The crisp air cleared her head, and by the time she turned toward the house Molly had regained her common sense.
Talk about making a mountain out of a molehill, she told herself. Two people happen to meet at an ice cream shop in broad daylight, and you’ve turned it into a conspiracy!
Warren made several suggestions which would improve the section of the book she was working on, and Molly listened carefully. His enthusiasm was so contagious that she didn’t notice when he started to tire, and the sky was fading to dull gray before she realized that the zeal in his eyes was covering fatigue.
The instant she saw it, she stood up, cutting him off in the middle of a sentence. “Hold that thought,” she said. “We’ll start there tomorrow. But in the meantime, I’m not going to be responsible for you wearing yourself out.”
“Trying to remember till tomorrow will be harder,” Warren said, but she knew he was arguing more from habit than conviction, for the next minute he was trying to conceal a yawn.
She dropped a kiss on his forehead, as she had started to do every day when she said goodbye.
“Bring Miss B up to give me a hug before you go,” he ordered.
“I will, unless she’s asleep. Or you are.”
“If it isn’t nap time for one of us, it is for the other,” Warren grumbled, and yawned again.
Molly was smiling as she ran down the stairs, briefcase in hand. There was no one in the drawing room—but she’d expected that. It was too late in the day for tea parties, even pretend ones.
Bailey was probably still in the kitchen. She’d helped bake cookies this afternoon, and she’d proudly carried a plate of them upstairs to her mother and Warren all by herself. A china plate, too. Molly thought Mrs. Ekberg needed her head examined to turn a three-year-old loose with anything so delicate.
The soft flicker of firelight from the library drew her close, and she paused by the door to peek in. Bailey had been known to snuggle up in one of the leather chairs by the fire as soon as it was lit and fall asleep waiting for Luke.
But tonight the chairs were empty. Luke was standing by the fireplace, however, with a glass in his hand. Was his brow creased with worry, Molly wondered, or was it only a trick of the firelight?
He’d been home a while, she noted, for he’d changed into jeans and a heavy pullover sweater that made his shoulders look even broader.
“Calling it a day, Molly?” he said. “Would you like a drink?”
She shook her head. “I told Megan I’d stop by tonight. She wanted to talk to me about something.”
It was technically true—even if the something was a Waterford crystal bowl and not a baby. She watched him narrowly, wondering if he’d admit to having seen Megan. If she had confided in him...
“Have a good time,” he said.
Which left her knowing precisely nothing. Of course, Molly hadn’t really expected anything else.
The kitchen was warm and bright. The spicy fragrance of Bailey’s cookies still hung in the air, mingling with the scents of wine and cream and herbs from the range, where the cook was stirring a sauce. “I thought you’d gone home an hour ago,” she said cheerfully, and offered a spoon. “Would you taste this and see if it needs just a little more dill?”
Molly absently took the spoon. “Isn’t Bailey here?”
“No. That’s why I thought you’d gone home when she didn’t come back after she took the cookies upstairs. You mean—”
“Then where is she?” Molly flung the spoon down and turned toward the hallway.
Mrs. Ekberg was in the dining room, shaking her head over a half-set table. “Miss Molly,” she called. “Can you look at this tablecloth? I just don’t think it’s going to survive another laundering, and it’s the only one left that fits the table when it’s fully extended.”
Molly hardly heard her. “Mrs. Ekberg, when was the last time you saw Bailey?”
“I don’t remember. When she was taking your cookies upstairs, I suppose.”
“But that was an hour ago!” Molly said frantically.
Mrs. Ekberg stared for an instant. “I’ll check with Watkins,” she said. Her voice was trembling. “She likes to help him polish silver. We had to give her a bath the other day, she was so covered with tarnish.”
Luke appeared in the library door, glass still in hand, just as Mrs. Ekberg, looking grave, reappeared, with Watkins only half a step behind her.
“What’s up?” Luke asked.
