A Hero for All Seasons Page 17

  He still hadn’t said anything to make what he was going on about any clearer, although his excitement was infectious. Despite the lack of foundation, she felt her hope strengthening.

  “Check what out?”

  “A hunch.” But he had a good feeling about it—a very good feeling that it was going to be more than just a hunch.

  She looked down at the floor. Sam was standing there in his bare feet. “Don’t you need your shoes?”

  Glancing down, he realized he’d forgotten to put them on.

  “Right.” Sam laughed, kissing her. “Always thinking.” He raced up the stairs to get his shoes.

  “I still don’t understand what you’re getting at,” Savannah said as she walked into the office after Sam.

  He went straight to the computer and turned it on, then drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited for the system to boot up and the monitor to begin flashing progress messages.

  His sisters-in-law were always talking about having to cart one or another of the kids off to see the doctor for routine checkups. They said it was a good thing that the insurance companies covered well-child care with all its inoculations and tests, because those visits sometimes turned out to be more costly than visits for colds and ear infections.

  Savannah was looking at him expectantly. It was time to stop hedging and let her in on it. “Most parents take their kids in for well-child care pretty regularly these days, right?”

  “Right,” she agreed slowly.

  The system came on. Sam immediately began working his way through Big Bytes’ personnel files until he came to Elliott’s. Sam raised his eyes to Savannah. “Would you say that Elliott’s a good father?”

  Her own father should have been half as caring as Elliott was, she thought.

  “A very good father. He and his wife dote on Emily. He says Emily’s the light of both their lives.” Standing behind Sam, she looked at the screen and saw nothing to have triggered his enthusiasm. What was he getting at? “Why?”

  “Doting parents want to make sure their daughter’s well, right?” Sam scrolled into Emily’s file. It was just as he remembered. Sam pointed to the dates. “Where’s the well-child care? There’s nothing on Emily after February. We’re halfway through August.” He turned in his chair to face her. “Where’re the pediatrician bills?”

  It didn’t look right to her either, but there might be reasons for that. “Perhaps they didn’t bother sending them in?”

  Sam shook his head. “He picked the HMO option for his insurance.” Sam pointed to the bottom of the screen where the legend was highlighted. “The charges come in automatically.”

  Puzzled, Savannah elbowed Sam out of the way and moved the keyboard closer to her. She went from screen to screen within the file, looking for claims. All the previous years were there. Emily saw her pediatrician, Dr. Sawyer, like clockwork. Except for this year.

  Sam was right. She pushed the keyboard back to him, thinking.

  “Wait a minute, maybe they’re in the pending file for some reason.” It seemed a likely guess to her. She’d gone round and round with the insurance company about one of Aimee’s earlier claims because they insisted a diagnosis was missing, even though it had been included in the original billing. “The adjusters hold things up when they need a piece of information. Maybe the charges are there.”

  Moving the keyboard closer to her again, Savannah went to a different file within the program and opened it. There was a claim pending. Opening that, she discovered that the claim was for an ambulance ride on February sixteenth.

  Sam read out loud the note attached to the file. “‘Ambulance service not affiliated with your current provider. Payment pending receipt of description of the nature of emergency, the emergency room bill and the attending physician statement.’” Sam looked at Savannah. “What was Emily in the emergency room for?”

  It was all news to Savannah. “I didn’t know Emily went to the hospital.”

  This had to mean something—although he wasn’t sure just what yet. “I thought you said you and Elliott were close.”

  “We are,” she protested. “That is, I thought...” Savannah no longer knew what to think. She saw Sam pick up the telephone receiver. “Who are you calling?”

  “The ambulance service.” He read the number off the claim form. It was a private company, not associated with any local hospital. That probably made it easier, he thought. “They have to have records.”

  “But we can’t disclose that information,” the woman on the other end told him.

  Savannah listened in fascination as Sam’s voice took on a definite Brooklyn tone.

