Not a Moment Too Soon

by Linda O. Johnston

  He heard a sudden intake of breath from behind him and turned. Shauna stood there. Whatever the sound meant, her demeanor was calm. A hell of a lot stronger than how he felt.

  He wondered if grabbing her and pulling her close would make him feel any better. Hell, yes. But only while it lasted, and that couldn’t be for long right now. As a result, he held himself firmly in check.

  Had she learned anything helpful from Chiles? He doubted it, or she’d tell him right off, he was sure of it.

  How had she gotten in without being pounced on by the media predators outside?

  As if she’d heard the question, she said brightly, “I haven’t done that kind of sneaking around since I was a kid. I had to pop into the alley, pretend I live around here and was heading for my garage, then double back when no one was looking. Fortunately, the few watching the alley disappeared all at once.”

  She didn’t refer to his last comment about Andee. But even her story allowed Andee to stay alive…until the end, when the kidnapper was caught. Well, that part he’d buy into. They would get the guy. But first, they needed to assure him that no one had blabbed to the media.

  That the police simply happened on the kidnapping?

  Yeah, right.

  He noticed then that Lou Tennyson was quietly staring at Shauna, as if sizing her up. As a suspect?

  He’d suspect her of something, all right, if Hunter explained why she happened to be here. Her connection to the kidnapping: her magical writing.

  Sure, the FBI would buy into that.

  He decided to take the simplest route and tell part of the story. “Shauna, this is Lou Tennyson. He’s a friend of Banger’s—with the FBI.”

  “Hi.” She approached the man with her hand outstretched. Tennyson didn’t look pleased but reciprocated.

  Hunter said, “This is Shauna O’Leary, an old friend of mine who’s come here to help.” An old and dear friend, he thought.

  “Do you know how the media got hold of this story, Agent Tennyson?” Shauna asked. “Maybe if we knew that, we’d have a better idea what to tell the kidnapper to protect Andee.”

  “Could be any number of sources. All we can do now is damage control.” Tennyson’s tone was all business. As he released Shauna’s hand, he looked at Hunter. “So, are you ready to head out front and talk to them?”

  “As ready as I’ll get,” Hunter said, steeling himself as he headed from Margo’s kitchen, through her house to the front door.

  He stopped as he heard questions being shouted from the front lawn. Followed by the amplified sound of Margo’s voice.

  Yanking open the door, Hunter was blinded suddenly by a bunch of attacking camera flashes. When he could see, there was Margo, at the edge of her porch, her back toward him—and her face toward a sea of people wielding microphones and cameras. Her friend BillieAnn Callahan was at her side.

  Damn! Why hadn’t she waited for him? And how was he going to keep control of what she said?

  “Ms. Masters,” a reporter shouted from the back of the crowd. “Is the information that’s now circulating true—it’s your daughter who’s missing and she’s been kidnapped?”

  Tears rolled down Margo’s face. “If I tell you, will you please let me make a statement?” Her voice broke, and she began sobbing quietly, BillieAnn’s arm around her shoulder.

  “Sure,” called another reporter, holding her microphone toward Margo.

  “Give her a minute,” yelled BillieAnn. “She’s going through a lot.”

  Which undoubtedly told the reporters their speculations were true. Hunter hurried toward her—first shooting a glance back toward Shauna, whose face was pale and worried.

  In moments, he stood between BillieAnn and her. BillieAnn shot him a dirty look but stepped away.

  Hunter was immediately bombarded with a barrage of questions, mostly, “Are you the child’s father?”

  “I’m Hunter Strahm.” He projected his voice as if he was in Margo’s line of work—acting. “Ms. Masters—Margo—and I used to be married. We have a daughter, Andee, who’s five years old. I’m not sure how information got to the media, but we recently learned that—”

  “That Andee was kidnapped,” Margo broke in, looking beseechingly at him as if wanting him to understand something. He wasn’t sure what. He also didn’t trust her to say the right words to fix things for Andee.

  The problem was, he didn’t know what they might be, either.