Molly tried, without success, to swallow the rock in her throat. Just speaking the fear out loud gave it more power, she thought. Made it more real. She had to force herself to say the words. “We can’t seem to find Bailey.”
CHAPTER SIX
THOUGH Molly’s voice was little more than a whisper, the terror it held echoed through the hallway like a scream.
For one long instant Luke stared at her, and then he heard himself say, “She’s three years old. What in the hell were you all thinking of to let her wander on her own?”
Watkins looked at his clenched hands. The cook flinched. Mrs. Ekberg seemed to shrink six inches.
Molly said, “Assigning blame isn’t going to do any good now. It’s my fault—I’m her mother, and it’s my responsibility. Now do you suppose we could try finding her?”
“Sorry,” Luke muttered. “Let’s split up the house. She’s got to be here somewhere.”
“Probably curled up asleep in the most unlikely spot.” But the quaver in Mrs. Ekberg’s voice belied the comforting words.
They started to spread out through the lower floor. “Wait a minute,” Molly said. “Does anybody know where the dog is?”
Because Bailey is apt to be nearby, Luke thought. “Probably with Dad.” He was halfway up the stairs in two bounds.
Molly called, “Luke—wait a minute.”
He looked over the railing at her. Her face was white, her eyes huge and dark. She looked very small and very fragile. “Warren must not find out that Bailey’s missing.”
“Then how do you expect me to—” But she was right, he thought. The last thing his father needed was a shock. And the likelihood was that they’d find the child within minutes anyway, curled up with the dog in some out-of-the-way corner, and Warren would have been alarmed for nothing. “All right,” he said, and went upstairs at a slightly slower pace.
When he tapped on the door of the master bedroom, there was no answer. Luke gently pushed the door open. Warren was stretched out on the velvet chaise longue in the bow window, eyes closed, his breathing steady.
The chaise had been Luke’s mother’s favorite resting place during her illness, looking out over the gardens she would never walk in again. He wondered if that was why Warren had adopted it.
Luke eased across the room, hoping the floor wouldn’t creak. Lucky was nowhere in sight, but he thought she might be tucked away in the window nook behind the chaise.
Warren opened his eyes, but he didn’t move. “What do you want, Lucas? Surely it’s not time for dinner yet.”
It was, as a matter of fact—but nobody was going to pay any attention to the time till Bailey was safe. Not that anyone would have an appetite anyway, except perhaps Warren.
“Not yet,” Luke said. “There seems to be a problem in the kitchen that’s holding things up.”
“So why are you tiptoeing around my room?”
“Looking for Lucky.”
Warren’s eyebrows rose. “Feel the need for a good frolic, do you? Ask Miss B. She’ll know.”
I wish I could, Luke thought.
“She’s a pretty little girl, isn’t she?” Warren mused. He sat up and propped a pillow behind his back.
Please, Dad, Luke thought. This is no time for a long chat. If the dog wasn’t here, then neither was Bailey, and he was frantic to get back to the search. But Molly’s face flashed in his mind. Even in the midst of her pain, she’d been determined to protect Warren as long as possible—and if Luke walked out right now, the old man would know there was something
going on. “She’s cute, yeah.”
“And as well-behaved as she is pretty, too. Don’t you agree, Lucas?”
Oh, yes... except for this little matter of wandering off without permission.
Unless, of course, Luke thought, Bailey hadn’t wandered off. His gut knotted. Now there was a thought that promised nightmares—and it came complete with a whole lineup of suspects. Bailey’s father, snatching his daughter in violation of custody agreements. Some unknown monster who thought any kid who came from the Hudson mansion would be the ticket to a big ransom...
Somebody needs to sit by the phone. Just in case.
“Lucas?” Warren’s voice had acquired a sardonic edge. “I didn’t expect you to need a task-force study before you answered that question.”
Luke blinked and tried to pull himself together. What was the question? Oh, right—whether Bailey’s well-behaved. “She’s amazingly good. And funny, too.”
