Hero for Hire Page 7

  "You know, I'm not really as bitchy as I sound."

  He smiled in her direction. "Duly noted." He saw her reflection in the window. He doubted if he'd ever seen a sadder woman. Or one quite as beautiful. "If it helps, I've known women who seem a great deal stronger than you completely disintegrate when faced with what you're going through. I think you're holding up pretty well."

  "A Lancaster isn't supposed to disintegrate." She could almost hear her grandfather's gruff voice saying the words in her ear.

  "What is that—a family motto?"

  "Something like that." There were memories waiting to get in. She kept them locked out. "My grandfather told me that the day my parents were buried. I was crying."

  "How old were you?"

  "Twelve. Stephanie was ten." And they had clung to each other, afraid of what was going to happen next. Afraid of facing life without the parents they loved so dearly.

  "Did your grandfather take care of you?"

  "We had a nanny until we were sent away to school. Brighton Academy took care of us, if you could call it that," she replied. It all seemed like something out of another lifetime now. "My grandfather shipped us off to boarding school two days after the funeral. He didn't want to be tied down. Having us around interfered with his social life."

  Twilight was weaving thin, dark threads over the area. She shifted in her seat to look at him, seeking some kind of assurance that would see her through the lonely, bleak night ahead.

  "What did your partner mean by saying you have an inside track on these cases?"

  He didn't like having the conversation swing back to him. He was far more interested in finding out more about her. Links to events could sometimes be found in the oddest places. He'd learned long ago not to disregard anything too soon.

  "He's not my partner. Technically, we all work our own cases." That wasn't what she was asking. He was stalling and he knew it, but he didn't like talking about himself. He'd been forced to endure being the media's obsession of the month after his accidental return and then his father's apprehension and subsequent trial. It had forever forged a loathing of the spotlight.

  But maybe she deserved to know a little about the man she was placing her faith in, he thought. Besides, if she really wanted to know, a simple trip to the archives of any major newspaper could edify her about his past! He could put a more honest spin on it.

  "My parents were divorced when I was seven. When I was eight my father took me away. He made it look as if I'd been kidnapped."

  She stared at him. "Kidnapped? What about your mother? What did she think?"

  "She thought what everyone else did—that someone had kidnapped me." The story had been told to him over and over again by people who meant well, people who had wanted him to know what an impact his loss had been. But all it had done was make him feel guilty that he hadn't somehow realized what was going on. Guilty for believing the lies his father had told him to make him accept what had happened.

  "My father played the part of the bereft, grieving parent, even joining my mother in an all-night prayer vigil. He was right there with her, handing out flyers, talking to the police, pretending to do what he could to find me, when all along he knew I was living with one of his friends in another state. I guess he did it to get even with my mother for leaving him."

  "When did you find out you'd been kidnapped?"

  "Not until two years later. We had a big argument and I ran away from home. I hitchhiked back." At almost eleven, he'd been resourceful.

  Living with an alcoholic father had made him older than his years. "I had this crazy idea that I could move in with my best friend."

  Curiosity and sympathy pushed her further into his story. "Why not with your mother?"

  "I thought she was dead. That's what my father told me. That was the excuse he gave me for why we were moving away. He said that she and my brother and sister had died in a car accident and I was coming to live with him." He spared her a look. "At eight, you don't think your father's lying to you."

  "What did your friend say when he saw you?"

  "He turned white as a sheet. I thought it was just because he was surprised to see me. He went running into the house for his mother."

  More than twenty-two years later, it was still as vivid to him now as it had been then. The yelling, the tears, his own bewilderment that gave way to shock and then shame at what his mother had gone through because of him.

  "I remember she was my mother's best friend. Mrs. Mahoney took one look at me and sank down on the stoop as if all her bones had suddenly turned to water. Then she started laughing and crying at the same time, hugging me and saying it was a miracle." He remembered being smothered against the ample bosom and feeling loved for the first time in two years. "I had no idea what she was talking about. I thought everyone had lost their mind."

  He sobered as he stopped at the light. "And then I thought I'd lost mine when she took me back to my old house and I saw my mother. I hardly recognized her. She looked ten years older, twenty pounds lighter and so drained, like someone had siphoned the spirit right out of her."

  His mother had screamed when she saw him and then fainted. Megan had come running out of the house in response, and she stopped dead when she saw him.

  Is it you? she'd asked in a hushed voice. When he'd nodded, she'd thrown her arms around him and held on tightly. I always knew you'd come home. I always knew it. That was the memory he treasured more than any other. That Megan had never given up hope, even after his mother had.

  He had fallen silent. "What happened to your father?" Veronica asked.

  Chad's face hardened. He didn't consider the man his father any longer, just someone who had ruthlessly used him as a means to get revenge. "He was sent to jail for kidnapping. As far as I'm concerned, he stopped being my father the day he took me away." He felt suddenly awkward. "I don't usually talk this much."

  "I'm glad you did," she said. "I needed to hear something with a happy ending."