  Reporters hurled questions at them, but Margo held up her hands. Since she was always so concerned about her appearance, he wasn’t about to tell her that tears had caused her makeup to streak beneath her eyes.

  “Please, let me speak.” As everyone quieted, she continued in a voice that cracked with emotion. “What I’m saying now is directed toward the person who’s got my daughter. Andee…” Her voice trailed off into a sob.

  She looked up at Hunter as if for support. Feeling trapped into it, he put an arm around her.

  Blinking, Margo aimed a smile that appeared grateful up at his face, then turned back to the reporters. “Whoever you are, please listen. I don’t know how word got out about Andee. We’re trying hard to comply with what you want from us. We’ve got the money together—” She again looked at Hunter, who nodded. He wasn’t about to even hint he didn’t have every cent available. “As soon as you contact us, we can make arrangements to trade it for our daughter. But, please, don’t hold all this against us.” She swept her hand around, toward the panting throng surrounding them. “Just take good care of Andee and let us know where you want the money. Please.” Breaking into sobs, she turned and hid her face against Hunter.

  “Yeah,” he said, staring straight into one of the cameras and hoping the expression he stuck on his face looked sincere. “Prove to us she’s okay and we’ll do anything you want.” He tried not to choke on the last part, for it acknowledged that the creep who had their daughter was in control.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Shauna peer from behind drapes at Margo’s front window. Aware that his ex still pressed against him, he couldn’t help holding her tighter.

  He felt like a damned hypocrite. And an utter jerk. Shauna wouldn’t care if he pretended to still care for his ex-wife in front of the rolling cameras. She’d expect it of him.

  The earth-moving sex they’d shared last night had been an outlet for both of them and their stress. A reaction to being together for the first time in all these years, for the world’s worst reason. The feelings they’d once had for each other were way in the past. At least they should be.

  Yet even as he forced himself to hug Margo, shield her from the cacophony of shouts from behind them as he led her into the house, he felt like the lowest form of louse. Especially when he met Shauna’s gaze. He saw the understanding there.

  And beneath the acceptance, did he also see hurt? Or was that only perverse wishful thinking?

  They’d looked like a couple united in determination and sorrow, Shauna thought. Which they were.

  She sat in a corner of Margo’s living room while the others—Margo, her friend BillieAnn, Hunter, Banger and Tennyson—gathered in the conversation area in the middle.

  She was, after all, the outsider.

  If only she had simply gone home today, as they’d planned.

  “What was that all about, Margo?” Hunter began when they were assembled. “Why didn’t you wait, so we could deal with that media circus together from the beginning?”

  “I…I don’t know.” Margo sat on her sofa looking both frail and defiant. Not even fear for her daughter or dealing with the onslaught of the press made her appear less than gorgeous. Her eyes were red and sad, smeared around the edges with makeup she’d mostly cleaned off when she came inside, but Margo was the consummate tragic figure. Her face was pale except for color upon her high cheekbones and light lipstick, her complexion flawless, her brown hair a little mussed.

  Was Shauna jealous of her?

  Not of her beauty…at least not much. But the
fact that her loveliness had attracted Hunter in the first place.

  And that he was leaning toward his ex-wife in their time of fear for Andee. So much toward her that he had all but shouted their reconciliation to the world, on a hundred news cameras.

  The very day after the night he had spent with Shauna.

  Well, heck. She had known that all they were doing was taking comfort from each other. She had offered that small bit of solace to Hunter, and he’d taken it. End of story.

  But not the end of her story.

  Margo snuggled closer to Hunter on the sofa. “I’m sorry. I thought it would be best. I mean, I was the one watching Andee when she was taken. It’s my fault…”

  “Let’s not get into fault,” Lou Tennyson said smoothly. “Or who should or shouldn’t have spoken on camera. The point’s been made that neither Hunter nor you did anything intentionally. We have to assume the kidnapper will get this, one way or another. Now that the word is out, he’s probably watching the news. You’ve done what you can. Now—”

  Shauna continued to listen as the discussion progressed, but her attention wavered.