Warren nodded. “Molly’s done a terrific job. She’s had a tough time of it, you know. Being a single mom with all the pressures and responsibilities and almost no security... And she’s got such a loving heart, too.”
And right now her loving heart means I’m killing time here instead of searching. “Lovely woman.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about her lately, Lucas. About what’s in the future for Molly and Bailey.”
Luke felt as if he were standing off to the side of the room, watching himself carry on this conversation, so ridiculously lightweight in comparison to the reality downstairs. That distance added a sardonic note to his voice. “So what are you going to do? Propose, just to make it up to her?”
Warren’s eyes closed for a moment, and when he looked at his son again Luke saw a brilliance that startled him.
Warren said, “I’m so glad to know that you approve.”
Now that was a smooth interpretation, Luke thought. One minute he’d been without a clue, the next his father had him practically walking Molly down the aisle. “I didn’t say—”
“You used to tell us you wanted a sister,” Warren murmured. “Though there is a bit of an age gap, of course.”
Luke frowned. “Four years or so. That’s—”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t talking about Molly. She’d be your stepmother. I meant the age difference between you and Miss B. But that won’t bother you, I’m sure—you play together so well.”
I wouldn’t mind anything he wants to do for Bailey, Luke thought. Just as long as we can get her back here to enjoy it.
He stood up, unable to stay still for another single instant. “Let me have a chance to think about all this, Dad.”
Warren settled back on the chaise. “Don’t take too long, my boy. I don’t have all the time in the world, you know.”
Luke felt as if he’d been gone forever, but Mrs. Ekberg was just coming out of the bedroom at the top of the stairs. She shook her head. “I’ve checked all the rooms up here. The attic door is locked, and—”
“Closets?”
“No sign of either Bailey or the dog. We could just call for Lucky, but Molly thought hearing that would upset Warren.”
Damn Warren, Luke almost said. He deserves a little upsetting—he’s doing plenty of his own!
Molly was standing at the library door. In her hands was a wad of bright pastel fabric. She looked at Luke, her face set and icy cold despite the fire’s heat, and held the wad out to him. “It’s her jacket. The cook found it in the kitchen.”
Relief rocketed through him. “Then she’s got to be somewhere in the house.”
“Or else she’s out there.” She turned sightless eyes toward the glass panels beside the front door. “Without it.”
With the wind picking up, and the temperature dropping. He had never felt so powerless in his life.
Luke reached for the telephone. “I’m calling the police.”
Molly knew it was the next logical and necessary step. They needed help, and fast. But hearing Luke’s voice as he summoned the authorities was like having her skin stripped away by inches.
My baby’s gone, she thought helplessly.
Luke put the telephone down. “They’ll have a car here in a few minutes. In the meantime, Watkins and I will start searching the grounds.” His gaze flicked to Mrs. Ekberg and the cook. “You two, check right around the house. If she wandered outside—”
“She couldn’t reach the doorbell,” Molly said. “I had to lift her.” She started for the door.
Luke caught her arm. “Somebody needs to stay by the phone.”
His voice was gentle, but she heard the rough edge under it. He was afraid, she thought. Afraid of what they might find. And he didn’t want her to be the one to stumble across—
She couldn’t bear to think about it, and she cast her mind wildly for something else to hang onto. “I want Megan,” she whispered. “I want my sister!” What she’d give right now to have that damned Waterford crystal bowl be her biggest problem...
“I’ll call her,” Luke said.
Megan must have had her hand on the phone, for in less than a minute he was back, easing Molly into a chair. “She’s on her way.” He crouched beside her, his gaze compelling her to look at him, to listen. “Perhaps you should call Bailey’s father.”
She shook her head.
“Molly, I really think—”
“No. And I’m not going to sit here beside a phone that isn’t going to ring. I’m going out, right now, to look for her.”