  “Sure you can,” he insisted irritably. “Look, I’m with Casualty Life Insurance, and we’re trying to figure out our liability in this case. The claimant’s the girl’s father, and he’s suing the company for millions, saying this whole thing was our fault.”

  The woman on the other end sounded puzzled. “How is it your fault his daughter drowned in his pool?”

  Sam froze. “She drowned?”

  “Says right here in the paramedics’ report that the little girl was D.O.A. Are you sure you’re calling about the right case?” Suspicion entered the woman’s. voice. “What did you say your name was?”

  Sam hung up without answering. He’d heard enough. “When did you last see Emily?” he asked Savannah.

  Savannah tried to think. She was tempted to say Easter, but remembered that Elliott and his family hadn’t attended the company party.

  “Christmas.” She hadn’t realized that it had been that long. “The last couple of company gatherings, Elliott said Emily wasn’t feeling well, and his wife didn’t want to take a chance on her getting sick” The excuses began to link together in her mind. Elliott had canceled their joint family vacation because he said Claire was sick.

  Savannah began to feel ill.

  “I’d say it was a little late for that,” Sam pronounced.

  Savannah couldn’t believe it. How could Emily be dead, and Elliott not have said anything about it to her? To anyone? “Sam, there has to be some mistake.”

  “If there is, we may be the ones who made it.” He should have gone with his instincts and pressed Elliott harder, sooner.

  A sense of urgency filled him. He got up without bothering to shut down the computer. He caught Savannah’s hand and hurried for the door. “We’re going to Elliott’s home, and I’m phoning Underwood to have him meet us there. I think Elliott has Aimee.”

  With Savannah directing him to Elliott’s Lake Forest home, Sam flew down the San Joaquin Toll Road. He knew the image of his whizzing car was being captured by the cameras that were set up every few miles along the new route. He figured there would be a whole raft of tickets coming his way in the mail soon.

  He’d deal with that later. The important thing was to make it to Elliott’s house. Who knew how long it would be before the man disappeared for good? Elliott surely knew that it was only a matter of time before the net closed in around him. The man wasn’t stupid.

  Beside him, Savannah was still in a state of shock. Her best friend had taken her daughter. It just didn’t seem real.

  “How could it be Elliott?” she cried.

  The answer was all too common. “You don’t always know the people you’re dealing with.”

  Taking the off-ramp, Sam made a sharp, fast right at the end. “You said he doted on Emily. Maybe her death sent him over the top. The very fact that he didn’t talk about it to anyone shows that something wasn’t right.” He glanced at Savannah. “He’s obviously not the stable man everyone thought he was.”

  “But I should have known,” Savannah said harshly. “I should have known.”

  “Why?” Sam demanded as he took another turn, this one into the tree-lined development. “Because you can read minds?”

  “No,” she snapped, angry at herself for being so blind. “Because he was my friend.”

  The label hardly fit anymore. “Friends don’t kidnap friends’
children.”

  Remembering the address Savannah had given him, he read the names on the street signs and turned down the right block. Elliott’s house was located in the middle. Sam saw the man walking out the front door. They weren’t too late.

  He brought the car to a screeching halt. “Looks like our friend is planning on going somewhere.”

  Elliott, a suitcase in each hand, was rushing from the house to the gray car parked in the driveway. He looked completely oblivious to everything but what he was doing. Even from where they were, Savannah could see that he was unusually nervous.

  Disbelief warred with outrage. Outrage won. Savannah was out of the car before Sam could stop her.

  He’d raced here to stop Elliott from leaving, but he would have preferred waiting for Underwood first. The arrest had to be by the rules. Savannah just took that away from him. Jumping out of the car, he hurried after her.

  “Savannah, no, wait for Underwood.”

  But she’d spent the last endless week waiting. She wasn’t going to wait another second.

  “How could you?” she demanded, confronting Elliott “How could you do this to me?”

