroom to shower.

  She’d have loved one herself and was jealous as she heard the jet sprays come on. But if she got in the shower, he’d know she’d lied about the shower she’d had that morning.

  Oh, the tangled web we weave... A voice from her past. A nanny she’d had when she was about seven. She couldn’t even remember her name.

  The nannies had never lasted long.

  Her mother hadn’t wanted to be replaced.

  Sara reached for the loaf of bread she’d taken out to thaw when she’d used up the last loaf the previous morning. Grabbed the peanut butter. The jelly. And heard the water running.

  Which brought to focus the fact that Michael was completely naked. In her home. How could she help but imagine the sight? She already knew exactly how delicious the massive expanse of his chest looked wet. And his thighs.

  And the little she hadn’t seen, she’d felt in the hot tub that night. Pressing up against her. Her imagination was doing a damned fine job of filling in the blanks...

  The vibration against Sara’s hips was no surprise. Michael Edison had the power to do crazy and unladylike things to her body. She was just going to have to accept that fact...

  The vibration happened again.

  And Sara realized she was getting a text.

  With a peanut butter–laden knife in one hand she pulled out her phone with the other. And dropped the knife.

  She didn’t recognize the number.

  Sara read the text again as she hurried down the hall to her bedroom.

  Trevor moved Toby. Suitcase and diaper bag left with him.

  Damn. Nicole must have heard from the old lady across the street.

  She had to think fast. To keep Nicole close by.

  The woman would die if she tried to take on the man she’d married. She typed back quickly.

  Our people are on him.

  Nicole’s phone was untraceable but she had a number now. She could call. And have Sanchez ping it to the nearest tower.

  You’re sure?

  Positive.

  She waited a minute, and when no response came typed, Go back to the Lemonade Stand. I’ll keep Trevor’s goon away from you.

  Her hands were trembling so hard she almost dropped the phone. But she got the message right.

  What was she doing? Playing both sides against the middle?

  Lila hadn’t said a thing about Trevor moving.

  But she couldn’t have Nicole running after him, either.

  We have him in sight. And the means to do something about it. The authorities are getting the paperwork together to be able to pick up Toby. He’ll be in sight at all times until that happens.

  Bile rose in her throat. She typed their intention. She typed what she’d been told was going to happen in the eventuality that Kramer moved his son to a different location.

  She typed hope, not truth.

  She typed to save a woman’s life.

  No response.

  Go back to the Lemonade Stand. You’ll be safe there.

  No response again.

  Please God, let her trust me. Even though I lie.

  Sara sent a group text to the High Risk Team, alerting them to what she’d done.

  And then went back to the kitchen to make peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  AS MICHAEL PULLED out of her condo complex just after eight that morning, Sara was reminded of an old game her mother had played with her as a kid. They’d pick a daisy from the wildflower garden, and her mother would have her pick the petals and say, “She loves me, she loves me not.” If it looked as if the petals were going to run out on “she loves me not” her mother would distract her and pull a petal while she wasn’t looking. Sara never let on that she knew her mother always made it so that the flower ended on “she loves me.”

  “She” being her mother.

  Thea Havens had told her daughter that the miracle of the daisy message always coming out right was like the miracle of love.

  Her mother was big on proof.

  And big on making the proof fit the message she was trying to give.

  For some, lying for good reason wasn’t a bad thing. Sara found that way of thinking confusing.

  That morning, the game in her mind sounded more like Do I tell him? Do I tell him not?

  She needed Nicole safe. Michael had said he’d take her to the Santa Raquel police.

  Trevor was on the move.

  Nicole might not be safe much longer.

  Most particularly if Trevor had any idea where she was.

  Had Michael told him?

  A day before she might have been more certain that he had. But after hearing about Shelley—about why he did what he did—she knew Michael would not knowingly put a woman’s life in danger. Not any woman.

  She also had a feeling that he wouldn’t befriend anyone of Trevor’s ilk—except for the purpose of getting information he needed to do his job.

  But not being Trevor’s friend still didn’t mean he’d change his mind about the man’s victimhood.

  And even if she managed to convince him that Nicole was innocent, did she have any guarantee that he’d stay on the job long enough to get Nicole to safety before Trevor got to her? He was about one thing only—getting the jumpers off the streets.

  Not saving endangered women.

  From what she understood about bounty hunters—the little bit she’d been able to read on the internet—they weren’t legally allowed to pick up someone without an active arrest warrant. Michael claimed he had one. The Santa Raquel police were certain the warrant had been dismissed. If he believed it had, he’d have to leave the job.

  If Nicole didn’t show up at the Lemonade Stand within the hour, she wasn’t likely to do so. In which case Sara would need Michael’s skills more than ever.

  Sara’s daisy was ending on “tell him not.”

  She could pull an extra petal.

  But she didn’t.

  * * *

  HE DROVE STRAIGHT to the home of Nicole’s parents, a Mr. and Mrs. Robert Buchannan. At least that was the name they were going by now, according to Trevor. Robert and Nadine.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  She’d made sandwiches without grumbling. Had added potato chips, along wit
h celery, carrots and more peaches to their stash. If they drank the second cooler of bottled water she’d packed they’d have to stop and pee every few minutes.

  “I...did some more research,” he said, ad-libbing as he looked up at the house. “If I’m right in my guess, this is the home of Nicole’s estranged parents.”

  “She said her parents were dead.”

  “I’m told she considered them dead to her, but they’re very much alive.”

  “Here? In Santa Raquel?” Sara frowned as she looked at the house. Because he was showing her that she didn’t know her client as well as she thought she did?

  Everyone made errors now and then. She should expect to do so, as well.

  “I’m not sure. But I think so.”

  She turned that stare on him. “When did you have the chance to research this?’

  “While you were showering this morning.”

  At the beach. On the phone with Trevor. Thank God for the smartphone technology that made the lie believable.

  His answer seemed to satisfy her.

  She stared at the house again. “Are we just going to sit here and watch the house? Hope that she comes walking out? Because I’m pretty certain she’s not going to, and in the meantime she’s out there someplace and we’re not going to find her.”

  There was a different note in her voice. Panic?

  Granted, it had been a few days since he’d first been handed the warrant. Longer than it had ever taken him to capture a jumper.

  Then again, he’d never worked with a partner before, either.

  Let alone one who had the power to make him feel things when he’d rather not.

  “I have a plan,” he told her. He needed her in on this. One hundred percent. “I want you to do all the talking. You know Nicole, I don’t. You can give them your credentials. Everyone knows that therapists have confidentiality and loyalty mandates when it comes to their clients. When they hear how much you care about her, how worried you are—when they believe you’re trying to save her, that you’re on her side—if they know something, they’re likely to tell us.”