  He wouldn't have called it happy, or even an ending, really. As far as he knew, his father was still in prison. Periodically he received a letter from him. He'd recognize the handwriting and scrawl "return to sender" across the top, returning each one unopened.

  No, for him there was no ending. Instead, it was an ongoing odyssey he was doomed to continue. His mother had never fully recovered, even after he'd come back. Not knowing whether Chad was dead or alive and fearing the worst had made each day of those two years a living hell for her. She still remained only a shadow of her former self.

  Nobody should have to go through that, he thought, glancing at Veronica again. "Anyone you want me to call to stay with you tonight?"

  There were a great many people she could call, people who would gladly come and hold her hand if she told them what was going on. She was in the business of fund-raising for a score of charities and knew almost as many people as most politicians did.

  But she didn't want anyone hovering over her with words of pity and sympathy. That would only make her crumble. She couldn't afford that.

  Veronica shook her head. "I don't want to tell anyone."

  Reaching the circular driveway, Chad turned off the engine and looked at her. He wasn't one for sympathy himself, but he judged that she was different. Women needed to be supported, to be bolstered.

  "I could get my sister to stay with you if you'd rather not let your friends know about Casey." He knew he only had to ask and Megan would come.

  With her husband Garrett's blessings. They were rare people.

  This time Veronica looked determined as she turned down the offer. "That won't be necessary. I'll be all right."

  Getting out, Chad came around to her side of the car. She had already opened the passenger door, but he took her hand and helped her to her feet.

  The night was warm. Her fingers were icy. Chad caught himself thinking again how frail she looked. That same strange, protective feeling he'd felt before came over him. Without thinking his actions
through, he raised her chin with his finger until their eyes met.

  He could read every single thought, every single fear. For the space of a heartbeat, he found himself wanting to kiss her, to somehow reassure her that she was going to have that happy ending she so badly wanted.

  He felt an almost disturbing tenderness. He'd never felt this way about a woman before and it bothered him more than a little. He shouldn't be having these kinds of feelings about a client. And yet…

  "You know," he told her softly, "you don't have to be brave all the time."

  "Yes, I do." The contradiction was quiet, but firm.

  His duties did not go beyond her door, beyond their arrangement, yet he hesitated, unable to distance himself from what he knew she was going through, hating to leave her like this. "You're sure you don't want me to call my sister to come stay with you?"

  She appreciated the offer and the concern that had prompted it. It made her feel less alone. But she needed this time by herself. To cry, to vent and then to put the pieces together so that she could somehow function. Because Casey needed her to.

  "I'm sure."

  He thought she was being foolish, but he couldn't force her to have someone stay the night with her. Taking out his wallet, he removed one of his cards.

  "Here." He pressed it into her hand. "This is my beeper number, my cell-phone number and my private line at home. If you change your mind or need anything…"

  She folded her fingers over the card. "There's only one thing I need. My son."

  He nodded. "I'll be here first thing in the morning, unless there's a lead—and then I'll call you. Otherwise, you're going to need to go to your bank to get the ransom money."

  Veronica nodded numbly. "Thank you."

  He left before he was tempted to stay.

  The expression on her face haunted him as he drove down the hillside. Chad flipped open his phone and called his brother. "I've just left a client, Rusty. You still want to see me?"

  "Yeah."

  "All right, I'm on my way."

  It wasn't like Rusty to be this mysterious. As he drove to his brother's apartment, Chad tried to dwell on that and not on the anguish he'd seen in Veronica's eyes. There was no reason for him to be this affected by her.

  But he was.

  Rusty opened the door to the second-floor apartment the moment Chad rang the bell, as if he'd been standing there, waiting. The smile that Chad would have sworn was eternally stamped on his younger brother's face looked strained. Nervous. Something wasn't right.

  "Okay, I'm here." Chad looked around the small apartment. Nothing seemed out of order. He turned toward his brother as the latter closed the door behind him. "Got any beer?"

  Rusty took a deep breath before pointing toward the kitchenette. "In the fridge."

  "Looks about as bare as mine," Chad commented, glancing at the interior of the refrigerator. He helped himself to one of the four cans on an almost barren shelf and then popped the top. Straddling one of the two chairs at the table, he looked at Rusty as he took a long pull from the can. "You on a case?" He knew the answer before it was given, but it was a way to start.

  Rusty joined him at the table, sitting on the edge of his chair. "Yeah, but I've got a little free time. Is there anything you need?"

  He allowed himself a smile. Rusty always made him think of an oversize puppy, eager to help. To do whatever was needed.

  "I took on a case this afternoon. We have reason to believe that the kid might be being held in the Newport Beach area." He didn't go into particulars. With Rusty he didn't have to. Megan would have pumped him for every last detail. "Can you circulate a photograph around tomorrow morning? I've already got Ben on it."

  Rusty looked relieved to be able to do something for him. His smile strengthened, just a shade. "No problem." Rising, he got up to get a beer for himself.

  "Thanks." Chad studied his brother's back thoughtfully. Younger by six years, Rusty was about five inches taller and fifty pounds heavier. And right now, as tense as hell. "So what's the big mystery? What did you want to see me about that you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

  "I could have told you." Can in hand, Rusty sat down again. "But I didn't think you wanted to hear it that way."