  Elliott had just thrown the second suitcase into the trunk. He jerked his head up at the sound of Savannah’s voice, narrowly avoiding hitting his head on the raised hood. The guilt written across his face made denial futile.

  There was panic in his voice. “Savannah, what are you doing here?”

  How dare he still pretend? “I’ve come for her, Elliott. I’ve come for my daughter. Where is she? Is she in the house?”

  Without waiting for him to answer, Savannah spun on her heel and ran up the walk to the house.

  Elliott nearly tripped over the rock border around his wife’s neglected garden as he jockeyed for position ahead of Savannah. Completely ignoring Sam, Elliott attempted to block Savannah’s entry.

  “No, please, Savannah, you can’t go in there.”

  “Why not?” she demanded. “Because I’ll find her? I can’t understand how you could have done something so horrific, Elliott. How could you steal Aimee away and then stand there, pretending to be my friend, pretending to be sympathetic? I trusted you,” she spat.

  Enraged, she grasped the man’s arm to shove him out of her way.

  Elliott’s eyes moved frantically from Savannah’s face to Sam’s and then back again. He stumbled backward, still trying to bar her way, even though he knew it was useless. They were almost inside.

  “I am your friend,” he insisted, “and I was sorry—am sorry,” he stuttered, “but you have to understand—”

  Sam had had about all he could stand. “Understand what?” he demanded, his voice low and terrifyingly steely. “That you’d traded on your friendship and stole Savannah’s daughter to take your own daughter’s place?”

  Elliott’s jaw slackened as realization seemed to set in. “You know about Emily?”

  Savannah didn’t answer. Shoving Elliott aside, she threw open the front door and hurried inside. She looked around frantically. With the curtains all drawn, the rooms were bathed in darkness.

  “Aimee, where are you? Aimee,” she called, “it’s Mommy. Where are you, baby?”

  “Then you have to know about Claire,” Elliott was babbling, following her. “You have to know how this has affected her. I begged her to see a doctor, to get help, but all she’d do was ask me to help her find Emily. That she’d lost Emily and had to find her.” His voice broke; he was sobbing now. “When I came home and found her dressing Aimee in Emily’s clothes, I didn’t know what to do.”

  Sam caught the man by the arm and jerked Elliott around to face him.

  “She took Aimee?” he demanded.

  Looking stricken and sick, Elliott nodded. More tears gathered in his eyes.

  “I know I should have taken her back right away, but Claire—Claire’s mind is so fragile now. I didn’t want to lose her, too.” Breaking away from Sam, he tried to get Savannah’s attention, to get her forgiveness. “I just couldn’t lose them both.”

  But she had no sympathy for him, not now. Not when she still hadn’t found her daughter. Frantically, Savannah went from one room to another, searching.

  “Aimee!”

  She found her daughter in Emily’s old room, clutched in Claire’s arms. Sitting in a rocking chair, Claire held Aimee tightly to her. She was rocking back and forth. The other woman, her hair disheveled, her eyes glassy, seemed oblivious to anyone but the little girl she held on her lap.

  “Now, don’t squirm, Emily. I have to dress you. We’re going on a long trip, and I want you to look pretty. You can look pretty for Momma, can’t you, honey?”

  Empathy twined with relief, and edged out anger. Savannah’s heart twisted in her chest at the sight of Claire talking, not to Aimee, but to the memory of her dead child.

  And then Aimee saw Savannah, and jumped from Claire’s lap. Claire cried out and tried to catch her arm, but Aimee dove for the protection of her mother’s arms.

  On her knees, trying not to sob, Savannah opened her arms to her daughter and enveloped her small body, pressing it close to hers.

  Thank you, God.

  “Mommy, Mommy,” Aimee cried, “you’re squishing me.” The words were muffled against Savannah’s chest. “Where were you?”

  “Looking for you, baby, looking for you.” Stroking Aimee’s hair, Savannah forced the words out through a throat that was tightening. “But it’s over now. All over. I’m here, and I’m never letting you out of my sight as long as I live.” Rising to her feet, she held on to Aimee as Sam ushered them both from the room.

