Calder Storm (37 page)

“Because something's in the wind down here, and it has Rutledge's thumbprint on it.”

“What do you mean?” Jessy asked, then immediately added, “Wait. Trey just walked in. I'll put you on the speaker phone.” An instant later, in a voice that had that hollow sound of distance, she said, “Go ahead.”

“A sheriff's deputy pulled Dallas over on her way back to the ranch from the university. He told her an inmate had escaped from jail and asked to search her vehicle. She got suspicious when he started asking a lot of questions about where she'd been and why. When she told me, curiosity kicked in, and I checked. There is no escapee on the loose. Now Empty showed up with a similar story, except the two men who searched his truck weren't officers.”

“And you think Rutledge is behind it?”

“It's possible.”

“But what were they looking for?” Trey asked, his voice instantly recognizable to Quint.

“That's what has me puzzled. Trey, I don't know. It crossed my mind that it might have something to do with Sloan.”

“I don't know how.” Trey's tone seemed to dismiss the idea.

“Neither do I,” Quint admitted. “But it doesn't seem likely that Rutledge did it just to harass us. There has to be more to it than that—something or someone that he doesn't want to reach us.”

“Somebody who works for him, maybe?” Trey suggested.

“Could be. Maybe you'd better alert Walters. His investigators might be able to eavesdrop on some crosstalk among the guards stationed at the Slash R.”

“We'll give him a call right away,” Jessy told him. “In the meantime, you be careful.”

“I—”

Trey interrupted before Quint could finish. “If it's someone who works for Rutledge, he wouldn't be trying to contact any of us unless it had something to do with Sloan or Jake. And it would have to be damned important for him to take that risk.”

“I'm with you,” Quint said and took that half-formed speculation to the next. “And if it's important, then it's time-critical.”

“I can think of only one reason that time might be a factor,” Trey said. “If Sloan planned to take Jake and leave the country before the custody hearing next week.”

“Now you're thinking like Rutledge,” Quint said in approval. “Call Walters and get his men on it right away. If that's the plan, she won't be leaving on any commercial carrier. Rutledge will fly her out of the country on one of his private jets.”

“I'm on it.” Trey reached over and severed the connection. Before he could ask, Jessy supplied him with the phone number for the Walters agency. Even as he punched the numbers, he muttered, “Subpoenas and court orders are nothing but pieces of paper to Rutledge. I should have realized Sloan wouldn't honor them any more than he does.”

 

The buzz of the intercom had Rutledge reaching for the phone. He punched the blinking light and demanded, “Did you track down that cab driver?”

“Yes, sir. The description of his passengers fits Mrs. Calder and the baby,” the agent confirmed.

“Where did he take her?”

“The house belongs to Tara Calder.”

“Tara.” Max cursed himself for not thinking of her. Then he remembered, “She was spending the winter in Europe. Is she back already?”

“Evidently, although we couldn't get any information from her butler. Her chauffeur, however, told us that he'd just taken his employer back to her plane, along with a young woman and a baby. According to him, they were flying to Tara Calder's summer home in Montana, but he couldn't give me the name of any town.”

“It doesn't matter. I know where it is,” Max replied and calculated his chances of reaching the private airstrip next to Tara's luxurious stone cabin.

“Do you want me—”

“I need to know how long ago her plane took off—and I need to know it now. Get on it, and quick,” he ordered and hung up.

No one had to tell Rutledge that he had only a slim chance of intercepting Sloan before she made it to the Calders. But as long as he had a chance, he had to take it. With any luck, he could convince Sloan that she misunderstood the phone conversation she had obviously overheard. If not, there were other means he could employ to bring Sloan and the baby back to Texas with him.

But first he had to get there.

With the decision made, Max issued instructions to his assistant to notify the crew he was on his way to the building's rooftop helipad. After that, Edwards was to call the airfield and order his fastest jet to be waiting for him when he arrived. Any call from the security agent was to be patched through to him as soon as it came in.

The helicopter was a few feet from touchdown at the airfield when the phone call was relayed to him. The news couldn't have been better. Tara's plane had taken off roughly nine minutes earlier, after encountering some minor mechanical delays.

 

Sloan sat in a plushly upholstered seat across the aisle from Tara, doing her best to hush the fussing infant in her arms. Tara
threw an irritated look at the pair. “What is that baby crying about now?” she said with impatience. “Don't tell me he needs his diaper changed again.”

“His ears are probably hurting from the change in cabin pressure. I should have remembered that and had his bottle ready for him,” Sloan answered while she rummaged through the bag on the adjoining seat.

“Good heavens, give it to him, then,” Tara snapped in ill temper.

“It needs to be warmed first.” Locating the bottle, Sloan removed it from the bag, sounding as cranky and harried as Tara.

Tara motioned to the attendant. “Kurt—Dan—Whatever your name is—heat that bottle for the baby,” she ordered. “And bring me some aspirin.”

While the bottle was being heated, the attendant returned with the aspirin. Tara washed down three tablets with some water and leaned back in her seat. Eyes closed, she tried desperately to shut out the baby's strident cries and silently congratulated herself for never having one of those smelly, squally infants of her own. Motherhood was something Tara regarded as vastly overrated.

At long last the baby's cries diminished to an occasional whimper, bringing a semblance of quiet to the cabin. Confident that she would now no longer have to compete with the bawling child for Sloan's attention, Tara sat up.

“Tell me the whole story,” she commanded. “Everything that happened. Don't leave out any details.”

“All right,” Sloan agreed, then paused to organize her thoughts before relating the events that had culminated in her arrival at Tara's Fort Worth mansion.

When she finished, Tara questioned her about the telephone conversation Sloan had overheard. To Tara's annoyance, Sloan focused on one aspect of it.