  Chad could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "Hear what?"

  "Dad's out." Rusty watched his brother's face for a reaction. There was a flash of anger in Chad's eyes.

  Very methodically, Chad set down his can on the table. He didn't look up. "My, how time flies."

  Torn between loyalty and responsibility, Rusty gave him the rest of it. "He wants to see you."

  Chad looked up sharply. "No."

  Rusty knew that was what Chad would say. He also knew that Chad had never completely walked out of his personal corner of hell, because there were things left unresolved. "Maybe you should see him."

  "No." The answer was firmer, louder.

  Rusty leaned closer. There were times when he felt as if an entire generation separated them. Chad had always seemed so much older than him. "Chad, I'm saying this for your good, not his. See him."

  "No." A shade of the anger he was trying to contain surfaced in the word. ''There's nothing to be said. Whatever needed saying was said at his trial when I testified against him."

  "That was twenty years ago. Things change." Rusty hesitated again, not wanting Chad to do anything he would later regret. "He says he's sorry."

  Chad rose to his feet. He didn't want to take his anger out on Rusty. His brother meant well. But Rusty didn't understand. "He's a liar, Rusty. He lied to Mom, to Megan. To me. He would have lied to you if you'd understood. It's what the man does. He lies. I don't think he'd know the truth if it came up and bit him."

  Rusty got to his feet, too, digging in. "But you would."

  It wasn't like Rusty to push. That was Megan's forte. Chad narrowed his eyes. "What are you getting at?"

  "The truth of it is, Chad, I think you need to forgive him. For your own sake, not his."

  Chad shoved his hands into his pockets, fisting them. He laughed shortly. "I thought you studied criminology, not psychology."

  "Can't have one without the other."

  Chad's lips thinned. He'd only give Rusty so much slack. "Well, don't practice on me, Rusty. I'm not a case." He crossed to the door.

  Rusty planted himself in front of him. "No, you're my brother and I can't stand to see you being eaten up like this because of what he did twenty-two years ago."

  Very deliberately Chad moved him out of the way. "I'm not being eaten up. And I'm not about to absolve that man's conscience." He yanked open the door. "If he wants anything absolved, that's between him and his god."

  "Yeah," Rusty called after him. "It is."

  Chad just kept walking.

  Chapter 7

  Chad got into his car and slammed the door a little too hard. Despite his best efforts to shut them out, Rusty's words had gotten to him.

  His first instinct was to go home. He'd put in a long, full day, and though he could work around the clock when needed, he wasn't a robot. He needed at least a few hours of rest.

  But he was too wound up right now. Sleep would be hours away. It was always difficult for him to sleep, anyway. It meant relaxing his guard, letting go. It wasn't something he'd been able to manage with ease ever since that fateful day he had agreed to secretly meet his father at the skating rink. He'd ended up paying with more than two years of his life.

  Besides, he thought, turning on the ignition, there was nothing at home for him. He wouldn't even have had a television set if Megan hadn't insisted on buying him one. He couldn't remember the last time he'd turned it on. The world was an intruder he preferred leaving at his front door.

  So instead of turning his car toward his studio apartment located on the southernmost outskirts of Bedford, Chad headed back to ChildFinders. If he couldn't sleep, at least he could do something useful, do a little background research on the case. He wasn't adept at the computer the way Mega
n and Savannah were, but he could find his way around the Internet and its resources, given enough time.

  The hall light barely ventured into the fifth-floor main office as he let himself in. Everyone else had gone home for the night hours ago. Unlike him, he mused, they had lives to lead.

  Finding the switch on the wall, he flipped it on. Light blanketed the eerie shadows. He made his way into his own office, taking out the photograph of Casey that Veronica had given him. Rusty and Ben were going to need copies to circulate. He was going to place all his eggs in one basket and check out only Newport Beach for the time being, ignoring the other three areas where the phone lines had temporarily gone down. Going with his gut, he figured that the kidnapper wouldn't have driven far out of his way to make the call. Which meant that Casey had been somewhere close by when they'd arrived at the public phone.

  Hidden in plain sight, he thought in frustration. He wondered if Veronica was going to get any sleep tonight. Megan had told him that their mother had seemed never to sleep those first few weeks.

  He turned on the copier. Lights came to life and crept out the sides, squeezing between the lid and the glass. The gears went through their ritualistic groaning exercises before they were ready to work. Chad wrote notes to himself as he waited.

  And tried not to think of a pair of worried eyes looking up at him as if he held the power of life and death in the palm of his hand.

  Casey looked like her, Chad thought, studying the photograph. The same narrow nose, the same green eyes. He wondered if her smile was as wide as Casey's was. He hadn't really seen her smile, just a ghost of something fluttering along her lips.

  The width of her smile had no bearing on this case, he reminded himself, wondering why the thought had even occurred to him.

  Chad placed the photograph facedown on the glass and closed the lid before he pressed the number of copies he judged they'd need tomorrow.

  He knew it was going to be a long night.