  “C’mon.” Sam pushed past an impotent Elliott, knowing the man wasn’t going to try to stop them anymore. “Let’s get you out of here.”

  The wail of sirens mingled with the cries of Claire, calling for Emily to come back.

  Chapter 15

  Somehow, someone listening to the police radio had alerted the media about Aimee’s discovery.

  By the time Sam and Savannah arrive on her block with Aimee tucked safely in her car seat in the back, there were reporters camped all over Savannah’s lawn. People were milling around, and vehicles with news logos pasted on their sides parked along every available stretch of curb for three blocks.

  It looked like a circus waiting to happen.

  Sam slowed the car. He had half a minute, maybe less, before someone recognized them, and the media began swarming.

  “Maybe I’d better take you two to my place,” he suggested.

  Sitting in the back with Aimee, Savannah turned down the offer.

  “No, I want to bring Aimee home.”

  She felt that it was important to the little girl’s mental well-being to be in familiar surroundings as quickly as possible. No one was going to chase either of them away from their home.

  That wouldn’t have been Sam’s choice, but he didn’t argue with her. Instead, he edged the car onto Savannah’s driveway as the crowd parted just enough for him to park. Getting out first, he ran interference for Savannah and Aimee up to the front door.

  He meant to hurry her inside, but Savannah, with Aimee in her arms, purposely stopped at the entrance. Cameras flashed and mikes were angled toward her face, as she gave a brief statement, thanking everyone for anything they might have done in connection with finding her daughter.

  Sam waited until she was finished. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, the show’s over. Give them some breathing space.”

  “What’s your part in this?” someone shouted over the din of voices.

  “I’m the chauffeur,” he answered flippantly, using his body to block any further access to either Savannah or her daughter. “Get inside,” he ordered tersely, all but pushing Savannah into the house once she had the door opened.

  Behind them, reporters, waiting to submerge Savannah in an endless sea of questions, protested the separation from this portion of the five-o’clock news. Protests and questions fell on deaf ears as Sam closed the door firmly in their faces.<
br />
  Savannah looked relieved to have gotten in safely.

  “I’ll wait this out with you,” he promised her, flipping the lock closed. Sam went to the window and drew the drapes. He knew that she didn’t want to be left alone just yet.

  That, he thought, would come later.

  Looking over her shoulder, Savannah gave him a grateful smile. Still holding Aimee in her arms, she picked up the telephone and called her parents.

  The ordeal was over.

  The last of the reporters finally broke camp a little more than two hours later. Someone had received a hot tip on a new breaking story involving a shootout on the Riverside Freeway. The media was off and running.

  Checking out the terrain, Sam moved back the drape and looked up and down the street. Everything seemed back to normal.

  Whatever that was, he thought.

  He heard her entering the living room behind him, and let the curtain fall back into place.

  “They’re gone,” he announced.

  Savannah nodded, dropping onto the sofa. It didn’t occur to her until just this moment how truly exhausted she felt.

  “Aimee just fell asleep,” she told him. “She wanted to know why ‘Aunt Claire’ kept calling her Emily.” Savannah blew out a long breath. “Thank God, she wasn’t afraid, just confused. She told me she kept asking why they wouldn’t let her go outside to play.” Her mouth curved, but it wasn’t a smile. “They told her there were bad people outside and they didn’t want anything happening to her.”

  “There’s irony for you,” he commented. “The bad people were inside.”

  Leaning her head back against the cushion, she closed her eyes. She was still unable to fully absorb the fact that it was finally over. That Aimee was finally back where she belonged. Safe.

  Thanks to Sam.

  There was a great deal she had to thank him for. Savannah opened her eyes and looked at him. She’d half expected Sam to sit down beside her, but he remained standing by the window. He seemed so pensive, so distant. She wondered if that was just his way of unwinding. God knew, he’d earned the right to unwind.