  She had the distinct sense that she was missing something.

  Something in her story? Something that might provide a clue about the kidnapper?

  Or was her hopefulness, her fear for Hunter’s child, causing her mind to play games?

  She wasn’t sure. But what she did know was that, as soon as she was able, she wanted to reread her story yet again, every word. Let her subconscious flow with it.

  Not that she expected to change it again. Or that the ending would be any different.

  But something niggled at the edges of her consciousness.

  And somehow she had to figure out what it was.

  Chapter 12

  A good—and bad—thing about the kidnapping becoming public knowledge was that the public now thought it was involved.

  Hunter, having been a cop, wasn’t surprised at the sudden influx of information. It didn’t deluge Margo or him directly, but the official law-enforcement agencies on the case, the FBI and LAPD, were receiving huge volumes of phone calls and e-mails.

  Each had to be checked out, just in case.

  Would the initial media barrage result in anything helpful? Who knew? Hunter hated waiting to find out. He hated waiting, period. It made him feel powerless. Especially today, when Andee’s life hung in the balance.

  While he paced at Margo’s, he had Simon run around, tending to business at Strahm Solutions. Checking out the few remaining people on Hunter’s list who might have it in for him.

  Despite Shauna’s hope that her conversation with Conrad Chiles would yield something, it hadn’t, except for the fact that Andee sometimes played with neighborhood kids. Hunter had told Simon to check out them and their families, too, just in case.

  “Hello?” Shauna answered a cell phone in Margo’s living room for probably the twentieth time. It was a special line, activated for this case and publicized among law-enforcement agencies so authorities outside Banger’s and Tennyson’s offices would have a way to reach them. Margo’s home line was left free, in case the kidnapper called.

  Shauna sat on one of the two sofas, a cup of tea on the table in front of her. Margo, Banger and Tennyson appeared in the doorway, racing from wherever they’d been in the house.

  “Yes, this is Ms. Masters’s residence.” Shauna turned toward Hunter, who faced her from the other sofa. She mouthed, “LAPD.”

  He nodded as she took notes on a pad of paper. She had unofficially become their secretary. He appreciated how she had simply jumped in to help when grief-stricken Margo appeared overwhelmed by the sudden information overload. He appreciated Shauna’s unobtrusive, soothing presence. Her caring concern for a child she had met only on paper.

  It was now nearly seven in the evening. Hunter had insisted on being kept in the information loop. But what he really wanted was to be out there looking for his daughter.

  Margo’s place was now their unofficial Command Central. The local FBI office in Westwood was probably the official headquarters for the investigation. Unless, of course, Banger and Tennyson were engaged in a turf war. If so, they kept it to themselves. No one knew where Andee was, so they didn’t know if her kidnapper had crossed state lines. That would definitely make it the FBI’s jurisdiction.

  In any event, both agencies were cooperating with one another. Personnel from both kept in touch with their respective representatives about new leads that might be authentic. They’d all been given the cell-phone number as a point of contact.

  So far, no call had been important enough to get the FBI special agent or LAPD detective excited.

  “Yes, I’ll give the message to Detective Banner.” Shauna hung up and looked at Hunter, the expression in her brown eyes neutral. Years back, she’d claimed she could read his thoughts from his face. He hadn’t said so then, but he’d sometimes done the same with her.

  Now he used her beautiful eyes as a gauge of the importance of what she’d heard, for he had always found them expressive. They’d shouted her anger at him. Caressed him with her love.

  Ignited him with her desire.

  Damn. This wasn’t the time or place for thoughts like that. Though no wonder they perched at the edge of his mind, ready to soar with the slightest encouragement after last night.

  “So, anything?” They weren’t alone, so he kept his voice as level as if she were just a message-taker.

  “What is it?” Margo interjected, sitting on the edge of the same sofa that Shauna occupied.

  “Not much.” Shauna looked toward Banger and Tennyson, who stood behind Hunter. “Some officers in the LAPD’s West Valley Division investigated a call we were told about before.”