“I felt like such a fool when I realized Trey had been telling me the truth all along—he wasn't seeing another woman,” Sloan recalled. “All those phone calls seemed so damning, but how easy
they were for Max to arrange! And that redhead with the diamond bracelet—Trey never gave it to her. It was something I just assumed. Max probably set that up, too.”

“Let's go back to the drugs,” Tara insisted. “Max has someone who intends to plant drugs on Trey. You don't know who, do you? Max didn't mention any names.”

“No. I don't even know if he was talking to a man or a woman. It could be that redhead at The Oasis—or possibly the man who owns it. I think his name is Donovan.”

“Maybe I was wrong,” Tara murmured absently.

“About what?” Sloan eyed her curiously.

“About calling Trey,” Tara replied. “That conversation took place when? Two days ago?”

“Almost two days.”

“Then that plan has already been put into motion.” Reaching down, Tara unfastened her seat belt and crossed to a swivel chair anchored next to an executive-style writing table, complete with a telephone. “I think I'd better call Trey and warn him about it—before he's lured into the trap.”

“Let me talk to him,” Sloan said quickly.

“It will be better if I explain the situation first,” Tara insisted and took her seat, then picked up the phone. After two abortive attempts to place the call, she summoned the cabin attendant. “Why isn't this phone working?”

“It's probably part of that electrical malfunction they were trying to fix before we left,” he replied.

“We brought a mechanic along. Tell him to fix it. I need to make a call.”

“Sorry, ma'am, but I don't think it's something he can do while we're in the air.

Annoyed, Tara dismissed him “That'll be all.”

“Don't you have a cell phone?” Sloan asked when Tara returned to her aisle seat.

“I never carry one. I always found them to be more of a nuisance than a convenience,” Tara stated. “We're less than two
hours away. We'll wait and explain everything to him when we get there. There should be sandwiches and salads on board. Would you like anything?”

“No, thanks.”

“I'm sure you're much too anxious to eat anything,” Tara guessed.

Sloan neither confirmed or denied it. Instead, she stood up and stepped over to Tara's seat. “Would you hold Jake a minute? I need to use the restroom.”

Taking her agreement for granted, Sloan placed the baby in her arms. Tara opened her mouth to protest, but Sloan was already moving away. Looking down at the sleeping infant, Tara recoiled a little, half-expecting it would start shrieking any second. But the tiny thing continued to sleep. She eyed it warily, holding herself stiffly.

A little fist emerged from the blanket folds, wagged a couple times, then settled against his chest. Watching it, Tara gradually noticed the baby's fingernails, exact in every detail yet so diminutive. Tentatively, she touched one and discovered the softness of his skin.

The baby sighed in his sleep. Unconsciously, Tara smiled at the little bubble that formed between his lips. The longer she looked at him, the more fascinated she became with this miniature version of a person. Gently, so as not to disturb his sleep, she smoothed her fingers over the mass of dark, nearly black hair.

“Your granddaddy's hair was this very same color,” she murmured. “I wish he was here to see what a precious little boy you are.”

When Sloan returned only moments later, Tara was surprised by her own reluctance to surrender the baby into his mother's care. Her arms felt oddly empty without the infant's slight weight on them. It wasn't something Tara could explain, not even to herself. Yet she felt a trace of longing when she saw Sloan cuddling the infant close. Deliberately, she turned and stared out the cabin window at the passing clouds.

 

Trey walked the feed salesman to the door of the ranch office and saw him out. Yet he couldn't remember a single word they had exchanged when he turned from it. Trey couldn't shake off the image of Sloan on some private jet, bound for a foreign country, taking his son with her.

“Trey.” The familiar sound of his mother's secretary, Donna Vernon, reached out to claim his attention. “I just put a call through to Jessy from Ed Walters. She wants you to join her.”

“Thanks.” His stride instantly lengthened to carry him to his mother's office. Laredo was lounging on a desk corner when Trey walked in. Glancing up, Jessy said, “Trey's here, Ed. Go ahead and tell us what you've learned so far.”

“First off, we confirmed that Rutledge left Fort Worth on one of his jets.” The male voice came from the speaker phone. “According to the ground crew, he had no passengers with him and definitely no women. So I think you can put that concern aside for now. Unfortunately, I can't tell you much about what's going on at the Slash R. We were able to zero in on the frequency Rutledge's security guards are using. As Quint suggested, they seemed to be watching for someone, but no names were used, just code words, which is typical. Then, about twenty or thirty minutes ago, it all came to a stop, and the order was given for everybody to return to their assigned posts.”

“That's it?” Trey frowned in surprise. “No explanation? Just the order?”

“There was only one remark made along those lines. Maybe it's something, and maybe it's nothing, but one of the guards was heard to ask, ‘Where was she found?'”

“She.” So they were looking for a woman, Trey realized. “What was he told?”

“That it was none of his damned business. All the chatter has been limited strictly to scheduled check-ins since then. We'll keep digging for more information on this,” the investigator assured them. “In the meantime, we have all of Rutledge's planes under
observation. I thought by now I'd be able to give you Rutledge's destination, but we haven't obtained it yet. I'll call you when we do.”

“What kind of surveillance do you have in place at Rutledge's ranch?” Laredo asked.

“Just a video camera, and I'm not sure how useful that is,” Ed Walters admitted. “Too many of the vehicles going in and out have tinted windows, which makes it almost impossible to see who's inside. Since there appears to be a chance your wife might take the child and leave the country, we'll have to come up with a better way to monitor who comes and who goes. Short of following every vehicle that leaves, I'm not sure what that will be yet, but I'm on it.”