Luke bit his lip. “All right.” He held her back from the door while he forced her arms into a thick, oversize wool jacket as if she were a child. He picked up a flannel-lined windbreaker for himself, and they went out together into the gathering dark.
Molly hadn’t expected to need the coat. She’d pictured the scene so clearly in her mind, the moment she’d thought of the doorbell—Bailey wandering outside for some unknown reason, without her jacket because she didn’t intend to stay out and play. Then the door blowing shut behind her. And, when she found she couldn’t reach the bell, she wouldn’t have thought of going round the house looking for a low window so she could get someone’s attention. She was three, after all. She’d have sat down beside the front door, in the shelter of the juniper bush, to wait. And Molly would open the door and scoop her up—
She’d built the scene so well in her mind that she couldn’t bring herself to believe, when she stood on the front steps, that there was no child huddled against the juniper bush. She stood absolutely still, staring at the place where she’d been so certain Bailey would be.
But there were all kinds of holes in the story she’d constructed. Unable to reach the bell, Bailey would have pounded on the door. And she’d have heard Luke’s car come down the drive and run to meet him.
Molly gulped and braced herself and went into the deep gray of evening. It wasn’t as dark as she’d expected. Though in her mind time had stretched out like taffy, according to her watch barely twenty minutes had passed since she’d realized Bailey was gone.
But the shadows were almost worse than pitch blackness would have been, for they moved as the wind stirred the trees. And every movement made her heart jerk with hope, and then with disappointment.
The headlights of a car swept across the drive. Megan’s BMW screeched to a halt in front of the house, and Molly ran toward it. Megan flung herself from the car, leaving the engine running and the door open, and swept Molly into her arms.
Molly let herself have the luxury of a fifteen-second-long hug. Megan kissed her cheek, patted her back and looked at Luke. “Mother and Dad are about two minutes behind me. I called them while I was driving down the hill. What else can I do?”
“Go sit with my father,” he said promptly. “Whatever you do, don’t tell him what’s going on. Make some excuse for being here, and you might try to explain the screeching tires, too—”
Molly thought, So he does know about Megan’s condition. And he’s assigning her a safe job.
“And if the phone ri
ngs, grab it before he can.”
“And still keep a lid on the story?” Megan said dryly. “Oh, that should be fun.”
Another car pulled up behind the BMW, and Alix and Bernie got out. “My dear,” Alix called. “This is horrible. How did it happen?”
“Doesn’t matter, Mom,” Megan said crisply. “Get your orders and save the explanations for later, okay?” She winked at Molly. “Keep your chin up. Bailey’s a lucky kid. She’ll be all right.”
Lucky. For a moment, Molly had almost forgotten about the dog. The wind had risen, and it was hard to hear. Was that a dog’s yelp, or a wild creature, or only her imagination?
As Molly’s parents came up to them, Luke said, “I’ve been trying to convince Molly to call her ex-husband. I suppose he’s got a right to know when Bailey’s in danger—but we can also make sure he’s where he’s supposed to be and that he hasn’t run off with her. But Molly doesn’t—”
“He didn’t snatch her,” Molly said.
Luke stared at her. “And why, precisely, are you so certain of that?”
“Can’t you take her word for it?” Alix asked.
“No.”
“Then how about this?” Alix’s voice dripped impatience. “We know he didn’t do it because he’s dead.”
Luke drew back as if he’d been slapped.
Molly was too numb even to care. There were more important problems right now than trying to straighten out that complication.
Besides, Alix was absolutely correct, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.
Molly turned toward the side of Oakwood, where a narrow ravine edged between the trees. The woods were darker. In these conditions, she could walk within inches of Bailey and not see her.
Through the fogginess in her brain, she realized she’d come to accept the possibility that Bailey wasn’t able to call for help.
Her parents took the strip between the front driveway and the street, and the staff moved around the far corner of the house. Luke, Molly noticed, stayed within yards of her, far enough away to search an additional strip of land, close enough that he could reach her in a few steps if...
The Boss and the Baby Page 9