  “Where a bachelor suddenly had a kid living with him?” Tennyson demanded.

  Shauna nodded. “Turned out the guy’s sister, a divorcée, had to go to the hospital for minor surgery so he’s babysitting. It checked out.”

  “Damn!” Flagellating himself with each new disappointment wouldn’t do any good, Hunter knew. But surely something had to come out of all the calls, the public hue and cry. He flexed his hand, realizing from the sudden cramp that he’d had it tensed into a tight fist.

  “What I don’t like,” Banger said, “is that Margo hasn’t heard from the kidnapper. He should be damned mad. Making threats. Whatever.”

  “Assuming the kid’s still alive,” said Tennyson.

  “Of course she is,” Shauna snapped. She glared at the special agent as if she’d just scraped him off the bottom of her shoe. Why was she so sure Andee was okay? Because they hadn’t come to the end of her story yet? Hunter now believed it was more than that.

  “I agree,” Margo said. She’d been sitting with her head bowed. Now she appeared more animated. “He made a ransom demand. He took Andee for money. Even with publicity, why would he harm her before he gets what he wants? We’ve got to hear from him soon. Find out where he wants the money, and when. We’ll turn it over to him, get Andee back, and it’ll all be over.”

  “Let’s hope it’s that simple.” Hunter knew it wasn’t. He remembered, in Shauna’s story, the implication that the kidnapper had a grudge against Andee’s parents, or at least one of them.

  He may want money, but that wasn’t all.

  And Andee recognized him. Even when paid off, would the creep let her live?

  He guessed Shauna was thinking the same thing, for she didn’t respond to the comment. Instead, she stared at Margo, then down toward the phone in her hands, as if urging it to ring.

  Hell, he could think of something a lot better for her to do with her hands. And it wasn’t her phone that rang, but his.

  It was Simon. “I believed for a short while that I had your answer,” Hunter’s assistant said.

  “That tells me you don’t,” Hunter responded, refusing to let himself feel any more discouraged. “What did you find?”

  “I followed up on that neighbor child Shauna learned
about—Sondra Nantes. Interestingly, her father Earl has a nice, long felony record. Car theft, mostly.”

  “Hey!” Hunter’s mood lifted. “Let’s—”

  “Don’t get excited,” Simon warned. “I telephoned their home, suggested I was one of the authorities looking into Andee’s disappearance, and learned Mrs. Nantes has been out of town for a week. Earl’s been home with the kiddies along with his wife’s mother, who was eager to reveal all her gripes about the man—including that he has been looking over her shoulder the entire week. And Andee has not visited young Sondra during that time.”

  “Damn. Well, nice try.” Hanging up, Hunter revealed the conversation to the group. Despite his resolve not to let any of this get to him, he’d had enough for now. “I’m out of here.” He headed for the door. “If anyone hears anything I should know, you have my cell and home numbers. Shauna, come with me. There’s something you and I have to take care of.”

  He pretended not to notice her apprehensive look. He was certain she knew what he wanted from her.

  And though he couldn’t help feeling tempted, it wasn’t another bout of their sensational sex.

  They stopped first at Hunter’s office. He carried her laptop in but Shauna didn’t set it up at first, though he’d told her in the car what he’d wanted them—her—to take care of: her story. But how could she concentrate on anything, with Hunter shouting into the phone and pounding on his own computer?

  It wasn’t just Hunter that kept her from concentrating, though. It was her own preoccupation. She was trying to grasp something elusive that tickled her mind. What was it?

  In the minutes Hunter wasn’t dialing someone on the phone, calls came in. He answered each, grumbled something and slammed the receiver down. She gathered most were media people.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said after a while, his expression so grim that Shauna had an urge to do something, anything to cheer him. As if she could. “Too many distractions. My office number’s listed on my Web site and everywhere else. My home number’s not. We’ll work there.”

  She didn’t like the way they sped there in his car. Or that he immediately set up her laptop again in the guest room and insisted that they get to work on the story.